"Time to wake up now, Michael,"
Michael opened his eyes to see a man much taller than him. He had Michael's eyes. Michael's skin. But there was something about him that screamed 'don't trust him.'
But Michael was six, how was he supposed to know that?
"Daddy, I don't want to go." His voice was tiny, and so were his hands as his dad grabbed one of them and dragged him along once he got dressed.
"Michael, you have to." The man sighed, putting his hair through the traditional dad-style hair he had cut. "If you do this, we can buy you that toy car you wanted."
Michael nodded. "Okay, Daddy."
Michael woke up in a cold sweat. He had to remind himself that he was eighteen, not six, and that everything was okay.
He looked around. He couldn't quite remember how he got in the treehouse, or how long he'd been there, or anything like that. He knew MikeyMikey or Mikey must've been in his body for quite some time. He looked at the back of his shins, and only on one was 'MIKEY' printed. He pushed out a breath of relief, thankful that it hadn't been MikeyMikey, because shit probably would've gone down.
He couldn't remember anything from the past few days. Or, what he assumed was the past few days. He got up and did his routine again, getting rid of Mikey and dressing into his clothes. There was a knock on the door and Michael opened it, knowing that it must've been someone who didn't know it was haunted considering they knocked.
Ashton was in the doorway with a pissed off look on his face, bruises on his cheek and jaw, taking Michael aback a little bit. "What happened to you?"
"You. You and your attempt to get MikeyMikey and us to talk." He did that? He couldn't remember. Everything was a little bit foggy at the moment.
Ashton invited himself in, Calum and Luke following suit. They smiled at Michael, nodding as if to say hi. The two sat down on the couch, but Ashton stayed standing, his bruised jaw locked.
"Where is the fucker?"
"Out."
"You said, you knew where he went."
"No, I said I knew where he hid. It's not the same thing." Michael said calmly, making Ashton scoff.
"Michael, do you know how many people MikeyMikey has scared? Do you know how many panic attacks have been caused? Some people don't fucking sleep at night because of him!" the tanned boy got up in his face, eyes filled with fury.
The red-head bit his lip, hesitating a little. "He'd never hurt anyone."
"Look at me, Michael! Do you see my bruises?" He yelled. "He hurts everyone he sees!"
"Stop yelling at me." the smaller one winced, but the bigger guy pressed on. "Get out." He said, barely above a whisper. "I don't want you here," he took a breath, fisting the ends of his sweater. "I want you to get out."
Ashton stood up straighter, as if to intimidate him. Michael would never admit that it worked. "What?"
"I don't want to talk about him. I'm tired of talking about him. Don't take your frustrations out on me just because you can't catch him." Ashton stormed out, Luke giving Calum and Michael a hopeless look before chasing after him so he could calm him down.
Michael's attempts to be nice to anyone were foreign. So when Calum stood there and didn't look like he was going to leave, his thoughts were struck dumb. He had forgotten what it was like to have a normal conversation that wasn't about the monster that nobody knew he was.
Calum watched Michael furrow his eyebrows and blink a few times. "I thought you were going to leave."
"Who's going to be here with you if I leave?"
"It's okay if you do; I'm used to it." Michael gave him a reassuring smile and dropped it seconds after. He twiddled his thumbs, unsure of what to do. "Um, well, I'm gonna go upstairs to my room, wanna come?"
Calum nodded, following after Michael. Michael pushed the wooden door open, it letting out a creepy creak. He quickly apologised if it smelt too much like paint or smoke, because MikeyMikey, Mikey and himself all do that. He went over to his paint and started to put some on the plate he used as a palette. Calum snooped around the room, looking at everything.
It was average. An old bed with a thinned out mattress, the springs evident as he sat on it. Doodles were drawn all over the walls, abstract paintings of lines over lines over lines on paper, a wardrobe in the corner consisting of three coat-hangers, and a record player in the corner.
Calum leant down, looking through the vinyls. He turned the record player on and put on The Kinks' Lola. There was cheering as the first few notes started and Calum went over and sat next to Michael. Michael had stopped painting, and he had a wide smile on his face as he heard the crowd sing along to Lola.
"I didn't know there were vinyls here, but I love this song. This was all I listened to when I was little." His eyes glazed over a little, recollecting some memories that were long forgotten. Memories that he didn't think he even had. Those memories turned dark, painted over in black. He stopped smiling and he crawled over to the record player, taking the needle off of the records.
"What's wrong?"
"I remembered why I listened to it all the time." he put his hands over his eyes, as if he could see the memory.
Calum bit his lip as Michael took his hands away, looking down at his lap. He put his tanned finger in a bit of paint, smearing it down the boy's cheek, making him smile. Michael giggled, trying to wipe it away, but only making it worse. Michael put his fingers into black paint, grinning as he put it all over the Maori's tanned skin.
Calum shook his head, laughing a little as he put his hand on top of Michael's, wanting him to stop, but wanting to hold his hand too. The pale boy's grin faded, biting his lip as the other boy stared at him. He started to blush.
"Cal, s-stop staring at me."
"But you're so pretty."
Michael had never been called pretty before. Girls had whistled at him down the street, and he'd been called hot, but that was about it. His skin splashed with red, and he covered his cheeks with his hands.
"Shut up."
"MikeyMikey told me you thought I was hot."
"I should really stop talking to him."
Calum laughed. "It's cute." He reassured.
He cleared his throat and just as he was about to change the subject, Michael leant over, uncrossed his legs and kissed him. His pale hands rested in different places, one on his jaw and the other on one of his cheeks, leaving fingerprints from the paint. Calum put his hands on Michael's lower back, sighing in content.
Michael hadn't kissed anyone since he was ten. He prayed like hell he was at least okay at kissing. Calum pulled away abruptly, making the boy fall on him and his blush became ten times worse.
"Do you like me?"
"Um," no, no, no, no, Michael! You can't do this, he'll find out you're a freak! "kinda."
"Enough to go on a date with me?"
"F-Fuck, really? I've never been on a date before."
Calum raised an eyebrow. "How old are you?"
"Nineteen in a couple of weeks." He looked down, a little embarrassed. He'd been hiding all this time, he'd never really tried to make friends or anything. And now he had, he really wished he did it earlier, because this was just fucking awkward.
Why was Calum smiling? Why was he cooing like Michael was a little baby? Michael hated when people did that. He wasn't a baby. He was two years – well, one and two weeks – off being a man.
"Nobody's even kissed you before, have they?"
"Nobody I like," Michael said under his breath.
