Mikey didn't know how, but Calum was in his arms. He was giggling and looking very cute, but Mikey had an itch. He needed to change into his clothes, needed to talk his way, needed to kiss the fuck out of Calum, but he couldn't because then the Maori would know that this 'Michael' wasn't exactly acting like 'Michael'.
He looked to the window, pretending to hear something. He sat up. "You should go."
Cute little Calum that Mikey had come to find very attractive furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?"
"MikeyMikey's coming." He mumbled, trying to cover up his accent.
"Okay – woah, calm down, Mike." Mikey lifted him up out of the bed and downstairs, getting the boy's clothes as he went. His grip tightened a little. "Stop, that hurts," Calum winced and Mikey bit back the 'I don't fucking care I'm trying to save you, you insanely hot dumbass' and put him down.
Mikey kissed him all over, putting his hands on the guy's cheeks and ending on his lips, slowing down a little because he was the first out of the three to kiss Calum. Oh, God, Michael was going to hate him. Calum's lips were so soft and nice, but his bum was pretty nice too, because his hands dropped to that area soon after and squeezed, making the cute boy squirm.
He pulled away, smirking. "You should go. MikeyMikey's coming soon." He whispered, trying not to give his accent away.
"Okay, bye," the Kiwi smiled, kissing his cheek and walking out of the house.
Mikey's smile dropped and his strong accent let loose. "Fucking idiot." He mumbled, his semi-Irish accent slurred.
He walked upstairs, willing himself not to go out and scare or talk to people. He knew that if he went to go see Ashton again, Ashton would think it would be okay to go over to his place and that they were weird buddies or something. Mikey didn't want buddies. He wanted fucks.
And Calum.
That boy was just so god damn hot.
He quickly put his clothes and make-up on, feeling better. Feeling more himself. Michael's clothes and Michael's face wasn't him. His grey hoodie, ripped three-quarter jeans and 'MIKEY' on the back of his shin was him. Although, he did like Michael's jacket.
As he ate a Cherry Ripe, he watched the static in fascination. He had no idea why he found it so interesting, he just did.
There was a knock on the door, and Mikey belted because he knew anyone that would come here to be scared would burst straight in. He went upstairs and slammed the door, quickly packing up all of Michael's pictures and stuff, putting them under the mattress.
He stuck his head out the window and gasped.
There was a fucking group of ten outside his door. These people didn't look like the type of people waiting to be scared. Their nets, rope and equipment suggested that. Did he mention they had cameras too?
He got the suitcase that was old and faded and stuffed everything he deemed important to him in it. Smokes. Paints. Clothes. The evidence of him living here. He scratched at the lighter, quickly putting the curtain on fire and the pile of papers and drawings that laid on the frame of the bed. He'd pushed the mattress against the door.
He made sure the fire was properly lit before putting his hood over his head and launching himself off the window frame. He laid in the bushes, wounded, listening to people yell inside. They hadn't seen the smoke yet. They were probably trying to open the door.
He got up, taking the backstreets to Calum's place. He didn't even care if he was there, he just felt like that was the next best place. He went through the window, dropping his heavy suitcase and collapsing onto the carpet.
A part of him wanted Calum to be naked on the bed, but another part of him just wanted him hugging him. He would never admit it, but he really needed some comfort.
He shoved himself under the bed in case he got unwanted visitors, but not before making a note and sticking it to himself, acting like it was Michael who wrote it. Take care of him, he's my favourite. – Michael xx.
"Calum, why the fuck is there a hand coming out from under your bed?"
He knew that voice. It was that guy. That one who was a dickhead to him, Michael and MikeyMikey for no other reason than he just didn't get it. If he got it, he'd be more understanding as to why they scared everybody.
"Ashton, don't . . ." Mikey was being dragged out from under the bed without another word. His eyes sprung wide open. Michael's eyes. He didn't have time to put contacts in. "M-Mikey." Calum looked shocked. "Why do you look like Michael?"
Mikey bit his lip. "He was trying to make me look like him so I could go out in daylight and – and there was a fire."
"Mikey, where is Michael?" Calum asked sternly.
"Not here." The semi-psycho smirked. When noticing the silence and the extremely heated glare thrown at him, he rolled his eyes. "He went back for MikeyMikey." His smirk dropped. "it's been an hour. I can't go back because there were people there watching, but he hasn't come back once."
He knew he couldn't exactly kill Michael off, considering they were literally sharing the same body, but he didn't know what else to say. He needed more time to figure out shit. To know where to hide. To figure out a story.
"Oh my god," Calum covered his mouth. "We need to go back!"
Mikey was going to fight against him, tell him that there was no point, because the fire would've burnt him to crisps by now. But he bit his tongue. This was the time he needed.
He watched them leave to walk straight into a fire that wasn't even their fault.
