Dreams On Fire || ✓

Chapter 6

Date: 2nd August, 2016.

It's 1:48am and Sociology got boring plus I can't sleep so here I am.

"Thank you to everyone who made me realise that suicide
is a permeant solution to a temporary problem."
- Michael Clifford.

UNEDITED

Later that day, Luke sat in his room, on the edge of his bed with his hands weaving through his hair.

All he could think about was how wrong did it feel to leave Michael alone when he was in the shower.

All Luke wanted to do was try to make Michael believe that he was his Luke and he sure was doing a great job at it.

He pulled at his hair in frustration and let out a groan of annoyance just under his breath, not too loud.

Not looking at the time, he left the house with his jacket in his hand., not giving his actions a second thought.

You could say that he hadn't got rid of his old habits. Well, old habits die hard, after all.

He clumsily put on his jacket and stumbled slightly, awkwardly tripping on his long legs.

It was chilly, he could see that. Vapour was emitted from people's mouths when they spoke or exhaled and Luke noticed how they would pull their coat tighter to warm themselves or they kept on tugging on the beanie to secure it on their head and trap the heat.

He, however on the other hand, was unaffected. The cold did not bother him, nor did the sun or the rain.

Yeah, he could feel the hotness or coolness of an object, but the weather? No.

He exhaled heavily, slight vapour coming out of his mouth and he got excited, his eyes lighting up. He giggled slightly, at least he could breathe out vapour, even when dead.

His second sense of familiarity.

He kept on exhaling the air, pretending to be a dragon and had a slight skip in his step when he walked.

Be that as it may, all his happiness came crashing down and left his body in an instant as he stood outside Michael's house. Nerves racked his body and he swung on his toes and heels, thinking about the rash decision he had made - to come see Michael at three in the morning.

It was ironic, really. It was commonly believed that ghosts came out at three in the morning and there Luke was, mulling over whether he should go inside or not.

Giving in to his rather compulsive behaviour, he gave in and walked right through the door. It was too late to back out now.

The apartment was empty; no signs of Ashton and Calum anywhere.

Prepping himself, Luke walked inside his mind clogged up.

It was three am but Michael was awake. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

He hadn't had alcohol since the day before and it honestly seemed like an achievement to him. It was fair too, he had been drinking since Luke's death which was a week ago and he had come to the terms that alcohol was destroying him.

He realised that if he didn't leave it now, he would slowly deteriorate into nothingness.

He wasn't an alcoholic, no. In fact, the thought of becoming an alcoholic had scared him so much that he had taken it on himself to pour all the bottles containing that toxic down the drain.

It was safe to say that he was proud of himself.

Still, the room was as messy as it was before, if not worse. Michael wasn't okay, but with Luke's help he would get there.