the artist → muke

e p i l o g u e

calum never really recovered after michael went missing. michael's parents didn't want to stop searching. the fact that michael had actually communicated with them before whatever had happened happened meant the world to them. michael was willing to forgive them, and all they wanted was to be able to be there for him now. to hug him, and tell him they loved him in person.

calum didn't have as much faith as karen and daryl.

calum had a gut feeling that michael was gone forever. yeah, there were posters of michael up around the city, saying to call one of the phone numbers if they found michael, but calum never thought it'd happen. he never believed anyone would dial his number, or karen's or daryl's.

calum rarely showed up to his classes. he fell behind in his work. his parents stopped financially supporting him because of his professors' complaints. calum always wore long sleeves. calum always wore grey.

he would run his fingers over michael's bed frame every night before going to bed, wondering why he was never nice enough to the boy with a heart of gold.

he would remember how michael laughed, throwing his head back like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.

he would remember how michael was always excited to tell him about the little, simple things in life.

he remembered how michael always went to the little coffee shop just down the road from their dorm. calum'd go there sometimes, and just sit and think about life. he never ordered anything, and he never spoke to anyone. sometimes, he'd bring one of michael's walking dead comic books, touching the pages, but never really reading them.

michael was a book calum never had time to read. he was a draft that never got published. he was a painting with a concept no one could understand. he was the one cloud in a clear blue sky. he was the new moon. he was an enigma, but yet calum now felt like he understood him better now than ever.

michael had been alone his whole life, and calum now felt the same way.

he'd had friends at university, but he threw that away when michael disappeared.

he used to smile and laugh and party and drink, but he gave that up when everything went downhill.

every glass now seemed half full. the sun would always set, and it'd never rise. he'd breathe out, and try not to breathe in. he never succeeded. sometimes he'd feel like maybe this time, his breathing would stop forever.

his mind was a whirlpool he was stuck in; a tide drawing him farther and farther from the shore. he'd stepped from a drop-off into the endless abyss of an ocean made of his own tears, and nothing could save him from it.

that's what he thought at least, until one day at 5:33 p.m., twelve weeks since michael disappeared, calum received a phone call from an unknown number.

he didn't pick it up at first, but when the voicemail began, he picked it up.

"hello, my name's ashton irwin. i saw a poster with this number on it, and i thought i'd cal—"

calum picked up the phone instantly pressing it close to his ear.

"hello?" his voice cracked. he hadn't spoken in weeks.