spotlight :: malum

: fifty nine :

It took six hours of silence for Calum to slowly go insane just waiting for Michael to talk to him. Three hundred and sixty minutes dragged on slower than he had wanted them to and he sighed, getting up from his couch downstairs to trail his way up the staircase and slump down the hall.

"Babe," He gets the confidence to knock and speak to him but he doesn't get a response, not that he expected one, but he tries the doorknob and gets a satisfactory click before it opens and shows his bed as a mess of fluffy blankets and pillows with Michael being buried and covered by them, his eyes aren't shut, though, he's not sleeping. Just ignoring him. But what else is new?

"Are you gonna talk to me?" He feels like utter shit and the silent treatment isn't helping him out, he can't just sit and wait around all day on his one day off for a long time, he wants to talk to his boyfriend and actually have some fun.

There's no verbal response, only an unamused blink from the red haired boy on his bed, those green eyes falling to the floor to further ignore Calum.

"I'll take that as a no," He sighs and checks the phone in his palm, reading a couple texts on the screen, "I'm going out with some friends, but I'll be back before midnight, okay?" The maori receives a huff of a response and an eye roll, Michael's body repositioning in the covers of his bed so he laid on the opposite side, his back faces Calum.

He figured if Michael's not gonna talk to him today he'll just end up wallowing in boredom and guilt so he texted some friends and they suggested picking him up and going to a club to take his mind off of it. One beer couldn't hurt. This isn't anything to worry over, he's learned how to control himself now. So Michael gives a nod to assure him he can go.

"I love you." The maori ambles to the door half expecting to not get an answer and half hoping he'll say the same thing back. He lingers in hopes of receiving a response however Michael stays quiet, his back rising and falling as he breathes slowly and calmly, showing no sign of replying any time soon.

Reluctantly, he clicks the door shut and is out of the house within ten minutes, the recognizable sound of a car revving it's way out of the driveway tells Michael he's gone and he can finally do something besides sit and rant via text to Ashton about how stupid today has been. He originally called his friend but when he had to go out to eat they switched to texting.

There's no one home except him now. All of these rooms and halls are up for grabs and the first thing he does with this freedom is stand and rummage through his nightstand drawer. It's of course filled with things like condoms and lube and there's even an old empty pack of cigs and one of his journals. Nothing too unexpected.

He picks up the leather cover and looks at the scrawled in writing, the dates in the corners of the pages show he wrote most of these last year. It wasn't lyrics, but contained day to day entries of what he had done, how he felt, who he met, etc.

It talks about how his parents are starting to feed off of his fame, how his sister got accepted into college but he has to pay her tuition. There's a long paragraph on how he can't stop taking people back to his place after drinking and how he accidentally gave a girl his phone number and she won't stop texting him. He talks about trying to talk to old friends from Australia but they won't act like they used to, they're pining about his fame and keep asking him what it's like and he hates it. Michael shuts the book and slides the drawer closed.

His phone buzzes and shows Ashton texted him again since he did tell him that Calum left and instead of replying he shuts his phone off and walks towards the next door, he understands this is a bad habit but it's not like he's looking for any type of dirt to hold against his boyfriend, he's bored and curious.