The Mess I Made | Malum

♡ the space between my heart and my mind ♡

Michael had a sleepless night. He was laying in his bed with headphones in his ears, and he couldn't stop thinking — about Calum, that is. He didn't have a bed to sleep on like Michael did. He spent all of his money on art for the sake of making something out of himself. Calum didn't even have a kitchen. If he ate anything, it was only for Mae, or for spoiling Mae. He relied on her so much that it broke Michael's heart just to think that she wasn't a part of him anymore.

It did make him slightly jealous though. The idea of Mae wasn't exactly. . . pleasing. She was a beautiful girl who definitely had a big heart from what he could see, but a part of him wanted Calum to himself and Calum wasn't even his. He didn't get it. So when Calum asked him if Michael thought he was nice to look at, he had to give it some thought.

He never thought that way. Not about a boy, or a girl, or anybody. He's never even been in a relationship — not because he didn't want to be, but because he never had the time. Call it bullshit or whatever, but it's true. Working was more important — having a roof over his head and food on his table was more important than building a solid relationship with somebody. That was to come second, always.

It was four in the morning. Michael was tossing and turning and every once in a while, he'd look over at his alarm clock to see if it was a minute until sunrise so he wouldn't look like a fool for being up when it's still dark outside, but it was only four fifteen. He was growing frustrated, and occasionally he'd pull at his hair as a distraction, but it wasn't working. Nothing was working. So, he got up. He made his bed, slowly walked downstairs and grabbed a warm cup of water that came from his sink faucet, and sighed when realizing that he wasn't going to feel much better until he received some closure.

With a pair of sweatpants on, and a skin-tight white shirt, he left his house and hopped into his car, deciding to drive to Calum's studio. He made it there quickly, as there was hardly ever traffic this early in the morning, and he wasn't surprised to see the light on. Calum was awake.

Calum has been awake all night, running off of four and a half cups of coffee and a plastic water bottle that's probably as warm as the paint he's been using. He was working on a portrait — one that wasn't of Michael, or of Mae, but something that Michael had never seen before — the moon. Michael knocked, fingertips growing cold and stiff, and he used his breath to warm up his hands as he waited for some sort of reaction out of Calum, but through the open window, he was as still as a rock, eyes focused on only one thing and ears tuning out everything else.

Michael groaned, then tried the door. It was open. He looked for any sort of reaction out of Calum, but received nothing — not even a movement or a glance. Michael smiled, though, being appreciative of the sight in front of him. "It's not good to leave your door unlocked, you know? Robbers exist."

Calum hummed, continuing to brush delicate strokes of black around the moon. "There's not much in here for them to rob, fortunately for me, right?"

Now, Michael was sad. It was depressing to think that this was where Calum lived, and slept, and ate. This. A lousy studio that should remain a studio and not a damn house. There wasn't even a bathroom in here. That meant whenever Calum had to go, he'd stop at a fast food restaurant or at Mae's. He slept on the floor, which in a way, was better for the back, but wasn't an ideal thing to do. Michael wanted to help him, but he didn't know how.

With the excessive amount of silence coming from the other end of the room, Calum sighed and dipped his paint brush into a cup of water. "Look, I know this isn't exactly the greatest, but it's something. I care a lot more about art than I do about having the coolest house I could possibly live in."

"It's not great at all, Calum." Michael pressed his fingers against his nose, then began to rub pressure into it. "You need a bathroom. You need somewhere to clean yourself up, and you need somewhere to eat. This isn't okay. You can't possibly expect me to ignore something like this and push it off."

"That's exactly what I'm asking you to do." Calum picked his paintbrush back up and finished up the last minute touches, then smiled in satisfaction. "Finally fixed up that line. It was ruining everything."

"It's a line, Calum." Michael knew he was pushing now, but he couldn't help it. "A line in a painting won't ruin it. It will add to it, if anything."

"You know, Mae pretty much said the same thing, but you're both wrong. One mistake, and it's ruined. One mistake, and that's the end of it. I just can't seem to get it right."

Michael sat down. He looked down at his cell phone, then checked the time.

5:08. It was finally past four, but that didn't excuse Michael's lack of sleep, or Calum's for that matter. "Calum, if you don't mind me asking, why are you awake at this time and painting?"

"What am I supposed to do if I can't sleep? Twiddle my thumbs and stare up at the ceiling?" Calum asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice. He then sighed, kept his painting on his easel, and looked at Michael. "I'm sorry. I'm just still having a hard time after the breakup."

Michael looked around the room and leaned against the wall, running his finger along the window panel beside him. "I get it. Breakups are tough, but you always get through them. Break is the first part, and up is the second. You have to let yourself break before you can lift yourself up, right?"

"That's a good way to put it, I guess." Calum looked down. "I feel pathetic, really. For missing her. She probably doesn't even think about me anymore. Moved on, met some guy, is possibly even getting engaged with a baby on the way and —"

"Calum," Michael said, interrupting the boy from saying anything more, "you broke up not that long ago. She most likely hasn't met anybody yet, and besides, you don't need to dwell over it. You have more important things to focus on like. . painting."

Calum smiled. He stood up from his wobbly stool and placed his paintbrush back in the cup of water, allowing it to drain away the paint. "Thank you. I um, I know it doesn't seem like it, but I appreciate this a lot. You've been so nice to me, and I've been shitty." He laughed, then placed his hands in his jean pockets. "This is embarrassing, talking to you about this — that is. I mean, really. Look at this place. It's a mess. I'm a mess, and yet you're here before sunrise convincing me otherwise."

Michael gulped, then placed his hand on Calum's shoulder as the boy approached him. He looked Calum in the eye, seeing the Maori slightly hesitate to make eye contact. "Calum?"

Calum looked up, blinking the slightest bit. The shade of brown in his eyes reminded him of the coffee that was served to him. Calum scrunched his nose up the slightest bit, then backed away around an inch before allowing his breath to slow down and his heart to return to a normal pace — being this close to Michael made him nervous, and he didn't know why. He stayed quiet though, hoping that Michael would continue to speak without expecting a response out of the boy.

"Remember that conversation we had yesterday?" Michael asked, elevating his toes, then his heels, creating a wobbling, yet stable motion that helped keep him calm.

Calum nodded.

"The answer is yes." Michael gulped, feeling his body heat up. "I do think you're nice to look at."

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A/N:

Thoughts?

Shorter chapter, definitely a filler.