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Michael groaned, rolling around his bed until he was on his back. His neck was sweaty but the rest of his body was cold as ice. He'd grown very familiar with the ugly shade of brown that coated the ceiling of his room; sleep was becoming more of an acquaintance than a best friend like it used to be.
He didn't understand. He always wanted to sleep, but whenever he laid down and closed his eyes, he'd give up within minutes, finding himself wide awake. He'd tried everything to make himself fall asleep: drinking warm milk, taking a warm bath (Ashton had given him a bath bomb once and while he did enjoy all the sparkles on his skin, it did not help him get any sleep that night), sleeping pills, even listening to some dumb 'ocean sounds' CD he'd paid $30 for. Nothing worked.
Curious, he'd looked up the side effects of sleep deprivation and was scared by the results: heart attack, heart failure, stroke, depression. Obviously it was for severe cases, but they nonetheless frightened Michael enough to make him close his laptop and immediately head to bed.
Of course, he still didn't fall asleep that night, only blinked in and out for a few minutes at a time and pretending that he was getting enough sleep.
He truly missed sleeping. He'd always enjoyed his dreams and just being in a state of utter relaxation while he slept. Sure, he'd never had a decent sleep schedule per se, usually going to bed around 2 am and waking around noon at the earliest; but that didn't mean he didn't look forward to night and sleep every day.
Michael blamed the stress on his lack of sleep. The band had been so busy lately: touring across the world, writing songs for the next album, meeting new fans, travelling from place to place each day. It took a lot out of the four of them, but Michael felt the most affected. The others were able to sleep on the planes and the tour buses, but Michael was left disoriented after staying up for 24 hours on most days.
Even while they were staying in LA, trying to finish the second album, Michael struggled to sleep. In the past five days, he'd estimated that he'd only had around seven hours of sleep.
He was on his 43rd hour of a sleepless period when he heard the bedroom door open.
He glanced at the clock next to his bed: 3:21 am. The figure in his doorway quietly entered without invitation, shutting the door behind him. Michael knew who it was of course; only one person would be coming into his room at unspeakable hours of the morning.
The shirtless boy padded over to Michael's bed, his feet making sticky noises as he stepped over the wood floor. He sat on the edge of Michael's bed, his tan legs glowing in the soft city light showing through the open curtain.
Michael stared up at Calum, taking in his near-nakedness appearance: toned muscles, messy hair, bright eyes, tan complexion. Slowly, the younger boy turned to face him, running his fingers along Michael's jaw. "You aren't sleeping," he whispered, leaning onto the red-haired boy's side.
"I tried, Cal."
Calum pulled his hand away, leaving Michael to resist a whimper. "You're gonna get sick, Mikey. You need sleep."
Michael reached up to grab at the boy's arm, pulling him onto his side so they were face-to-face. Calum's voice ghosted across Michael's neck, "Go to sleep." Lightly, he turned Michael onto his opposite side and slung an arm across his middle. With his back pressed to Calum's warm chest, the red-haired boy closed his eyes softly, trying to obey the other boy's demand.
He wasn't asleep more than a minute when he felt a socked-foot rub against his ankle. Immediately, he kicked out, using his whole body to push Calum away. "Take'em off," he mumbled through his blanket. The other boy sighed and, reaching down, pulled two black socks off and dropped them on the floor.
"Happy?" Calum asked, moving to press himself against Michael again.
"Very much, yes."
When Michael did find sleep that night, he was able to dream for the first time in weeks.
Calum and Michael were sitting on the couch in the latter's bedroom, lights off, curtain closed, FIFA blaring. They'd been in there for an hour, since after school, and didn't plan on moving until Michael's mom would announce, "Michael let your friend eat!"
It was a cycle, to go to one of their houses where they could escape from their judgemental peers and be themselves around each other. Their parents had long ago accepted that the two were inseparable and took the other in as another son.
Most of their after school days involved loud shouting as they played on the Xbox, but today, both boys were unusually quiet. Tension was in the air as they played in silence.
Finally, Calum gave up and paused the game. "Mikey..." Tossing the controller away, Michael closed his eyes and laid down on his bed, choosing to ignore Calum. He knew what he was gonna say. The other boy nudged him roughly, saying, "I think we should talk about it."
"Or we could forget it happened. I like that choice better."
"You're allowed to be upset about it."
"I don't need to be," Michael answered with a clipped voice, turning away from Calum. "So I'm not."
"Come on, Michael. Rant. Yell. Get mad. Do something. You can't just let Tristan do that to you and not-"
"Please stop talking, Cal."
Calum kicked Michael off the bed, looking down at him as the other boy scrambled to sit back up and glare at Calum. "No! I'm not gonna fucking stop talking. If you aren't going to do anything about it, then I will."
"Just drop it!" Michael stood up so he could feel more powerful as he glared down at him.
"How can you let somebody say all the shit in front of the whole school and not care, not want to get back at that dick?"
"I. Don't. Care."
Calum stood up, watching Michael, and said, "He told the whole school that you like to fuck boys and then gave out your number, telling everybody to send you dirty messages and nudes." Just then, Michael's phone laying on the couch made a soft noise, the ringtone for his texts. Calum reached over before Michael could and opened the message. "I cant believe u like dicks thats fucking disgusting. 'Unknown number. Should we read the rest of them?"
Michael reached out for his phone, but Calum pulled it away, taking a step backwards. "I think we should." Calum scrolled through all the open messages. "Oh, here's a good one: fuck u michael or should i say u wish id fuck u. And there's a nice picture to go along with it. This one says please leave our school nobody wants some dude who sucks cocks around us normal ppl. How nice." Michael reached for his phone again, pushing Calum backwards until his legs hit the bed and he fell back. Laying on his back, the younger boy looked up at him, "Should I continue, Michael?"
The red-haired boy climbed onto the bed and straddled Calum as he grabbed for his phone, quickly tossing it away. Pressing his hands to the squirming boy under him, he leaned closer and said, "I want you to shut the fuck up."
He didn't let go of his shoulders as Calum said, "I think you're a coward. You're afraid and embarrassed and you don't want to admit your feelings because-"
Before he could finish, Michael rolled away from him, laying next to him on the bed. "You can stop anytime."
"Just say it, Michael. Doesn’t it bother you to have this spread around?”
“Cal, you don’t-”
“Did you think I wouldn’t be cool with it? Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
“No, I-”
Calum turned on his side, trying to face Michael, but the other boy looked away. “I’m not mad that you’re gay, okay? You can be whatever you want, you’re still gonna be my best friend. I’m just upset that you never told me.”
“I-I…”
“Tell me you would have told me eventually, Michael. Whether you were waiting until you were sure or comfortable, you would have told me, right? We-we're best friends..."
Michael twisted his head towards Calum after hearing his voice catch in his throat. "Calum, I don't know, okay? I'm sorry, I-"
The younger boy looked away, leaving Michael to stare at his turned away face as he held back tears.
It was stupid. He didn't care that everybody knew about him being gay. He didn't care about the stupid texts he'd been getting all day.
The only thing that matter was that he's indirectly hurt Calum, somebody he never wanted to lose, and he didn't know how to make it better.
They were both looking at the ceiling, their breaths mixing in the air above as they fell into the same rhythm. Silence passed between them for a while, then Michael felt a cold hand press into his. "I wish you had told me, Mikey," the boy next to him said.
"I was-" Michael swallowed hard, trying to get the words out, "I was scared to tell you, Cal, b-because it's you, you're the reason why and I-I thought you would hate me."
The other boy didn't say anything, only turned on his side so he was facing Michael, who automatically wrapped an arm around him and pressed his forehead to his shoulder. Calum whispered against his mouth, "Mikey, I love you too much to ever hate you. I know you’re smart enough to have realized that a long time ago."
Softly, he moved his mouth along Michael's skin, leaving a trail of kisses. Shivers ran along his spine, down his arms. Soon, the kisses became longer, sloppier and Michael realized that Calum was falling asleep on his shoulder. He leaned over to lay his hand onto the sleeping boy's and received a squeeze of his hand in return.
They missed dinner that night.
Michael woke up, jolting up to a sitting position, sweat making the back of his neck sticky. He tried to steady his breathing as he pressed a hand to his forehead. From next to him a hand reached up and grasped onto his wrist, sliding into his palm and twisting their fingers together. He looked down at Calum, who was watching him with slightly opened eyes.
Sunlight was just beginning to shine against the curtains when Michael finally relaxed and laid back down. Pressing himself to Calum, he waited until their breaths were even before closing his eyes.
“Thank you, Cal,” he whispered into the silence.
“For what?” the sleepy boy replied.
“Just being here.”
Lazily, Calum leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, “Mhmm.”
Who was Michael to ask for anybody better to have forever than his best friend?