malum ❥ one shots

Prompt #4 - TW!

TRIGGER WARNING:
contains self-harm , self-hatred , depression , thoughts of suicide

do not read if you might be triggered !
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He didn't know when it happened. He couldn't distinguish the blurred line of when it had began - of how it began. He doesn't remember when compliments and achievements began to mean nothing to him, can't remember when he stopped smiling when somebody told him he was cute or funny or their savior.

The days are blurred now, he barely acknowledges the start or end of a week - of a month. He can't remember when life got dreary and grey - can't remember when the flaming spark in his eyes lost its fuel.

He can't remember when he stopped caring. He was always the oversensitive one - always the carefree, joyful spirit that loved to live and lived to love. When did it stop?

Michael lost the spirit to search for an answer.

And, God, he knew he shouldn't be - couldn't be - depressed. Depression was for people who had bad lives and horrible memories and he felt guilty even thinking that he could have the illness. Michael knew he had a great life, wanted to cherish the fact that he toured to world with his three best friends, had an amazing group of people who supported them, and a loving family.

But fuck, he couldn't. He could barely eat the food in front of him anymore. Even making fun of Luke, which he had always jumped at the chance to do, had become forced and dull. He couldn't taste the food he forced down his throat, could barely hold the faked smile during conversations, could hardly remember the lyrics to the songs he had loved so much.

He closed himself off from his bandmates and caring boyfriend, moving through the motions as best as he could - trying to remember what it was like to be happy.

Michael was always good at faking, though.

The people around him didn't notice his fast deterioration, didn't notice his features thinning, didn't notice the gap between careless laughter growing growing growing. Or maybe, Michael would sometimes think, they just didn't care.

He craved and craved for something to take away the emptiness inside of him. Craved for something to make him feel again.

Michael had tried weed, had tried nicotine, had once nearly tried cocaine; nothing could fill the blackened husk of his once beautiful soul. He felt trapped in his own body, his skin itchy and his heart screaming as his mind cried. Cried for relieve, for love, for pain, for something other than the emptiness that he could practically taste upon his tongue.

It was worse when they were on break, when they all went their separate ways and Michael was left alone with the emptiness of his soul and the darkness of his heart. God, did he want to feel something - anything. He wanted to love Calum like he used to, showering his beautiful boyfriend in the affection and attention that Michael knew he deserved. He wanted to feel that brotherly love that came with Luke and Ashton - wanted to feel the warmth in his heart during a band cuddle. But, alas, he couldn't. And sometimes, Michael thought that maybe he didn't deserve to.

He hated how he felt - he felt that it was weak of him to act so fucking silly over nothing. Michael thought he was being ridiculous thinking that their was anything wrong with him - that he was fine.