Calum had done well in the art of changing the subject. He had done it often, but now, he felt like he needed to. Michael kept wanting to talk to him about the incident that had happened a couple of days before, and the Maori kept making excuses, changing the subject to distract him.
It was one of their break days, and they had a radio interview in an hour. Calum was writing some songs by himself in the hotel room. The other boys had gone down to get food, but Calum stayed behind.
I can't stand on my own two legs, but I've got an army behind me that won't cut me a break. So call me an amputee, back of the line, back in your memories. I'm lost in the crowd.
Annoyed, he crossed the words out because he literally just wrote shit. He needed to be somewhere else. He needed to do something else.
He laid down on his bed, and heard his hotel room door open. He quickly scrunched up the paper he had been writing on, pushing it in his pocket. Arthur. It was his last day and the boys were cheering.
He had Calum cornered.
Arthur, of all people, had Calum cornered.
"Arthur, how're you?" He asked, figuring he may as well be polite to the guy who had his reputation in his hands. "What have you come to ask me?"
"Do you know why Michael left?"
Calum swallowed, visibly uncomfortable. "I wish I did."
"You've been distant lately, are you – or any of the other boys for that matter – suffering from it?"
"It's mid-tour." The Maori told him dismissively, looking down at his bass.
The older man raised an eyebrow. "That's no excuse."
"Mid-tour is when everybody's emotions are fucked up." Calum tried to explain, but Arthur didn't seem to understand. He didn't bother, and just went back to playing the same chords over and over.
"New song?"
"Can't find the words for it." The Maori said, licking his lips. "It's . . . I've got the tune, and I know exactly how I want it to go, it's just the words . . ."
"Words are personal, no?"
Calum rested his bass on his lap. "It's the fact that they're my words, that's getting me. We usually write in partners and talk about it after, but I decided to write this by myself."
"What's it about?"
Michael. "Uh, nothing."
***
Arthur was gone, and it was a collective sigh of relief from the band. Calum drummed his fingers against his thighs, nervous about what Arthur would write. Ashton noticed this, and furrowed his eyebrows, going to ask something, but the Maori had already left the room.
"Wait, Calum." Ashton said, catching the door Calum was about to slam.
"I'm going out for a smoke."
"What's up?"
Calum went out to the venue's smoking area, Ashton still trailing behind. He covered his hand so his lighter would emit flame, and lit the cigarette in between his lips.
"I'm so fucking nervous, Ashton."
"What? The show will do fine, I – "
Calum scoffed, sucking in a breath of smoke. "Not that. I said something. I did something. To Michael. And – And I think Arthur picked up on it."
