Exchange | Malum

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Calum didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about anything. In fact, he rushed off while inhaling the horizon and even the doctors were questioning him on if he was okay or not. He just said yes, because he didn't want to say no, and he was still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him in the first place. Or maybe he knew, and he didn't want anybody else to know, because it was easier that way. Explaining things just took a toll on him and made others melt away their happiness from trying to fix him. But if there's one thing that Calum learned throughout the years he's been alive, it's that you can't fix what's already been broken. You can't tape it up, or buy the most expensive bottle of glue in hopes that it'll do something, even though it won't. You're just out of luck when you're sad, and that's the truth.

"Go after him," Karen squeezed Michaels hand, and he wanted to cry, because this was most likely the last time that he'd be able to hold it, the last time he'd be able to feel that she was alive, because tomorrow, she'd probably be too weak to even move her limbs. And wow, it hurt like hell.

"Mum, I can't just. . I can't just leave you here! You need somebody!

Karen smiled softly, and Michael swore he could see that small twinkle in her eye, and it reminded him of those photographs she took when she was younger; those Polaroid pictures, and she was so happy in them, because she was actually living. "I'll be okay, you know? I'll be here tonight and tomorrow morning and I know you'll come visit me again. Calum on the other hand, is the one who really needs somebody. Don't let your boyfriend rot away with the world."

"He's not my boyfriend," Michael blushed, but he understood where his mother was coming from. He understood. And he wanted to just lay there by her side and wait for the doctors to come in with medication and a fruit cup but he couldn't. Not when the boy he loved was hurting. Not when he was crying. So Michael quickly pressed a kiss to Karen's forehead in hopes that it'd make her feel something, and he ran like somebody was trying to murder him because he wanted to help. He wanted to be the one who saved his angel. He wanted to be unpredictable.

His lungs were starting to give out on him, as he wasn't entirely the best runner there was. But he wasn't about to give up; not when somebody risked their own life for his mother. It was his turn to be the hero. And it wasn't a surprise when he found Calum sitting inside of his garden, on top of a stone that had a handprint on it that was clearly made with red paint. It was Michael's handprint. He doesn't even remember doing that.

"Calum, baby, talk to me."

"Please don't call me baby," Calum choked out, and his eyes were so so red, almost undoubtfully full of fear, he had to have been drugged. The crying wouldn't have this much of an effect. "I don't deserve any of this."

"Any of what?"

"You shouldn't be here sunshine," Calum finally made eye contact with the pale lad, and Michael wanted to fall down to his knees when he saw the sadness in his lovers eyes. "I'm okay, I've always been okay."

"Is that a promise?"

"Fine," Calum squinted his eyes, and both males swore they heard rain paddling against the rooftop, "I promise that I'm not okay, and it's not like I've been trying to be, anyway."

"Calum, what happened?"

"Maybe you should sit down," Calum suggested, though his voice had more of a begging tone, and Michael wasn't sure about what he could do to help, but it made him sad. It made him so so sad. He sat down, anyway, and his fingers graced with the brunettes, and their hearts were beating so loud that they'd be able to hear them from a mile away. "I uh, I shouldn't have left my job."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Calum's eyes grew dark. "He keeps sending people to beat me up for it."