Chapter Text
“What the hell, you fucking reject-”
Michael didn’t even listen to the rest of Jackson’s words before his fist was connecting with his face. Jackson stumbled back in surprise, and what Michael hoped was pain. He felt a few of his own knuckles split and start to bleed, and the others start to bruise.
He felt a sense of pride run through him as Jackson cupped his jaw, but it quickly vanished when Jackson gave him a murderous look, and came back swinging. Michael moved just in time, causing Jackson to put a decent-sized dent in the locker where Calum had been a minute before.
Jackson howled in rage, and Michael was smirking until the larger boy tackled him to the ground. Michael’s head whiplashed roughly on the floor, but he still fought, flailing wildly under the weight of Jackson to try and free his hands, which were pinned under his knees. Jackson laughed at him as he inched up his chest.
“What now, kid? Your pretty little friend over there doesn’t stand a chance with a pathetic loser like you.” He taunted laughing at Michael again.
Michael filled with rage at the mention of his ‘pretty little friend’, the friend that he was currently getting punched for, and would a thousand times over again. Using his rage to fuel his strength, Michael managed to free his left arm between Jackson’s brutal punches. He took his fist, and nailed him straight in the balls. Michael never, ever said he played fair.
Jackson groaned, and fell back, cupping his crotch. Michael smirked again, and stood up, punching the bigger boy in the face. Ryan glared again, and then, Michael was back on the ground,except, not pinned like before. This time, he and Jackson wrestled on the floor, Jackson landing a few knee jerks into Michael’s groin. Michael felt tears in his eyes as Jackson’s elbow connected with his nose, but he fought back, and before he knew it, he had Jackson pinned beneath him.
“You’re so fucking lucky you were here.” Jackson groaned. “God, just imagine the things I would have done to him if you hadn’t shown up.”
Michael growled, and punched Jackson in the face, sending his head smashing into the floor.
“He would’ve been begging for it by the time you found him, fucking little slut-”
Jackson was cut off by Michael again, who began raining punches down on his face, enraged by the things he was saying. Jackson’s face was soon covered in blood, and Michael wasn’t even thinking about stopping.
“Mikey,” Someone said, placing light fingers on his shoulder blade. Michael turned to look, one hand still fisted in Jackson’s shirt.
Calum was standing behind him, eyes still filled with tears, and a desperate expression on his face.
“Please, it’s fine, let’s just go.” He said softly, and Michael hesitated. He knew Calum had probably been begging him to stop during the fight, but he tuned him out. If Calum wouldn’t stand for himself, someone had to. Michael looked from Jackson, whose nose was steadily bleeding, to Calum, whose pretty pink lips were bitten raw.
“Please.” Calum begged one more time, pulling at Michael’s shoulder. Michael sighed, and reluctantly let go of Jackson’s shirt. He stood up, taking his weight off the older boy. Immediately, friends of Jackson helped the boy up, and gave Michael filthy looks.
“That right, pussy-boy, run. Take your little faggot with you.” Jackson spit, pushing his friends away so he could stand on his own. Michael turned around, ready to charge, but Calum pulled him back by the arm, and Michael had to settle for swearing at the kid.
“Go fuck yourself, Jackson.” He spit whilst being dragged down the hall by Calum.
Jackson and his little crew began to laugh at him, but Michael didn’t care. He turned around, and stomped down the hall, brushing Calum’s hand off his arm, leaving the younger boy behind.
“Mikey, wait up…” Calum whined, his legs still shorter than Michael’s. Michael took a deep breath, and stopped, waiting to Calum to come to him. He immediately grabbed Calum’s hands, and looked over his arms and face.
“Are you hurt?” He asked, checking the underside of his arms.
“No, Mikey, I-” He started, but Michael interrupted.
“Calum, did he hurt you?” He asked again, looking into Calum’s eyes. Calum shook his head quickly, curling away from Michael.
“No, he didn’t. I’m fine.” He said quietly.
“Calum-” Michael started, but stopped when Calum shook his head.
“It’s fine, I promise. He didn’t hit me, I swear.” He said, and the way Calum shook when he said ‘I swear’ was enough to make Michael’s blood boil again.
“I’ll kill him. Him and his entire dumbass crew.” He said, letting go of Calum’s hands to look down the hall.
“Michael, really, it’s okay. Let’s just forget about it.” Calum insisted, but Michael shook his head, his hands curling into fists. The longer he thought about how he had caught Jackson with his hands pressed to Calum’s chest, the younger pinned to a locker, the angrier he got.
“He can’t just treat you like that, Calum, someone-”
“Michael, please, it’s fine. I don’t want you getting hurt. Can we just…” He stopped, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. “Can we just go home?”
Michael looked at Calum, whose mascara was running down from the corners of his eyes, his lips bitten raw, body still shaking a little bit. No matter how much he wanted to go back, and pound Jackson’s face in, Calum came first.
“Yeah.” He said with a small smile. “Let’s go.”
Calum sighed with relief, and began to take books out of his locker, and put them in his bag. Calum looked cute today, he always did. Not that Michael really thought about that, considering he wasn’t really into boys, but still, anybody who looked at Calum, with his light lilac skirt and lacy white top would think the boy was absolutely adorable. He had all-white Vans on his feet, and cute lilac necklaces around his neck. His makeup was better than anyone’s in the entire school, even now, with it running down his still-flushed cheeks. Michael could only think that if he was into guys, Calum would definitely be his target.
He was pulled from his thoughts by Calum, who brushed his hands over Michael’s cheek gently. Michael looked up at him, Calum’s face twisted into one of pain.
“You’re hurt.” He said, and Michael reached a hand up to feel where Calum had been touching. His finger came back a little bloody.
“Yeah, well that’s what happens when you get punched in the face repeatedly.” He said with a smile.
“I’m sorry. This is my fault.” Calum said, his last sentence whispered.
“Hey, no. It’s not, I threw the first punch, it was most definitely my fault, Cal.” Michael reassured, wiping away blood from his cheek. Calum bit his lip, and blinked quickly, as if he was holding back tears.
“I shouldn’t have let him,” He started, but Michael shook his head.
“No. C’mon, Cal, you’re half his size. It’s not your fault. Like you said, let’s just forget about it, yeah?” Michael reassured. Calum nodded, looking down at the ground. Michael could tell it was still bothering him, but the younger boy made it seem like it didn’t matter at all. That worried Michael.
They walked out of the school together, Michael close to Calum as they walk by Jackson and his friends, the boy’s arm around his girlfriend. Fucking pig. Once they’re out of the school, they begin their walk to Calum’s house.
Michael has to smile at Calum because as they walked, the boy stepped over all the cracks, never stepping on one. He had a bit of a skip in his step, causing his skirt to fly up a little more than normally, exposing his upper thigh. The entire thing was cute to Michael, and he had a fond smile permanently plastered to his face.
They didn’t talk on their way home, just walked together, Michael smiling like an idiot, Calum skipping over cracks and humming to an old Green Day song that even Michael couldn’t name. When they finally arrived, the sun was starting to set, and Michael’s feet were killing him. Calum had to walk miles to get to his house, and Michael didn’t have his car currently, so he walked the killer couple of miles to the younger’s house.
Calum walked up his front steps, Michael following. The younger boy opened the door, and peeked in before shutting it, leaving him and Michael on the outside of the house. He gave Michael a sheepish smile, hand still on the door handle. He didn’t say anything for a second, avoiding eye contact, his fingers drumming on the door handle.
“Calum, no.” Michael whined before Calum could even start.
“I’m sorry, Michael.” He shrugged. “Just...not today, okay?”
Michael’s shoulders slumped, and he gave Calum a pout.
“Thanks for walking me home.” Calum said shamefully, looking at his pretty white shoes. Michael immediately felt guilty for whining to Calum, the younger boy had enough to deal with. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Do you want me to walk you to school?” He asked easily, trying to relax for Calum’s sake. The younger boy just shook his head, his hand tense on the door handle.
“Alright, see you in English, then?” He asked, and Calum nodded again, avoiding Michael’s eyes. Michael tried to not let that bother him, and he nodded before patting Calum’s shoulder, and stepping down his steps.
“Text me when you get home, okay?” Calum said, almost anxiously, and Michael turned to give him a smile.
“I will, see you tomorrow, Cal.”
Calum smiled at him before opening his door, and stepping into his house shakily. Michael grimaced as the door shut. He hated when Calum wouldn’t let him come inside, it made him uneasy. He didn’t know what went on in that house, but he knew it couldn’t be good. Calum often called him in the middle of the night, gently crying always wanting to talk because he couldn’t sleep. It was fine by Michael, the first couple times it was annoying, because he only got a few hours of sleep, but Michael would stay up for days if it meant Calum would feel better.
He would do probably anything for him to be honest.
So, he does as Calum asks, and walks to his house on his own without asking any questions. He’s pretty used to it by now, but it still bothers him. What could really be so bad that he wouldn’t let Michael, his best friend since fourth grade, see?
When he finally gets home, dusk is approaching, and his feet are aching. He doesn’t how Calum does it, the walk just kills him. He unlocks his back door, and slips in. His house is dark and empty as usual, his parents both out at a convention in Perth. It doesn’t bother him much anymore. It used to when he was a kid, but he got used to being alone. He accepted that it was easier for his parents to pretend he didn’t exist than to put the effort into loving him. They didn’t love him, and it was as simple as that.
He threw his bag on the floor, deciding his homework wasn’t worth his time, as usual. He worked his way into the kitchen, groaning as he turned on the lights. Sadie, the lady who cleaned the house, hadn’t come in a few days, and Michael felt a little lonelier than usual. Sadie sometimes made him dinner, and she often cleaned his knuckles when he got into a fight. She was probably the closest thing to family he had with the exception of Calum and a few outside friends that he hadn’t seen in awhile.
He tried not to let it get to him, and he put a pot of water on the stove to boil for box Mac’n’Cheese. He sat down at the counter, turning on his television for background noise, while grabbing his phone.
Now here’s the thing, Michael’s parents have money. Lots of it. Michael lives in the richest part of Sydney in a house that would be too big for his and Calum’s family combined. Karen and Daryl keep an account for Michael full, letting the boy spend as much money as he wants. So, Michael is quite up-to-date with his clothes and technology, and he’s incredibly grateful. He doesn’t need anything else to get beaten up over.
To: Hoodie
Hey, I’m home now, hope things are going okay
Michael texted Calum quickly, letting the boy know all was well. He didn’t have to wait very long for a response.
To: Gordon
Things are good. Glad you’re home, is Sadie there?
To: Hoodie
Nah. She won’t be back until Thursday.
To: Gordon
Oh. I’m sorry you’re alone.
To: Hoodie
It’s cool. I like being alone anyway. Plus, I get to make my own dinner!
To: Gordon
Oh, no.
To: Hoodie
Um, excuse you, I am fully capable of making mac’n’cheese from a box, thank you.
To: Gordon
I don’t doubt you. I only worry for you burning your house down.
To: Hoodie
Very funny. You better watch yourself, Hood, or the next house I’ll be burning will be yours.
To: Gordon
Ha, be my guest. Then I’ll live with you because you feel so guilty.
To: Hoodie
You sound awful sure of yourself.
To: Gordon
When it comes you to, I am definitely sure ;)
To: Hoodie
You are so spoiled, I swear.
To: Gordon
You spoil me. I never asked for it :))
To: Hoodie
*sigh* why do I put up with you?
To: Gordon
I like to think it’s my shining personality
To: Hoodie
That’s definitely it :)
Michael smiled at his phone, walking over to the stove to start boiling his noodles. His phone quickly went off again, and he happily walked over to it.
To: Gordon
Are you okay, btw? That fight was pretty rough.
To: Hoodie
Yeah, just a few bumps. I’ll have a nasty bruise under my eye tomorrow, and a little gash, but that’ll at least make me look cooler than I am.
To: Gordon
Michael, be serious.
To: Hoodie
Honestly, Cal, I’m fine. Only a couple of my knuckles split, and the bruises don’t even hurt. Please, don’t worry.
To: Gordon
I’m sorry this happened. You know you don’t need to get into fights for me, right?
To: Hoodie
Of course I know that. But seriously, he deserved what he got. He should never be touching you like that
Calum didn’t reply for a few minutes, so Michael got up, and stirred in his cheese. By the time the pasta had cooled, and Michael had it in a bowl with a spoon, his phone was lighting up with another text.
To: Gordon
I know. I’ll try and stand up for myself next time, I’m not helpless.
To: Hoodie
I know you’re not.
To: Gordon
I’m sorry, I have to go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow though, Mikey.
Michael glanced at his clock. It was barely 8:30, why would Calum need to go to bed?
To: Hoodie
Alright. Try and get some sleep, though, okay? Call me if you need anything.
To: Gordon
I will. Sweet dreams.
To: Hoodie
You too, Cal.
The rest of Michael’s night went by quickly, finishing dinner, cleaning his knuckles, staying up until 1 am playing a video game. He finally passed out around 1:45 am, his phone locked, but next to his head in case he received a very important phone call from a very important, very pretty boy.