((I was going to make this longer but I didn't feel like writing smut so. Next chapter, y'all.))

((The picture, me too Michael))

Luke mumbles, pushing his nose into his pillow and huffing. The blanket has been ripped off of him, apparently, because he's freezing. He pats around the empty bed, pouting while he searches for Calum's body for warmth.

The clock on the bedside table says its just past midnight, making Luke frown again. He and Calum fell asleep around ten, and Michael and Ashton had already gone off to bed like the old men they are. Luke crawls out of bed, stepping over the door carefully to avoid tripping or stepping on any of Calum's shit. He flicks on the light and notices the room is empty, so he hops across the hall sleepily. The other bedroom is empty too, as is the bathroom and living room.

He finally finds all three of them in the kitchen, where only the light above the sink is on. Calum's crumpled up on the floor, shaking and breathing heavily, while Michael and Ashton are crouched down on either side of him. Michael's running a hand slowly up and down Calum's back, while Ashton's holding his hand and whispering quietly. Luke can't hear what he's saying, but there's a heavy ball of fear and dread in his stomach. Whatever's happening, it obviously isn't good.

He steps forward when Calum's entire body racks with a heavy sob, hissing when the floor let's out a loud creak. Michael whips around and Ashton's head jerks up, while Calum tenses. He visibly cringes and makes a choking noise, before Michael's running his hand down his back again, taking Ashton's role of whispering gently to him.

"Go back to bed, Luke," Ashton says firmly.

"But Cal-" Luke whimpers, because he doesn't like when anyone yells at him, let alone when Ashton uses a firm and condescending tone. It makes him feel young and stupid.

"We've got this," Ashton cuts him off.

Luke flinches, eyes drifting down to where Calum's curled in on himself, facing away from Luke and shuddering again. Michael pauses his whispering and snaps, "Luke, please."

Luke huffs, turning on his heels with tears burning in his eyes. He trips back to the bedroom he's supposed to be sharing with Ashton and slams the door shut behind him. He doesn't mean to flop himself on the bed like a disgruntled child, but that's what happens. He lays on the blankets and pillows, pressing his face into the fabric off them and tensing his muscles.

He's angry, he's sad, he wants to cuddle Calum, he wants them to stop disregarding him because he doesn't know how to learn. When Calum has any sort of problem, he goes to Michael or Ashton, and they don't tell Luke. Its an unspoken rule. They don't tell Luke about Calum's problems. The three of them collectively think whatever it is will go right over Luke's head, like he doesn't understand a single thing that Calum's doing.

Calum doesn't even do it consciously, is the thing. He feels safer around Michael, who understands genders, and Ashton, who will coddle him no matter what. He just goes to Michael for help or advice, and Ashton's usually there to tag along. Luke doesn't blame Calum.

Ashton and Michael, though, they know what they're doing. They purposely hide things away from Luke because they know he won't understand, anyway. They don't offer to help him understand genders or sexualities or anything, either. Luke hates them a little bit for that.

Luke stretches his arms out and grabs the edge of the duvet, then rolls, wrapping himself up. He pouts, like the little kid he is, sitting up and blinking back tears that are suddenly there, despite Luke's best attempt to hold them back.

He knows that, if he were Calum, all three of them would be there to hold him and talk him through his silent breakdown. But he's not Calum. He's Luke, and no one comes to check on him.

****

Luke wakes up to find, unsurprisingly, no one in the room. Or in any of the other rooms, actually, except for the kitchen. Michael's sitting on the counter, swinging his feet so his heels knock against the cabinets below (Luke belatedly realized that's what had woken him up to begin with).

Michael glances up from his phone when Luke stumbles in with the duvet still wrapped around his shoulders. "Morning," he says quietly, quickly averting his eyes again.

Luke mumbles in reply, knowing Michael wouldn't listen to what he'd say, anyway. He reaches forward with one blanket paw and opens the fridge door in search of something to eat. There's not much, considering they're meant to leave for America in two days. Luke doesn't really think that's happening, anymore. He finds a package of sliced turkey and pulls it out, popping the cover open and sniffing it to make sure it's still good. It is, so he pulls a thin piece out and stuffs it in his mouth before closing the fridge again.

"Ash took Cal to the doctor," Michael announces, which makes Luke glance up with fucking turkey hanging out of his mouth.

"Wha' fo'?" Luke asks while chewing. Michael gives him a short, disapproving look before resuming his texting. Luke's pretty sure he hasn't got any friends to text, if Ashton and Calum are at the doctors.

"We think Calum's meds got fucked up and- and, you know what? It's not that big of a deal, don't worry about it," He says without looking up again.

Luke usually considers himself to be a pretty calm person. He's pretty chill, he doesn't usually have bouts of screaming or energy randomly, and he rarely gets pissed off. But, today, he's sick of it. He's sick of everyone forgetting him and disregarding him, and he's sick of being out of the loop. He wants to know what's happening, especially when it involves Calum's health and wellbeing.

Luke throws the plastic package of turkey at Michael with a frustrated noise. It hits him in the chest, making his eyebrows furrow and a confused little whine drop from his mouth at the action. The turkey slices smack against the ground while the plastic tub clatters across the floor.

"Fuck you!" Luke yells, as loud as he can. He hasn't yelled in a while, hasn't really had a reason to. He's forgotten how much he likes yelling, so he keeps doing it. "I just want to know what the fuck is going on, and what kind of fucking meds Calum's apparently on and why, and how Ashton is, because he could be dead inside for all I know! Have I been talking to a shell, Mike? I wouldn't even fucking know! And how the fuck are you, anyway? Fuck, Michael, just tell me how you're doing!"

Luke huffs, crossing his arms and taking the blankets with him, accidentally ruining his angry streak with a blanket wrap and another pout. Michael stares at him in complete bewilderment, eyebrows pulled down but eyes wide a and lips pursed slightly.

"I've never seen anyone more angry about their friends' wellbeing," he says cautiously.

Luke doesn't know what to say, so he just throws his arms up before slapping his hands against his thighs, making him look like a bird flapping his wings. "Yeah, well!" He yells.

"Calm down," Michael holds one hand out, like that's going to calm Luke down, and raises his eyebrows. Luke scowls but let's him continue. "I'm fine, Lukey. Ashton is struggling, but he's alright. We're working on it. Calum caught a cold at pride, so Ash got them some over the counter stuff and it reacted badly with the estrogen. It made them have really bad dysphoria, and there was a little bit of a breakdown last night, but it's okay, now. Ash just gets nervous about these things, you know, and wants to make sure everything's going to be okay now."

He waits patiently while Luke processes all of this. He feels like an idiot. He knows Calum had a cold and was on estrogen. He knows Ashton bought cold medicine for Calum yesterday. He knows Ashton's working through his issues and doing better. He knows Michael's calm and even throughout everything, like a center point in their wild fucking lives. He knew all of this, he just failed to connect all the dots.

"Alright?" Michael asks patiently.

Luke huffs, doesn't quite want to admit how stupid he was. He mumbles quietly, glaring at the floor like he can see himself in it.

"C'mere," Michael calls, opening his knees a bit. Luke drags himself over and pouts some more, as pathetically as possible, so Michael tugs him in between his open legs and wraps his arms around Luke's waist and ribs.

"'M sorry I yelled at you," Luke sniffs, throwing his arms around Michael's neck and shoving his face into the older boys hair.

"It's alright," Michael assures him, gently stroking Luke's hair. Luke nuzzles into the side of his head and sighs in content, trying to avoid stepping on the ruined turkey slices.

((Question: not a question, but scream about something that makes up have some sort of emotion. Let it out. Tell me about it. (I'll try to reply to all of them this time omg)

Answer: GOD OKAY I DRAW WITH CHALK (pastels whatever) AND IM DRAWING OUTSIDE OF MY SALON IN EXCHANGE FOR HAIR DYE AND LIKE THREE OTHER BUSINESS OWNERS ASKED ME TO DRAW FOR THEM. FOR FREE. I CANT DRAW FOR FREE BECAUSE IT TAKES ME UPWARDS IF THREE DAYS TO FINISH A DRAWING AND I HAVE UNTIL FRIDAY. FUCK.

-Mel))