Beside You - A Cake Songfic

The hand moves of its own accord, chucking the blue pen across the room. A moment passes before I realize it's my hand. Of course; nobody else is here. It bounces off the wall opposite of where I sit on my bed, and lands dejected on the gray carpet. My eyes remain on the pen, unblinking, as if I was having a staring contest. Half expecting the pen to get up and walk back to me, my body remains motionless for what feels like hours. Then again, I had done that an awful lot lately.

Very slowly, I make the trek to the other side of the room and pick up the pen. It sits in my hand, somehow still looking dejected and alone. Who knew someone could relate to something as insignificant as a pen? It was empty, not a drop of ink left inside, just like me. Empty. Through the silence in my room, I hear someone walking down the hall, towards my door. I pray that whoever is outside passes without a word. They've been trying to get me out of here, or at least to say something, for the past two weeks. Two weeks, two days, and... three hours now.

"Hey Cal, I'm just gonna run and get some pizza for dinner. The delivery around here kinda sucks ass. Want anything else?" Luke asked me while he put on his shoes. I shook my head, too lazy to divert my attention from the boring show on the television. I heard him sigh and grab the keys before he walked to the hotel room door.
"I'll be back soon," Luke added, making it sound more like a question than a statement. I tore my eyes from the TV and looked out the window to the city lights of London blurred by the storm, then at Luke who was almost out the door.
"Luke! Be careful driving man. It's... rough out there."
He just nodded, then was gone in a second. The lights flickered.

The memories of that evening come rushing back, completely unwanted. How could I have been such a dick to my best friend? That's why I blamed myself for all of... this. If I wasn't such a god-damned fucking idiot, maybe he'd still be here, with us.

Suddenly, someone knocks on my door. Apparently, whatever idiot outside my door didn't know what "go away" meant. I really hope it's not Ashton.

"Calum?" Ashton. Of course. "Listen, it's not fucking easy for any of us, not any more than it is for you. You just can't stay up in your room forever. He's in a good place now."

I completely ignore Ashton's "come out of your room" speech for the umpteenth time and shuffle back to my unmade bed. Crumpled notebook paper is scattered over the sheets, but I have no energy to throw them away. I'm also running out of time. These whole two weeks and only an hour left until my chance will slip away. The empty pen in my hand, the same one we've all used to write lyrics, is thrown back down to the floor as I reach for another one off my bedside table.

I hastily open my notebook to find a single piece of paper left inside. Before I know what is going on, my hand darts to the top line of the page and words emerge.

Within a minute I was all packed up.
I’ve got a ticket to another world.
I don’t wanna go,
I don’t wanna go.

Fresh tears prick the back of my eyes, and before I can control them, they begin to drip down my cheeks and onto my shirt, which I haven't changed in a week. The only exception was this afternoon. We laid Luke to rest today.

When I can finally see what I have written, the words shock me. They hadn't come out of my head, I think. It takes me a moment to realize that if Luke could speak to me right now, that is exactly what he would say. Within a minute he was gone. He had a ticket to Heaven, and he didn't want to go. Not yet. It's almost as if Luke was guiding my hand across the page, writing for me. If only that were true.

Loud sirens outside tore me from a TV induced trance. A full hour passed since Luke had left, and I didn't even notice. It wasn't until whatever show was on ended that I realized the time. 8:00 on the nose. Luke left at 7:03 exactly. How I remember that when I was being an asshole, I never knew. My eyes involuntarily rolled as I hopped off the couch to grab my phone from charging in the wall. Grumbling to myself about slow deliveries, I dialed Luke's number.
It went straight to voicemail.
Groaning in annoyance, I dialed Michael. He answered on the first ring.
"Hey, Cal."
"Mikey, have you heard from Luke? He left an hour ago to go get pizza and he isn't back yet. His phone is going straight to voicemail."