milk and cookies // ot4 // BOOK FOUR

michael.

his best friend was gone. vanished. no sign of him when daylight came around.

joy had called him in the morning. "is he at your house? he said he was coming home last night."

"..no, he's not here. i'll look around for him."

he was never found.

michael clifford had lost his best friend.

and after losing his best friend, who simply vanished, nothing was ever the same. he had lost himself completely.

he tried to forget.

drank, partied, did drugs, everything but the kitchen sink.

michael from three months ago was an entirely different person than michael now.

because michael clifford still had his best friend.

and now he had nobody.

he didn't care that he was wasting his life away. he didn't care if he was drinking himself into oblivion. he didn't care if he found himself napping on a park bench after a party.

and he didn't care if he didn't wake up.

it was late at night. or early in the morning. three am.

michael stumbled around, blocks away from the raging party that was dying down, wandering aimlessly throughout the empty street.

cars littered both sides of the street, and the breeze was just cool enough to send chills down michael's spine.

michael liked to think he could still hear the upbeat music coming from the house blocks away, but it was just all in his head. though, he still bobbed his head to the imaginary music as he walked down the empty street.

his mind and his body were completely separated from one another. his mind was jamming to upbeat trashy pop while his body stumbled and dodged over aged cracks in the road.

his body didn't seem to see the small pebble in the road though, because in an instant, michael was on the ground with scraped hands, skidded jeans, and soon to be bruised knees.

the thing though is, michael didn't care. he began to laugh at his clumsiness, his blindness for not seeing the ditsy little pebble that seemed to have a great impact on michael's well being. he also couldn't even tell he was laughing.

he also couldn't tell he was crying just a moment later.

all his emotions blended with the drugs and the alcohol. he felt nothing anymore. the pain and dirtied bleeding hands didn't feel like anything, and the bruises and scabs to come from this wouldn't feel like anything either.

michael stayed there in the street. he didn't feel like moving, and he didn't think he had to. it's not like anyone was going to come barreling down the street after him. and it's a free country. he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to.

he looked up at the stars. they glistened through the thin cloud that wanted to cover their sparkle. michael liked to think that calum was one of those stars. he talked to the stars because he had no one else to talk to.

music still played in his head. but the music changed after a second. it went from upbeat, cookie cutout trashy pop to a nostalgic sound. it took michael a second, but the sound came to him.

it sounded like ice cream truck music.

that put a smile on michael's face. how nostalgic, he thought.

he didn't bother to wipe his not tear stained cheeks, but he did decide to get up. he hissed as he pressed his hands into the cool road, and he got up slowly. he didn't brush off any pebbles or debris that clung to his clothes.