Chapter Text
Michael Clifford died three years ago. March 19th, to be exact. That was the day Luke Hemmings walked into the bathroom of the house he and Michael shared, to find the love of his life bleeding out on the floor.
He had rushed him to the hospital, pleading with him to stay awake and alive. The doctors told him that they got there in time…so why was he pronounced dead? Luke didn’t know. All he knew was that Michael was dead.
It’s been three years since the accident. Luke’s been going to therapy twice a week since then. He’s confident that everything’s going great. Sure, he has the occasional nightmares, and he swears he sees the occasional stranger that looks strikingly similar, with their dyed hair in that same styled way Michael used to have it.
There were a few instances that didn’t make the cut when talking to his therapist. For example, he didn’t tell his therapist that he saw a man — only a glimpse — who looked too familiar to his late love, and he had a panic attack in a mall’s public bathroom.
Oh, he also didn’t mention to her that the same man has been seen at least 30 other times, on separate days, and in very different locations.
Maybe he had a stalker. Wouldn’t be the first time a fan got too close. But 5 Seconds of Summer broke up after Michael’s death, so Luke had (naïvely) assumed that fans wouldn’t try to pry on their personal lives anymore.
It was supposed to be a regular hangout. Ashton, Calum and Luke. Three old friends hanging out like old times.
Luke walks into this cozy little cafe that the four of them used to frequent. Upon walking in, he picks up the scent of cinnamon coffee and sickeningly sweet pastries him and Michael used to indulge in on bad days.
He glances around until his eyes land on Calum and Ashton. He attempts a smile, though it falls flat as memories come rushing back. Touring the world, playing songs he’d write, finding Michael on the bathroom floor, being the one to tell his family that their son’s dead—
“Luke!” Ashton beams, holding an arm out to pull him into a half-assed hug, “You took ages to get here, we thought you bailed on us.”
“Nah. Getting out of the house will be good…” Luke replies, slipping into the booth beside Calum, who smiles and pulls him into a side hug.
”How’ve you been, mate?” Calum asks, slowly retracting his arm from Luke’s shoulders. However, he lets his hand linger on his back, a silent gesture of comfort.
The younger man doesn’t know how to reply. How do you admit that, despite it being three years, you’re still grieving?
”I’ve been…” he starts, gulping to force down the lump in his throat, “fine,” he finishes, nodding. “I- I‘ve been songwriting a bit, lately. Trying to get back into it, I guess.”
”That’s great! You…planning on being 5SOS back, huh?” Calum asks, resting his head on his palm as they slowly get comfortable with each other again. It’s like the two and a half years apart never happened.
There’s a silence, where Luke just stares at Calum like a deer in headlights. A muscle in his jaw twitches and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to stand up and run out of the cafe.
Start 5SOS again? Without their guitarist? It’s unfathomable to Luke, considering Calum was the one to suggest the band take a break in the first place.
”I don’t know,” he finally replies, shrugging.
A waiter walks over, smiling ear-to-ear as he looks at the three men. ”Good afternoon! You ready to order?” He asks, flipping open a pocket notebook to take notes of the order.
Luke looks up, meeting the other male’s gaze. He’s maybe 23, at most. “Hey, yeah, could I just get a black coffee? Thanks,” he murmured, flashing the waiter a small smile before turning to the other two males.
Ashton and Calum ordered for themselves, and Luke felt a tightness in his chest. Michael should be here. He should be sat across from Luke, annoying him as they ate and drank. A kick against his shin broke through his thoughts.
”Ow— what?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at Calum. The other man smirks, nudging the blonde’s shoulder. “That waiter was giving you heart eyes, man. Ask for his number when he comes back.”
There it is. That’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. Luke gulps, before he suddenly stands up, grabbing his phone and wallet. “I— I can’t—“ he stammers, taking a step back before rushing out of the cafe. It’s as if he blacked out, because the next thing he remembers is being stood in his kitchen, taking two pills and downing them with beer.
When he wakes up, on the floor no less, there’s a message waiting for him.
310-195-2968:
Hey, Ashton gave me your number.
Long time no see, Luke.
What the actual fuck? Luke does not recognise the number in the slightest. But clearly Ashton knows the mysterious person on the other side of the text chain. Still not completely sober and clear minded, Luke fumbles a reply.
:Luke
?Who the fuck is this
This isn’t funny
310-195-2968:
wow. and here i thought you’d remember the man you fell in love with.
Ash claims you’re still hung up over me
Luke stares at that message for the longest time, before his mind catches up. He looks around his apartment, searching for some hidden camera or his friends hiding around a corner. When he figures out that he’s alone, he manages a reply.
:Luke
I don’t know who this is, but you’re not funny
Please just leave me alone
With that, Luke places his phone face up on the coffee table. Who could be so cruel as to imitate a dead man through text? What kind of psychopath does that? His phone buzzes again, but in a different pattern.
Buzz, buzz buzz. Pause. Buzz, buzz, buzz.
He picks it up, slamming his finger on the green button with too much force. The phone screen lights up with a black screen, though it’s a FaceTime call from that same number.
Normally if Luke had a weird fan like this, he’d just block and move on. Something’s stopping him.
”Dude, actually fuck off. You’re pathetic,” he says as the other person’s screen continues to show black. That is, until the phone shifts, and a face comes into frame. Luke feels his heart stop, eyes brimming with tears now. His free hand comes up to cover his mouth, eyes wide in disbelief.
On the other side of the phone is Michael. His Michael. The one that was bleeding out on the bathroom floor three years ago. He’s alive, and calling Luke.
”Michael…”
”Hi, Luke. Long time no see.”