blondie [muke af]

thirty one

thirty one

The Clifford family sat around dinner on a Friday night, hoping for a quiet weekend.

"Do you want to go hang out with some friends? Or they could come here," Michael offered to Cy as the three ate their pasta dinner. Mike twirled his fork around, taking a bite of their take out.

"I hate my friends," he responded, standing up to take his dinner plate to the sink.

Luke kicked at the floors in his bare feet, he didn't feel this conversation was really a place for him to butt in to.

"I'm just worried for you, Bud," Mike said, taking his and Luke's own plates to the sink to wash off.

Cyril was going through the fridge looking for more food. He wasn't really hungry, he was just bored. "Don't be. If you want the house to yourself, just say so."

"I don't," he defended, "I just don't like when you're up in your room all by yourself. I don't want you to waste away your teenage years like that."

"I'm not!" Cy raised his voice, closing the fridge and turning to his brother, "All you did for, like, twenty years was mope around. You have no right to tell me I can't do the same."

"But I regret doing that," Michael responded, keeping his voice low. He took breaths through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to not start something when Luke was around. "I'm trying to prevent you from making the mistakes I did."

"I'm a Clifford; all we know how to do is mistakes," he shot back. His empty eyes were daring Michael to say something back. He had nothing to lose.

Cy knows Michael more than Michael knows Michael. "That's not true and you fucking know it."

Luke stood up, slowly taking steps closer to the counter in case one of them started to throw ceramic dishes at each other.

Cyril tilted his head to the left, his hands on his hips, "Do I? You know we were all mistakes. Mom wasn't supposed to get pregnant with you, I wasn't supposed to be born, the business wasn't supposed to happen, they weren't supposed to be on that plane, it wasn't supposed to crash! But, in the end, we are all one huge mistake." Cy was kind of like a supernova: Always ready to explode and destroy.

Luke would never blame the kid, he's had some bad few years.

"Cyril, don't start this again. I give you everything you want, everything you need." Michael placed the dishes in the dishwasher, pressing a few buttons to start it up for the night.

"I hate you, you ruined my life. I wish you weren't all I had," he spoke sternly. Turning his back to leave the room.

Michael tilted his head back, a groan leaving his lips as he called Cy's name, following him out of the room.

Luke held his elbow, "Give him space."

"You don't understand, if I give him space, he will slit his fucking throat," Mike said as he released himself from Luke's grip.

The blonde followed him to the stairs. "Just leave him be," he tried again.

Michael didn't want to tell Luke certain things. He didn't want Luke to worry, mostly. "I know you're trying to help, Baby, but I need you to let me deal with this one." Mike held both of Luke's hands in his own, his demeanor taunting.

Luke followed on Mike's heels like a puppy dog, trying to explain to him that the fifteen-year-old only needs space, not his brother breathing down his neck. The two stopped at Cy's door. "Please leave him alone," Luke whimpered.

"Leave," Michael demanded, tilting his head down as he knocked on the wooden door. There was no response.

"Mike—."

"Leave!" He shouted, turning around to usher Luke in the opposite direction.

The blonde watched from the doorway of their bedroom as Michael opened the bedroom door, reveling the darkness Cyril lived in. He let himself in, closing the door fast. "

I just wanted to help," Luke whispered to himself. He slouched into their bed, just wanting to sleep the night and day away.

He remembers what it's like to be fifteen and not fitting in anywhere. Sure, he had friends and most people liked him. But there was no one to go on adventures with him around the city. No one to send him happy birthday messages or post on social media. There were no funny photos or videos. His hobbies were never shared with anyone close.

He never had the teenage years he was supposed to. Luke never had that friend who was the same size and style and they'd just trade clothes. He didn't have anyone to be happy with when he learned a new riff on guitar or wrote a new song. He didn't have anyone. He knows what it's like.

Michael curled his body around Cy's, holding him protectively against his body. He didn't speak, only rubbed soothing circles on the younger boy's back. Their father used to always comfort Michael when he was upset, even if Mike was upset at their father.

Michael didn't scold Cy, Cyril didn't do anything wrong.

Cy was sad and Michael knew it.

The teenager needs love and Michael wants to give it.

"Do you remember when Dad took us to London together for the first time?" Mike asked, his voice soothing.

Cy let out a small laugh and sniffle, "Yeah. You got us lost in the metro."

"It was not my fault," Mike defended, rubbing smaller and smaller circles on Cy's back, "Dad shouldn't have trusted twenty-one-year-old me with a five year old."

Cyril laughed again before returning to his quiet self. "I miss him, and Mom," he whispered.

"I know you do, I miss them, too."

"I'm sad, Mike."

"I know you are, I know," he sighed.

If it wasn't so dark, Michael would be able to see the blush rise to Cyril's cheeks. He didn't like admitting his sadness—it made him feel weak. "Don't send me back to rehab, please."

"I'm not going to."

"I want friends, I really do. But no one wants to be my friend," Cy sighed, brushing his nose deeper into Michael's chest.

Mike rain fingers through the dark brown hair, "I'll always be your friend."