blondie [muke af]

thirty six

thirty six

Michael creaked open the door of their shared bedroom. He stuck his head in, whispering a quick, "Babe?"

Luke was sleeping a lot these days. He never really wanted to do anything besides lounge around the house with Cyril. "Asleep," he moaned.

"We've got a date tonight, Baby."

"I'm not your baby," Luke groaned, moving the sheets up closer to his neck. Luke was still mad, less mad than before, but still flaming mad. He kept thinking back to Michael's last boyfriend, the artist dude who got a restraining order against him. Was it because of this?

Mike sighed, stepping into the room, "I just wanna have a nice night, a nice dinner." He took a few steps, sitting on the edge of their large bed. He placed a hand on the blanket covering Luke's ankles, this was the closest he's been to touching Luke in a week.

"I don't want to go anywhere."

"Do you not want to go anywhere with me, or just not at all?"

"At all," Luke answered. He sat up, his legs sliding from Mike's grasp. His saddened eyes looked at his fiancé. He had his teeth dragging across his bottom lip as he tried to think of a sentence to say.

Michael stared back at him for a few seconds. The hole's in Luke's shirt were showing his bony collarbones, sometimes Mike forgets how skinny his lover truly is.

He couldn't hold the look as he dropped his head, looking down at his hands. "What're we gonna do, Lukey?"

"I—I don't know."

Michael sighed. He didn't know either. His feet carried him upwards until he had a chance to stop, "I'm going order make some food, then we can talk about it."

Luke watched him leave their bedroom, expecting him to turn around for one last glance with stars and hearts in his glowing green eyes. But, he never did.

The blonde laid in bed for close to an hour, just running his hands up and down his stomach. This child growing inside of him was the only reason he's been in this house for a week. The small bump that makes his feet swell and stomach cramp is the only reason. "You're the reason," he whispered to the stretched skin of his abdomen, "the only reason."

Michael knew Luke hated candles—he was afraid of fire—so he put battery-powered candles on the dining room table instead. He knew Luke liked their square plates better than circular ones. He knew Luke liked the fork on the left and spoon and knife on the right ("No, Michael. Fork has four letters like left, it goes on the left. Spoon and knife have five letters like right, it goes on the right.") He knew the younger boy liked dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and Annie's bunny-shaped parmesan mac and cheese. He knew Luke.

Michael placed the child-like meal on the matching plates, making them look pleasing to the eyes and taste buds. He's grown a lot through his thirty-one years of life, and he's proud that he can make macaroni from a box without burning in—he couldn't say the same thing ten years ago.

He dimmed the chandelier hanging over the glass table after placing their meal down. Iscariot by Walk the Moon was playing from the speakers very softly, a relaxing tone spreading over the room.

He headed back upstairs, tucking the left side of his sweater into his tight jeans. Michael ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling at the strand to make them stick up the way he liked.

The door was open the slightest when he stuck his head through. Luke was resting against the back board of their bed, both of his hands on his bulge of a stomach. His fingers ran in circles over it, a soft smile casting over his face.

"Hey, Beautiful," Michael whispered, taking a full step into the dark room, "I made us dinner if you want some."

Luke opened his eyes. He pulled down the large tee shirt so his skin wasn't showing anymore. Michael watched him move out of the sheets, his fuzzy purple socks looking more and more comfortable with every step.

He stood up with a crack of the back, running a cold hand through his perfectly set hair. Michael can never figure out how his hair manages to stay so perfect, he always looks so perfect.

The blonde walked next to Michael, taking his hand in his lovers as they walked down the enchanting staircase. "Is Cy joining us?"

"I invited him, but he preferred the basement."

"Well, I mean, have you seen the size of the television down there? I don't blame him," Luke scuffed.

Mike let out a small laugh, still leading him around the sharp corners and into their dining room. He dimmed the lights, letting the fake candle illuminate the small section of the large table where their plates were set.

Luke smiled, imagining all the effort Michael put into one simple meal. "You're such a nut."

"Thanks."