Pompeii ➳ muke

five

Michael drops down onto one knee, offering a hand to the fallen boy. The blond huffs, accepting the offer and allowing himself to be pulled onto his feet. Once in an upright position, he brushes off his jeans and repositions the flower crown atop his head.

"There are petals everywhere!" He whines, noticing the yellow petals laying on the sidewalk.

Michael smiles at the boy's childish comment, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

The blond sighs, looking up at Michael with sad eyes.

"No, actually, I'm not. I-"

From behind them, yet another voice calls out and the camera flashes begin once again. Michael's eyes grow wide, startled by the sudden disturbance. He grabs the boy by his arm, dragging him along behind him and down one of the side streets.

"Hey! What are you doing?" He shouts, attempting to stop and pull away from Michael, who manages to keep a hold of him.

Once they make it down the street and across the main road, being sure to avoid the flow of traffic, Michael finally stops. He feels out of breath, his chest tight.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" The blond asks once again, leaning over and heaving in gulps of air.

"You don't know who I am?" Michael questions, obviously confused.

The boy, still bent forward, looks up at him, "Of course I know who you are. Arrogant, asshole rock star. I was just forced into seeing your show."

Michael is stunned. Unsure as to why the younger is so hostile toward him. He doesn't even know him. And to think that he had to be forced into seeing Arcadia play. Michael cannot fathom it. Is he really that bad?

"Forced?" The singer croaks out, eyes meeting the other's.

The blond rolls his eyes, "Yes, forced. As in I didn't want to go, but my friend is like, in love with you guys or something. I can't see why, but he made me go anyways."

Michael opens his mouth to reply, but then the shouts of his name are starting again, this time from teenage fans. And then he's dragging the blond behind him. Luckily, the sleek black limousine that was meant to be there ten minutes ago is parking against a nearby curb. The two move down the crowded sidewalk and to the black vehicle. Michael is quick to open the door and push the blond inside, closing the door once he is safely inside.

The blond is visibly annoyed now, huffing out, "Again, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Michael collapses against the leather seat, taking a deep breath, "I can't be photographed by the paparazzi. I can't even let them near me for legal reasons. There was an incident... You know what? Never mind. Why am I even telling you this? You don't care."

They sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, the driver maneuvering the car through the streets of Los Angeles with ease.

"Where are we even going?" The blond grumbles, looking through the tinted window at the buildings as they pass them by, "I'm pretty sure you've just kidnapped me, by the way."

Michael says he doesn't even know, because he really doesn't. He assumes the driver will simply take him home, but it isn't exactly the best  idea. The paparazzi know  where he lives, they will not hesitate to come there.

"What's your name, anyways?" Michael asks, figuring it may help to break the silence, maybe even ease the awkwardness of it all.

The blond crosses his legs, his pink converse shoes are untied, and his jeans are dirty, "My name is Luke."