thinking about you [muke af]

thirty six +

thirty six +

Michael's childhood home was a lot different than Luke's. 

Mike was an only child, there was no big table filled with their growing spawn. It was simply his mother, father, Michael, then lastly Luke. There weren't scratches on the polished wood from stupid memories of growing up. There weren't dents in the walls or bad do-it-yourself paint job. 

Everything was perfect. The couches were properly fluffed, looking as if no one ever sat on them. The chairs were pushed in at just the right distance. The photos on the walls were properly framed and at the correct angle. Everything matched. Once again, everything was perfect. 

Luke felt out of place as he sat next to Michael on their living room sofa. It was a few minutes past ten at night, they were the only two up. The static television in front of them was quietly playing some news channel, neither of them really listening. 

Michael scooted Luke closer to him, picking up his light body and placing him on his lap before he stretched out himself. The older blonde took a deep inhale and exhale as he made himself comfortable on top of his fiancé. The TV screen was the only resplendent source in the big room.  

The jingling of Mike's childhood dog's collar from across the hallway made a quick and quiet sound before they found themselves in silence once more. Luke rested his head to the side of Michael's chest, he could hear his heartbeat loud and clear. 

"I think Mom likes you," Mike said. His voice was quiet and relaxed, he felt half asleep. 

Luke half smiled. "I like her. Though, your family is intimidating."

Michael chuckled. He placed his hands at the small of Luke's back, rubbing under the teal pajama shirt adorning his frail body. His fingers were soft and comforting. "They don't mean to be, that's just their persona."

"I always thought you grew up in a family like mine—very messy, very artsy. But, you're living in this beautiful home in the mountains only a few miles from Nashville. You literally lived like a prince."

"Well, it's a good thing I found my princess." Michael lingered a kiss on the top of his forehead before turning his head back towards the television above the red brick fireplace. 

Michael's bedroom was exactly what Luke expected. There were books stacked on shelves then a few more thrown to the ground. A few guitars found their way into the most odd places—between his bed and night stand, on top of his bureau, even a few in the closet. 

A messy deck was on the opposite side of the room, an extremely old type writer from his grandmother on the side. He had papers stacked over every available space, not one of them pointing in the same direction. 

Luke dumped his bag on the floor a few minutes after midnight, surprised at the mess. His lover hasn't lived in this room for almost five years, but it continues to smell like Indian food and be a pile of random garbage. 

Michael smiled, quickly smacking his bum. "Welcome to my bedroom." He walked into his room, grabbing a crewneck and throwing it over his cold body. He laid in his bed, pulling the sheets closer to his body. "My parents are on the third floor, which is just a loft, so we can be as loud as we like."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Loud? How so?"

Michael patted the sheets next to him. "I'm not sure I can explain it, I think it'd be better if I showed you."

Luke laughed at his blunt pick up line. He leant down towards his bag, pulling out items he needed. 

Michael stared at his skinny legs, even while flexing they were still the size of a twig. He hated comparing himself to Luke, but he knows he'll never be the size of his gorgeous partner, and sometimes it hurts a bit. His knees stuck out, they were always so knobby. "Do you know how fu.cking lanky you are?" Mike asked.