Jail Birds | Muke AU |

Chapter Four

[Michael's POV]

"How can you say that you've lived for 18 years and never once heard of Fall Out Boy?" I exclaim in exasperation.

"How can you sit there and tell me you've never heard of Tchaikovsky?" He retorts

"Fall Out Boy are one of the greatest bands in all time! They've shaped a generation with their message, their music!"

"A generation! Tchaikovsky shaped a century with his compositions! He's one of the greatest composers to ever live!"

"Tchaikovsky can suck my díck!",

"You can suck mine!"

"I'd love to!"

We glare jokingly at each other for a moment, before we both start to laugh. I watch him as his nose crinkles up, closing his eyes as he laughs a little too loudly.

When we both stop laughing, I'm not quite sure what to say. Instead, I look around the little room, the bare, grey walls, so dark that no matter how much light gets through the small, high windows, the room forever remains dreary and depressing.

"All right, visiting time's over." The warden calls. There's a loud scraping of chairs as the visitors stand up, the metal chairs scratching the polished floor as they're pushed back.

I'm about to leave when I hear him mumble, "Thanks for coming,"

I look up at him, and he's smiling shyly, biting his bottom lip  as he plays with his fingers.

"Hey, no problem. It was nice talking to you, Luke. I'll see you next week, yea?" I tell him casually.

"Oh. O-okay"

"Well if you don't want me to-" I tease, grinning.

"No, I do. I really do,"

*     *     *     *     *

I love how the city looks at night. You can't see any of the stars in the sky- none of that cliché crap- but the city lights up in its own way.

The far away skyscrapers with their little windows all yellows and oranges, the neon signs blazing in the distance brighten the night sky. My path is illuminated by the pools of light from the streetlights above, the glowing ember of my cigarette casting a halo around my face.

It's as if just when the sun sets and the world decides to sleep, the city, the people, are really awake and I love being a part of it, even if everyone else is completely oblivious to my existence.

By the time I had turned the corner into my street I was thinking too hard. The thoughts flew through my mind so fast I didn't have enough time to properly concentrate on one before something worse came along.

There was only one thing for when I got like this; alcohol. And a lot of it.

I'm not a an adddict or alcoholic or whatever. But sometimes, when everything's going too fast or my brain won't stop thinking, it helps the world slow down, helps my brain relax a little.

So I trudged down the all too familiar alley, past the people in the shadows, their faces hidden, only their figures and the thin light from their cigarettes visible.

I walk through the door with the broken lock and I'm immediately met with the stink of drugs, and the familiar smell begins to calm me.

There's a chorus of slightly slurred 'Michael!' when I enter the damp living room, plopping myself on the old, yellowed couch covered in the kind of stains I don't want to investigate.

I notice that everyone has a beer in their hands but they're not quite drunk- the night's only just begun. A can of cheap alcohol is shoved towards me and I take a long swig.

After too many cans of beer too count I decide I'm as drunk as I'm gonna get, and that I should head home before I get really wasted. So I handed my half finished drink to someone and left, ignoring their drunken pleas for me to stay.

I make my way through the maze of wide streets and narrow alleyways, stumbling a little in the dark as the alcohol starts to hit me more, flowing through my veins, slowing me down.

In retrospect, the drinking might not have been such a good idea.

I trail my fingers happily along the brick walls as I walk along, until a deep voice from the shadows at the other end of the street calls, "Are you Michael Clifford?"

I squint at the shadows, trying to make figure out the source of the sound. I giggle drunkenly, "The man," I hiccup, "The myth," I burp loudly, "The legend,"

And suddenly I'm pushed to the ground, my head hitting the sidewalk with such force that it takes a second for me to feel the next kick, to register that there's several figures crowded around me.

For a while, it feels like everything's in slow motion, the alcohol still delaying my reactions. And then I'm beaten sober, the world speeding up, the pain sinking in and God, does it hurt.

I curl into a small ball in a vain attempt to protect as the blows keep coming, punches and kicks from every direction, my vision blurring, my ears ringing.

I know better than to yell out, but that doesn't stop my cries of pain. In the dark street people may well hear my screams, but they'll ignore it, just as they always have. Just as I always have when I've heard calls for help during the night.

I inch my hands toward my face, desperately trying to shield it from harm. I know its too late when I feel the blood dripping down my forehead, leaving an odd trail of warmth. 

And then as suddenly as they began, the punches end, but the pain still echoes through me.

Their distant footsteps and muffled talk are the last thing I hear from them before they completely fade away. Leaving me numb on the side of the road, in too much agony to walk away, wondering if this is all some strange kind of karma for sending a perfect angel into a hell hole. 

[A/N]: So heyyyyy. That happened. This is so weird. The dialogue is so like casual and light hearted but the descriptive stuff is kinda depressing. When I started this I wanted it to be the other way around oops :/
Please vote and comment if you enjoyed whatever that was
Oh! Almost forgot! *shameless self promotion* I'm writing a Lashton fic with daylighthxmmings about superheroes so maybe check that out? Pretty please?