the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

six

six

From / Michael

Come over, no one is home.

Luke looked up from his dinner when his phone lit up. He furrowed his eyebrows and pushed his ramen noodles to the side.

To / Michael

You live alone??? No one is ever home???

Luke continued his lonely dinner. All of his roommates were at work, leaving him actually alone in their small apartment.

From / Michael

Whatever, come over.

Luke's mind was crowded and hazy. What was he supposed to bring? Anything? What were they going to do? He didn't mind being friends with Ashton, that was enough. He doesn't need anymore friends, he already has one. He doesn't want to be friends with Michael, he doesn't want to have anything to do with Michael. Every time he's around Mike, he just feels jealous, angry, upset. He doesn't like feel those negative feelings.

Regardless, he stood up, placing the practically empty bowl of ramen in the sink, hoping one of the roommates would do the dishes. There were layers of bowls and cups and silverware as it has been stacking up for days. Four people use a lot of dishes.

Luke sighed, put on rubber gloves, and started doing the dishes himself.

Michael waited patiently at the door like a puppy dog. He got so excited around Luke. Like, really, really, really excited. He was in his usual black skinny jeans, a patch of purple paint around the thigh matching the shade of his hair. It was a perfect mistake. His grey muscle tee showed off his arms full of random, doodled tattoos. He hoped Luke liked tattoos.

Mike tucked in the ripped seam of his shirt when a taxi cab with the blonde man pulled up to his curb side. Yeah, Michael was watching from eighteen floors up for Luke. It was pretty creepy but Luke was the only good thing about his week.

His feet carried him to the hallway mirror as he fixed his appearance. Michael never liked the way he looked while he was growing up. (He's still a kid). He didn't like the skin around his stomach or the two colors of his eyes. He thought his nose was too big and his arms were too long. He—barely—made it through high school a year early, and now he's come to peace with himself. He accepts his tummy and round nose. He's okay with the person he is, it just took a while.

The door bell rang and Michael's eyes lit up. Luke rolled on the balls of his feet as he locked his hands behind his back. He was fairly scared, even though it was just Michael. Luke felt a weary feeling in his stomach, he was really nervous.

Mike opened the door, a goofy smile upon his lips. "Welcome."

Luke smiled ever so slightly, but Michael saw it. "It's so grey outside today, I think it's going to rain."

"I feel like New Yorkers only talk to each other about the weather," Michael observed. He closed and locked the door behind Luke, watching him slide off his shoes and place his jacket on the edge of the coffee table. Mike didn't realize he owned a coffee table.

Luke looked around the large loft, everything was aesthetically pleasing. The grey walls matched well with the white stoned floors. The 1975 was playing from the wireless speakers that were placed around every corner of the house. The sound was amazing as Luke walked more into Michael's place.

His living room was clean, all the books color-coded in the bookshelves. The glass table was shining, showing the reflection of the crystal chandelier above. The television was large, games and gaming systems were on the shelves next to it. A record player had a vinyl resting upon its case, just begging to be played. Luke had a thing for vinyls.