the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

seven

seven

"Honey, I'm home!" Michael yelled when he entered the art store ten minutes before closing.

"I'm not your 'honey', and this isn't your home," Luke answered. He was stacking pencils on top of each other at his cash register, trying to make them balance. It was a really slow shift, Michael was only the second customer to come in.

Mike shrugged. "Close enough." He made his way to the back of the store, looking through the aisles. "Where are the Copics?"

"Aisle twelve," Luke sighed. He loved his job, but at the same time he hated his job. He pushed the stool closer to the counter as he yawned. He pushed over his tower of pencils, placing them back into the proper cup.

"Do you need any supplies while I'm here?" He genuinely asked.

Luke blushed a deep shade, he would never ask for help. Even as a kid with three broken fingers and tears in his eyes, he would whisper out an 'I'm fine'. "No, no, it's alright. Is this all for tonight?" He sat up straighter in his chair, ringing up the three packets of pens.

"Yeah. I have a gallery coming up, it's really big."

The blonde tried not to roll his eyes as cocky Michael came back into view. "Good for you," he said.

"Thanks. This is the highest I've been billed for a gallery. Like, my name is at the very top. Isn't that amazing?"

"Look, I know you're proud of yourself. Yay you. But, I really don't care. Get your modern art off of my lawn." Luke bagged his items without looking up at the younger boy.

Michael gave him his credit card with a laugh. "Your hatred for modern art is truly hilarious. I love it."

"Stop annoying me. Get out of my store." Luke stood up, handing Michael his plastic bag. He pushed his stool under the cashier and turned off the machine. No one was going to come in five minutes until closing. No one.

"I don't know, I have a bit of time to talk about the deep, psychological warfare that modern art seems to be." Michael leant against the counter, his dark eyes watching Luke walk around the aisles and tidy up for the next shift tomorrow morning.

"It's not a psychological warfare, it's a fucking straight line," Luke spit out. He circled the building, the keys in his hand jingling. He left the employee's lounge door open so he could still hear Michael talk—supposing he was going to. Luke grabbed his bag, then turned off the lights.

"I don't know, I don't think you're looking deep enough," Michael teased. Even though Mike practically ran the whole modern art world, he knew it was ridiculous. He could come up with a bullshit sob story and sell it for ten thousand.

Luke rolled his eyes as he started to shut off the lights. "You put a pink brush on a stretched canvas and call it your struggle with yourself. You get positive reviews and written articles for something you barely tried for."

"You actually looked at my art?" His tone changed from teasing to serious. Michael twisted the bag in his hand as he started to walk out with Luke.

"Of course I did, I wanted to see if you were as big of a deal as you make yourself to be," Luke bitterly responded. He closed the front door, locking it tight behind him. He turned back around to face Michael. Half of his face was illuminated in the streetlight and he looked like an angel.

"Did you—Did you really not like it?"

Luke looked up at him. His insecurity was showing like blinking stage lights. "I mean, I didn't hate it. I thought it was great, Mike, but you could do so much more. You have so much life in you, so much to show, and you're wasting it away."

Michael looked down at their feet, he scraped the toes of his ripped apart boots together and nodded his head.

"Come on, don't make me feel bad." Luke placed his hand on Michael's shoulder, resting it lightly by his neck. His long fingers picked at the dyed hair lightly. "You're gonna go far, kid. Don't mold to the normal, be you. Do you. Stop trying to be everyone else."

Michael nodded. His eyes weren't lit up, they were glassy and sad. "I should get going. I'll see you next week or something." He turned his back, letting Luke's arm fall to his own side.

"Hey, wait up!" Luke called out his name, running quickly to catch up. "When's your gallery? I'll come."

Mike sniffled and smiled. He looked up at Luke, his eyes filled with hope once more. "I'll send you all the details tonight."

Luke liked having something to look forward to. Tonight.