the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

twenty two

twenty two

"Thank you," Luke said as Michael pulled off the highway a few days later.

"Hm?"

The blonde reached over, turning down the music playing off the AUX cord. The clock illuminated 11:05 p.m., and they were almost home. "Thank you for this week," Luke continued, "It—It meant a lot."

Mike smiled, "Of course. I'd do anything for you." He reached over, holding out his hand.

Luke looked down at the space between then. His hand laid so calmly only inches above Luke's thigh. He entwined their fingers, ignoring the feeling of electricity burning through his system. It wasn't just electricity, it was a power surge. It was millions of billions of hypothetical volts connecting them together. "You're something special, Clifford."

Michael quickly glanced over, giving him a simple smile.

He stopped at the red light. It was the last turn before reaching Luke's complex. Michael leant over, kissing his cheek. It felt like feathers to Luke, so light. He was so caring, so soft.

Luke didn't think he loved him, though. Frankly, he was sure if he felt any romantic connection with anyone. Michael made him feel good, hell, Michael made him feel something indescribable.

Mike pulled into the parking lot, turning off the ignition. "So, I'll get your bag, can you get the canvases?"

"Probably," Luke answered. He flipped the front seat, reaching into the back to retrieve the nine canvases he completed. He carefully took them out, leaning them against Mike's car. "Okay, I lied. I can't get all of these."

Michael laughed. He swung Luke's bag over his shoulder, going around the side to grab half of the masterpieces. He double clicked the lock, a short honk following to make sure it was locked.

He led Luke to his door, turning around so Luke could unlock it.

Once inside, they were met with three wide awake and severely drunk roommates, along with a new member, yet he was asleep. Blue-haired Alex jumped over the couch, running to hug Luke.

"You're alive!" The man yelled, holding Luke's body closer.

"You're drunk," Luke stated, "And I'm not a hugging person."

He backed off, understanding him. "Are you staying over? Need a drink? Lube? Anything?" He put an arm around Michael.

"He is not twenty-one, back off, now." Luke dragged a few of the canvases to his bedroom, kicking open the wooden door and placing them inside.

"I'd love to, but I've gotta get home." Mike slowly unwrapped himself from Luke's roommate's arm, picking up the other half of canvases and placing them in Luke's bedroom.

"We love you here, Michelangelo," Jack yelled from the living room couch. His voice was slurred, yet extremely loud.

Michael looked over, a laugh escaping his lips.

Ashton was curled up in the arm chair, still cradling a beer in his hands. He had a dark haired boy asleep in his lap, Ash's tan arm holding him up from falling.

Luke came back out, standing a few inches from Michael. "I think I'm good now. I'll probably see you at the art store soon, if not we'll plan a date or something.'

Mike leaned in, quickly pecking his lips. "Sounds perfect to me. Text me if you need anything. Stay away from those drunk boys."

Luke nodded, walking him out and locking the front door.

After leaving, Luke went to his bedroom, collapsing into his unmade bed. It was weird sleeping alone. He didn't like sleeping alone after an entire week of having Michael wrapped around him.

He stared at the ceiling, the paper stars hanging off of them blowing slowly in their low air conditioning.

Luke was happy, he felt happy.

It felt like all those days of everyone telling him it'll get better finally arrived. All the waiting, all the patience. He's finally happy.

He didn't know this is what it felt like.

Luke reached up at his lips, feeling the smile on his lips.

He giggled, rolling over to face the wall.

Happy.