we don't care [muke af]

eleven

eleven

It wasn't odd for a teacher to pull a student from study hall. They do it all the time if that student needs extra help, or didn't fill out a test completely. Or, in Luke's case, Michael needed to take him to the clinic.

Luke was dreading it. He watched the clock tick down, and Michael was right on cue. He was walking through the silent study hall at ten, handing a note with Luke's name on it to the study hall monitor.

The blonde stood up before his name was even called. He closed the book he was pretending to study, quickly shoving the heavy textbook under his arm.

Michael gave him a smile as they walked down the main hallway. "How're you doing?" He asked, engaging in a casual conversation.

He smiled at other teachers and students passing down the hallway. His head was hurting and the fluorescent lights illuminating the all white hallways weren't helping.

"I'm doing alright," he said with a quiet, low voice.

"That's good. Let's get up to my room, then we can get going." Mike held open the stairway door for Luke, letting the younger, shorter boy walk in front of him.

Luke felt ill and weak, and he knew that today would only end worse. He was only in grey sweatpants and a navy blue tee shirt. He wasn't in the mood to get dressed nor push himself out of bed.

His blonde hair was a mess, all hiding under a grey beanie. His mother questioned his thick choice in clothes on such a warm, summer day.

Michael and Luke got to room 216 in silence. Mike kept the door open behind him, knowing they'd only be in there for a minute.

Luke took a seat at a desk in the front as Mike picked up his satchel, making sure anything he needed was already in there.

"You ready?" Mike asked.

Luke shrugged, "I guess so." He brought his thumb to his lip, chewing at the nail.

Michael walked past him, turning off the lights. He turned back to his boyfriend, giving him a soft smile. "Let's do this, Babe."

The blonde stood up, pulling at the seam of his tee shirt. He walked in front of Mike, letting the teacher close the door to his classroom.

Everything was a blurry haze. Luke left the school, Luke sat in the passenger seat, Luke held Michael's hand. Michael talked, Michael gave Luke's hand a kiss, Michael parked his truck. Luke sat in his seat, Michael opened his door. Luke held Mike's hand, his lover helped him out. Luke leant into Michael, Michael gave him a hug.

Michael held him tight, the buttons of his Oxford shirt digging into the side of Luke's face. Mike wrapped his arms around Luke's shoulders, holding him close until their heartbeats felt like one. Luke held his breath, holding onto Mike closely.

"It'll be okay," he whispered, knowing Luke wasn't feeling great.

Luke didn't know how to respond. Does he nod? Does he argue? He squeezed him tighter, just wanting to feel.

Mike took a step back, running his hands up and down Luke's arms—creating goose bumps upon the smooth skin. He gave him a smile, ignoring the glassy look in both of their eyes.

Michael was practically dragging a dead body along side him and into the abortion clinic. Mike found the right clinic that wasn't too far away. He wanted Luke to be safe and feel no pain. He just really fucking needed Luke to be happy.

When Mike was growing up, his father stayed out of everything. He didn't speak much, he didn't react much. He lived simply to make Michael and Mike's mother happy. Michael wanted to be that. He wanted to be that in everyone's life. He wanted to be their source of happiness in such a dark, dark world.