we don't care [muke af]

eighteen

eighteen

Michael's mother didn't recognize her son. It wasn't just the brown dye covering his naturally blonde hair. It was the way his hand rested at Luke's back, ushering him through the busy airport of LAX. It was the way his green eyes were wide, scanning every direction and pulling the small blonde closer if anyone was too close to him or looked at him more than once.

He was protective, he was all grown up.

Michael spotted his mother. He was finally able to take a breath that he knew he was holding. He squeezed Luke's hand, causing the boy to look up. "That's Mom," he said, lifting both of their hands to point at the waving blonde.

"Aw, she looks like you," he commented. Luke had purple bags under his eyes from an entire week of restless nights. He lost the color from his skin, the rose from his cheeks. A long day of flights drained him as he practically collapsed onto Michael.

"You two look dead," Ms. Clifford commented when they got closer.

Michael dropped their carry ons onto the floor, knowing baggage claim wouldn't be ready for a while. "Thanks, Mom." He held out his hands, waiting for an embrace.

"No, I'm mad at you, no hug." She walked closer to Luke, embracing him. "I hope you're hug type of person," she said, holding him close.

Luke looked up at Michael, a cocky smile on his face. "I am. Thank you."

"I'm am so sorry for my son. He's such an idiot." She took a step back, looking Luke up and down. From his skinny jeans unable to fill him out, and his tee shirt hanging from his shoulders. "We should get your bags then some food in this boy," Michael's mother concluded, turning back to her son.

"We just ate."

"He looks like a starving child! What do you feed him? Walnuts?"

Michael picked up Luke's bag then his own. "He's more of a pistachio type of guy."

She held out her manicured index finger, "Don't you dare start with me." Ms. Clifford grabbed Luke's hand, "Let's go, leave him behind."

Luke smiled, feeling the same type of love his mother gave off. "You would like my mother, she refers to me as Idiot."

"I can be your mom, too. I don't need Michael, just you."

"Mom," Michael whined, "Stop. Leave him alone." He lugged the bags behind him, not sure what Luke packed in there but he was pretty sure it was rocks. Or stones. Maybe bricks, too.

She wrapped her arm around Luke, cradling him like a child. "Have you ever been to California?"

He shook his head.

"We have to show you everything, then! What do you like?"

Luke shrugged his shoulders, suddenly overwhelmed by the mother clutching onto his tee shirt. "I'm fine with just sitting around. I'm not an exciting person."

"All my ex-son does is talk about you, I know you're exciting."

"I'm right here," Mike said from a few steps behind them.

Ms. Clifford shooed him off, stopping in front of the carousel with their flight number on it as bags began to roll by. "Do you like shopping?"

"Not really. I wear the same outfit every day. I can keep you company, though."

"Such a sweetie pie," she cooed. "Are you a morning person?"

"No, no, no," he shook his head fast, looking up at his boyfriends' mother with large eyes.

"Good, no one in the Clifford household is. You're not allergic to dogs, right?"

"He loves dogs," Michael pushed in between them, causing his mother to take a step to the side. Mike put his own arm around Luke's shoulder, holding him to his chest. "I think you're freaking him out. Stop it."

"I'm your mother, please don't be rude."

Mrs. Clifford watched over Luke, watching the way he reacted with Michael. She watched his small smile rise before resting back to a calming peace. She watched his eyes scan the room, taking in everything around him. She watched him throughout the evening, understanding how her son fell in love with him. 

(a/n) the pistachios thing is an inside joke with some of my older readers. my first book on here, the boy with the white eyes, had a line that went "did you feed her walnuts" "no, they were pistachios" and it repeated a few times, because i'm a loser. 

that book is terrible, you don't need to go read it. please don't.