fight club. lh ; mc.

siete.

Luke wakes up with Michael Clifford's face smushed into his armpit.

To be fair, there are worse things Luke could wake up to, but the blonde can't help but wonder if the action is actually hurting Michael's face, because it must be.

He takes a second to just stare at Michael's red hair, fighting off the urge to run his hand through it. Luke notices how chubby Michael's cheeks look and something in his chest clenches.

He kind of wants to punch himself in the face.

Luke needs a piss, and finally decides it's time to wake Michael up, poking the young boy sharply on the arm.

Michael hisses in his sleep and moves his face out of Luke's armpit, grumbling under his breath as he turns so that his head is on Luke's shoulder, an arm slung around the blonde's lower stomach.

"Michael," Luke tries, poking at his side now, "Michael," he hisses it this time, but the boy is out cold and nothing is shifting him any time soon. Luke blames the pain killers for Michael's dead weight against him.

The blonde realises that there's no way he's getting out of Michael's death grip, and he has to get used to the inevitable that he's probably gonna piss his pants.

Luke's not quite sure how long he sits there for before Michael's making grumbly noises again and his eyes finally begin to flutter open. His dull, forest green eyes take a minute to focus, but once he realises he's leaning against Luke he shoots up immediately.

Luke tries not to be disappointed that Michael's no longer touching him, and fails miserably.

"Your face is a lot less swollen today," the statement come rushing out of Luke's mouth like word vomit, and he cringes internally at himself, "you need painkillers?"

Michael eyes him warily but nods, and Luke's up and away to fetch a glass of water for the young boy before he even has the chance to open his mouth.

The redhead takes the items from Luke with a grateful smile on his face, drinking the water down like he hadn't drank in a week, scooping the pills back with no problem.

"Y'got to go into the club t'day?" Michael asks after a moment of comfy silence, voice still slightly slurred but getting better now that his mouth isn't almost completely swollen shut. Luke shakes his head and Michael nods, "Me neither."

The silence falls again but this time it's kind of uncomfortable, both boys nervous and fidgety around each other, frightened to say anything much to one another in case they set the other off.

"You can go for a shower if you want," Michael tries, "there's, eh, towels on the rack in the bathroom that you can use."

Luke nods, standing up from the sofa again and trying not to wince as a pain shoots up his back and neck, limping slightly as he heads towards the bathroom, leaving Michael in the living area, picking at a loose thread on his skinny jeans.

-----

Michael chokes on his own spit when Luke comes wandering back through into the living area with a towel hung loosely around his hips, blonde hair damp on his forehead, water droplets sliding down his bare torso. Luke's face and chest are burning red from the heat of the shower, and Michael sucks in a breath as his eyes roam all over the older boy's body, looking at all the bruises and scars on his upper body.

"I don't have clean clothes," Luke says eventually, scratching the back of his neck, "do you have anything big enough that would fit me?"

Michael nods, standing up and wandering through to his bedroom, Luke hot on his heels.