"You're crazy and I'm leaving," Luke muttered, turning his back and walking away. Without another word, nor enough time for Michael to convince him to stay a little longer, he disappeared through the door.
The sound of feet against the concrete steps leading to lower levels were loud at first, but eventually they died away and along with it, Michael's ability to produce a sarcastic comeback.
The teen was left on the roof with a stunned expression plastered onto his face - unable to comprehend all that had just occurred before him. The sudden departure was confusing, yes, but what he found most peculiar was Luke's reaction to what he had suggested.
He knew Luke needed a break, he'd seen that kind before. Young and ambitious, yet crippled by the fear of disappointing others and not being able to find a place for themselves in the world.
The stress had burrowed itself into Luke's youth, etching creases into his otherwise flawless face. Michael imagined that his eyes had once been a vibrant blue, shining brighter than any one star in the sky with hope. But now they were grey, still beautiful but at the same time, sad.
Michael was disappointed to find that he was once again alone. Luke was possibly the best company he had had in months, and seeing as the blond had barely even stayed for five minutes, that was saying something.
He looked back out over the city, sighing and closing his eyes on the beautiful view.
Michael knew he had to go back to his step-brother's flat soon. Ashton would be mad if he failed to make it home for the third night in a row, and he just wasn't in the mood for another fight.
He never was, but they always seemed impossible to avoid.
So Michael trailed down the stairs almost an exact hour after Luke, taking the lift to the ground once he was on the top floor of the building. A few office workers were still milling around, sending a few unimpressed stares in the teen's direction. Not that he wasn't use to it.
But that meant he was an expert at ignoring them, and was outside soon later. It was moments like these that Michael wished he could be bothered to learn how to drive - he had no money to take a taxi and had no other option but to walk home.
Being 17 really sucked.
Despite his refusal to do regular exercise and keep fit, he managed to pick up his pace and make it to the flat at just gone four. If he was lucky, Ashton might even be willing to make him dinner that evening.
Michael slammed the door behind him, throwing his keys on the table and dumping his bag behind the sofa. He sat down and began to make himself comfortable, tensing when his step-brother walked slightly drunkenly into the room.
"I didn't think you lived here anymore," Ashton scoffed, turning on the TV and taking a sip from his beer. "Change your mind?"
Michael shrunk back, fiddling with the hem of his shirt to avoid making eye contact. "It was only for two nights. I just didn't feel like coming back, I'm sorry Ash."
"Whatever, just let me watch the game."
He then sat silently, not interested in whatever football match was currently on the screen and not wanting to argue. Ashton occasionally cheered or applauded at the players, but when his excitement turned to rage and he began cursing loudly, Michael left to go to his room.
"Stupid brother," Michael mumbled, kicking over a stack of old CD's on his bedroom floor. "Stupid flat, stupid life, stupid me."
Once he finally managed to calm himself down, following the careful breathing methods that a friend had once taught him, Michael re-stacked the CD's and collapsed tiredly onto his bed.
Whenever his frustration got the better of him, the pile of albums was the only thing he could take it out on. They had been knocked over and put back in place so many times that he had lost count, the cycle seemed never ending.
It was all his dad's old music, records he had collected throughout the years. To Michael, it was just a poor attempt at trying to make up for the fact that he had walked out on them for no reason. There wasn't any logic to it at all, he hadn't ever looked to see what they were, let alone actually listened to any of them.
They were just there to be kicked. A lot.
Michael fixed his eyes on the blank walls, blocking out Ashton's shouts from the other room. A part of him regretted dropping out of school so young; homework was no longer a valid excuse to escape from uncomfortable situations and he never had a productive way of spending the day.
That's why he spent all the time on the roof, dreaming of a life that could never be his.
He couldn't get the conversation he had shared with Luke on the roof that afternoon off of his mind. Michael didn't understand, how someone would choose to escape a frightening situation by putting themselves in another frightening situation.
The guy was scared of heights, what the hell was he doing on a roof?
Although, Michael actually found the whole thing quite fascinating. Interaction of that kind was rare for him, especially something so spontaneous, but he somehow liked it. Luke was puzzling, and he felt oddly desperate to figure it all out, despite not knowing him and doubting they would meet again.
Luke didn't even work at the office. If it had been so crucial for him to get out of the interview room so quickly, it couldn't have gone to plan. But for the sake of Luke's sanity, and possibly even his own, Michael kind of hoped it had.
Maybe then, he'd be seeing a little more of the blond.
~~~~~~~
A/n: first chapter hELL YEAH
This took so long and I'm so sorry for that, but I was kind of putting it off since I'm really stressed with school at the moment and I also had to rewrite this multiple times because I wasn't happy with my writing :((
Anyway, this gives a bit of an insight into Michael's life, it's not super happy but it is important
This isn't my best work I know, but I still hope it was okay thaaanks xx
YOU ARE READING
fearless - muke
Fanfiction"There's a lot of things I'm willing to do for a stranger, but watching you die isn't one of them." --- Where Luke learns a thing or two about life from the kid he always finds on the roof of his office building.
