teenagers | muke

{4}

"What the fuck?!" Michael screamed out, throwing his controller on the floor for the millionth time in the past hour, it seemed. His perfect fringe was all over the place because he'd been running his hands through the knotted, dirty blond mess numerous times during their gameplay.

His face was all red and from the dampness that could be seen on his forehead, it looked as though he was sweating. To Luke, he looked like he had actually just gotten done with a real match of football, out on a real field, with real players, and a real ball.

His reactions to losing were nothing like Calum had seen before. It's probably because he was only losing to Calum then, and Calum only ever won if the game glitched or if Michael let him win.

He sucked at FIFA, but he had the game because he knew Michael loved it. Plus, he wanted to better himself when Michael wasn't around, so he could truly win someday. But from the reactions he was seeing now, he wasn't so keen on carrying through with that idea now.

Right now, Michael was chucking his controller halfway across Calum's bedroom, and he was afraid he was going to break something. He didn't want to make him any more mad by making him pay for something he let his rage out on, though.

So, every time Michael screamed out, threw his controller, or kicked Calum's TV stand, the dark haired boy would jump out of his skin. But, soon enough, he would know when Michael would be ready to explode again, and he would only flinch slightly.

Luke, on the other hand, was scared shitless. He'd never met anyone with as much determination to win every single game they played in his life. He was huddled up by himself, away from Michael who was in the middle of Luke and Calum.

By now, he had learned to stay scooted away from Michael as all three boys sat in front of Calum's TV which had their current FIFA game results displaying on the screen.

It would not be such a good idea for Luke to get any closer to Michael as he let off steam. One reason, and only one reason could explain why. Luke was the one winning all the games, and he was afraid Michael would just say fuck it and make the next throw of his controller right at Luke's head.

Luke watched with wide, blue eyes as Michael's red face showed a look of pure hatred as he looked up at the final scores showed up on the screen. He was stood up again, his hands frantically running through his messy, dirty blond hair. His hands ripped away from his hair and were now balled up into fists by his side.

Luke felt like God was against him once again. He wasn't even trying to win, but he had gone through years of endless torture with his brothers always beating him at the game, that a couple years back, before they grew too old for the video game, Luke had made it his goal to beat them both in FIFA. He stayed up almost every night, trying to perfect his playing skills, and somehow, he became the master of FIFA in the Hemmings household, and soon after, every household he played in.

Now, because of his stupid decision so he could finally beat his older brothers, Luke was going to be beaten by Michael Clifford. Not in the game, no, literally. Luke was fearing for his life.

Luke's heart sunk all the way to the pits of Hell when he saw his username displayed in the winner's spot on the screen. He tried to stop his hands from shaking, but it was no use. God, Michael was going to kick his ass for all of this.

Throughout all the years of seeing Michael angry and fuming with hatred, this had to have been the worst he's ever been. Luke knew things were going to go downhill quickly as he watched Michael breathe heavily through his nose while turning his head towards Luke.

Calum was now tripping over his feet as he tried to stand up in a timely manor so he could stop Michael from doing anything. He didn't want anyone getting hurt, he wanted this to be bonding time. He wanted them to get along. If only Calum had known Luke was a beast when it came to FIFA, then he would've kindly denied playing it. Then perhaps none of this would've happened.

Nothing would stop Michael now, though. Just as Calum had grabbed onto his shoulder, he fiercely shrugged him off, and his piercing green eyes stared daggers right through Luke's soul. Believe me, Michael might have liked Luke secretly deep down inside, but absolutely no one beat him at FIFA. No one.

This was when Calum was supposed to give Michael a pointed look, and tell him it was no big deal. It really wasn't, actually. They were just playing a video game. But to Michael, apparently it was more than just that. And Calum wasn't able to save Luke this time, because Michael had shoved him aside now, and was charging straight for the blond haired boy.

"You," Michael seethed, his hand reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Luke's shirt, bringing him to a standing position in a matter of seconds. "How in the fucking world did you get so good? How the fuck are you even into football?!" he yelled, his eyebrows furrowed, and Luke could see beads of sweat just above his brow line, he was that close to his face.

Michael's heart was racing, probably even faster than Luke's even though he was the frightened one. Michael's adrenaline was through the roof, yes, but his heart was most likely about to beat out of his chest because of how close he was to the blond, now.

Luke swallowed roughly, still in shock from how quickly Michael had pulled him to his feet, and how close he had pulled him to his face.

"Well," he took a deep breath. "I-I would ask you the same thing." he stuttered out just above a whisper, cautiously taking a look down at the black skinny jeans and gray Metallica t-shirt Michael had on. He then let his eyes find his black leather backpack by his and Calum's on the floor, his black sweatshirt lying on the floor beside it.

When Luke averted his eyes back up towards Michael's, the look of pure evil was gone, and instead, Luke saw a smirk on the boy's cherry red lips, and his right eyebrow was raised. He looked behind Michael and saw a shocked Calum, his mouth hanging wide open.

Luke couldn't blame him, though. He didn't even know how he mustered up enough courage to say that sort of comeback to the one who was usually throwing perfect comebacks at him, left and right.

He felt Michael's death grip on his shirt loosen, and the nervous feeling that just kept growing and growing in the pit of Luke's stomach was starting to disappear. Michael's eyes seemed to soften, but the smirk was still there, and he hadn't fully let go of Luke's shirt yet. He shook his head, his tangled fringe falling in his face.

"Well, I'll fucking be, Hemmings," He let out a breathy laugh before continuing, "You definitely got me there."