roommates ♢ muke ✔️

xviii

"i'm straight," i remind myself, wiping my sweaty palms onto my jeans.

"almost as straight as a circle," michael teases from behind me.

"i am straight," i repeat. "straighter than a ruler."

"oh but baby, rulers can be snapped." michael smiles sweetly.

"i'm trying to fucking fix myself, will you please just shut the actual fuck up?" i groan, rubbing my temples.

"what do you mean 'fixing yourself'? there's nothing wrong with being gay," michael glares angrily.

i blink and try to correct myself. "i just don't think that's right. liking girls is right, that's just how it is."

"so you can make out with boys, but you can't date them?" michael asks haughtily.

i blush.

michael rolls his eyes and grabs my hand. shivers run down my spine and i allow myself to be dragged along with the dominant boy.

"where are we going?" i ask dumbly.

"to a strip club," michael replies nonchalantly.

"what?" i demand, tugging my wrist back furiously.

"i'm joking," michael states, giving me a dirty look. "we're going to my art room."

"oh," i mumble awkwardly.

i'm practically being dragged along, michael's moving too fast for me to keep up. soon, he gets sick of pulling me and he simply hauls me over his shoulder. i scream but i still lie limply over his shoulder.

"watch your head," michael mumbles quietly.

i raise my head because i didn't hear what he said.

"what do you mea- oh fuck!" i scream when my head rams straight into a metal bar.

i feel my brain rattling within my skull, i feel an ache. it throbs painfully.

"i warned you," michael snorts, holding back a laugh.

i rub my head, trying to ease the pounding. it doesn't work and my attempts go to waste.

i'm so absorbed into my personal bubble of self pity and pain, i don't realize that michael's unlocked the door and walked into his art room. the only reason why i realized is because the bastard dropped me straight to the ground.

he didn't let me down lightly; he didn't even bother to give me a warning. he simply released my body and allowed me to go crashing to the cold, hard floor.

my head takes most of the impact, my headache is ten times worst.

"that fucking hurt," i mumble, continuing to rub my head.

"good. i hope it knocked some sense into you," michael smirks.

he busies himself by grabbing a few cans of spray paint and a long roll of paper. he carefully rolls out a long piece that met both walls. he tapes down the edges and shakes the cans.

"what are you anyways?" i ask, watching michael do his work.

"excuse me?" michael asks, giving me a look of annoyance and confusion.

"like, what's your sexuality?" i ask.

"bi," he replies shortly.

he turns around again when he realizes that i'm not worth his attention.

i feel somewhat thrilled; if he's bisexual then i have a change. i bite my tongue and scold myself for feeling that way; i don't care if he's bisexual because i'm straight.

but even as i think it, the words don't seem right.

"well, come on!" michael exclaims impatiently, throwing me a bottle of blue spray paint. "paint something."

i blink, mystified. only then do i notice that there's a straight line going across the canvas; one side for me and one side for him.

"i can't," i blurt.

"and why's that?" michael quirks an eyebrow.

"my head hurts. i want to sit down," i continue, a light blush rising to my cheeks.

"oh, you big baby." michael scoffs, getting up to his feet.

in several big steps, michael's standing in front of me. he caresses my face with his delicate hands and places a soft, feathery kiss to my forehead.

"feeling better?" he asks, the smallest sliver of humour in his eyes.

"uh, kinda. maybe just one more kiss." i grin stupidly.

"i mean, i can't argue with that." michael smiles before he swoops down and presses an airy kiss to my lips this time.

he's about to pull away but i deepen the kiss and grip his waist. he moans softly as i nibble on his bottle lip. i let loose a soft scream and giggle when michael pushes me to the ground and wrestles atop of me. he straddles me, never breaking our kiss. it's only when i start tugging at his shirt; he snaps out of his trance and gets up.

"i think you're good now. let's start painting," he states dryly.

i crawl beside him. he's already starting to work on something. he's spraying his side of the sheet with pale orange painting.

i frown and look at my side. it looks so plain, it has so much potential but i lack the skill to pull anything off. i hesitantly pick up a bright blue spray paint can before setting it back down. at least an hour passes by and a surge of desperation runs through me. my side of the paper is still blank.

out of sheer exasperation and defeat; i simply get black paint and spray a huge smily face.

i look over to michael and my mouth drops. i feel even more like an amateur then ever.

michael painted a stunning picture of a sunset. i'm surprised he pulled it off in such a short amount of time. warm yellows and oranges went into the actual sun but pale pinks and baby blues surrounded it, giving the sunset a perfect edge. along with that is a rippling, glittering deep blue sea that perfectly reflected the light of the sun.  

"well fuck you for making me seem pathetic," i frown.

next to michael's masterpiece, my dumb smily face looks like actual garbage.

michael laughs and the sound itself make me smile
again. i'm suddenly okay with being a failure, michael's laugh alone makes me feel like i've succeeded.

my heart swells.