You & I~Muke

-Luke-

lmao formal early warning:

like every other pieces of my writing

this update sucks.

sorry it took forever ; i've only just broken up from school but i've also been busy with christmas and shit so yeah, been pretty tired.

sorry i'm so lame lol

but a comment on this chapter letting me know your thoughts would cheer me up! i love you, and as usual, this is unedited and shitty but nevertheless,

enjoy xx

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It's only 4pm when last nights events begin to take a toll on my; tired. I am, very much and terribly tired.

But apparently, so is Michael, which I would like to say makes no sense, because he sleeps his life away, but it's most probably his medication.

The small boy sits so far away from me, at the opposite side of the sofa while I can't stop looking at him. His face. His eyes. His hollow cheekbones. Dark under eyes. Long eyelashes. Pale pale pale skin. Lips lips lips lips.

He shoots me a glare, and I look away, pretending my heart doesn't wrench and that it doesn't hurt like hell.

I can't think of many occasions in our relationship that he sent me a glare, not like a real one, out of real hate but here we are.

Daryl walks into the room, smiling, noticing a bit of tension between us two males.

"Who wants pudding?" he chirps, and I nod, thanking him- the both of us seem pretty surprised when our mikey nods. He's always had a sweet tooth.

I smile.

Slowly, Daz leaves the room and leaves us two to be accompanied by something else.

A door bell.

Strange; no one ever rings on Christmas day.

Slowly, Michael gets out of his chair, almost cautiously like cat approaching a dog- he walks to the window, leering his head so he can try and see.

I watch as his facial expressions develop into something else.

Confusion.

Instead of calling out for his dad, of which I can tell his anxiety is itching him to do, he keeps his mouth sealed and pursed. Instead of walking to his parents, he sits back down, lacking motivation.

I stare at him, trying to figure what's going on in his head.

But I've spent all these months trying to figure that brain of his out, but never had any success.

However, soon, little foot steps push past big bodies and run into the lounge where we lay.

Bright green eyes and curly blond hair followed by brown hair and brown eyes walk into the room; a young boy and a slightly older girl holding hands.

Something in my Mikey's eyes changes. Grows. Shrinks. Develops. There's a little hope and then there's a little sadness.

"MIKEY!" Screams the younger boy, falling over his feet that wear baby converse as he stumbles toward the sofa. Michael smiles for the first time in years, it feels; I never thought I'd see that smile again.

What a beautiful day.

He still doesn't speak, but he manages the strength to hold out arms and pick up the young boy- I still manage to be confused, and I guess suddenly there's the lack of clarity evident in my eyes.