Recount the Seconds (Muke)

Chapter 6

Luke

I’ve had my share of amazing moments: concerts and kisses and laughter and luck and…I don’t know…I guess what I’m getting at is, with all of that — everything I’m so grateful for — I still think of the days after that first concert in London as the best of my life. 

Now, at that point, Ashton knew about me being gay. The boys had always thought it was funny how I’d never date or hook up with girls — they teased me about it plenty — but they just thought I was too serious about…well, everything, to do that. At least, Mikey and Cal did. And Ash has always been more perceptive than those two numbskulls.

Anyway, he figured out that I liked guys, and it didn’t take him long after that to figure out that I liked Michael. 

I remember the sick feeling in my stomach when he confronted me about it. The dread ate at me. I worried that he would be horrified (that they all would be) and that all the good things happening to me would fall apart. And Ash saw it in my face, I guess, because he did the best thing he possibly could have done in that moment: he laughed. A deep, belly laugh — the kind only Ashton can produce.

He grinned at me. “Ah, Lucas,” he teased, “we’ve all been really thick, haven’t we?” Then he giggled like a little girl and added, “This is going to be great.”

Somehow, that moment and that reaction seemed so absurdly incongruous with my fears that I found myself laughing as well, and that’s how Michael found us: giggling like idiots on a hotel room floor. 

Mikey rolled his eyes at me and my stomach flipped involuntarily. All of a sudden, I sobered, knowing that — even though the idea of opening up about my sexuality seemed less daunting — Michael could never feel the same way about me.

Door open, door closed. 

Enter the day of the London show, the opening concert of One Direction’s Take Me Home tour. Ash and Cal had been acting strangely furtive, pairing off more and more, and I was sick of avoiding Michael. It’s draining, pushing your best friend away for so long. 

We showed up at the O2 arena several hours early for soundcheck, and afterwards, while looking about for Ash, I found myself wandering into Michael’s dressing room instead. 

He barely looked up at me from the black leather couch he lay in. Lazy, beat-heavy music drifted from his headphones.

"Hey stranger," he muttered, closing his eyes and turning to face the ceiling. 

I walked over and sat on the edge of the couch, careful not to touch Michael. 

"Go away."

"Nope," I returned shakily, not entirely sure why I was there in the first place. 

"What d’you want?"

I sighed. 

"Luke, we’re on in just over an hour and makeup will be here soon, and if you’re interrupting my last calm moment for no reason, I swear—"

I felt my lip quivering. Man up, I scolded myself, but I couldn’t shake my agitation. I wanted to write it off as pre-show jitters, but I couldn’t. 

In the mean time, Michael’s voice cut off. 

I turned to him and saw him staring at me with furrowed eyebrows.

"What’s been up with you lately?" he asked. 

"I’m sorry," I blurted without thinking, burying my face in my hands.