Burning Bridges // muke

chapter one

i've been lonely missing your body, you've been out of touch - you're so far away

Luke pulled his jacket closer around him, his heart hammering behind his ribcage as his blue eyes ran over every face in the club. Blondes with pin straight hair and lip injections had given him one too many flirty winks and guys with too tight button-ups and a spray too much hairspray kept giving him one too many 'come here' fingers. Neither were his type. Neither would ever be his type. He only had one type, but he doesn't think he'll find it in this club so he tries to settle for less, but he can't seem to. He's just not drunk enough.

The bartender cut him off, claiming he should go home since it's late and he's had several too many shots of tequila and vodka. He assumes he also had a beer or two, but he's not quite sure since he's really seeing double right now. Twice as many girls and twice as many guys. Neon lights were flashing and crossing and confusing the hell out of him as he rubbed his eye with the back of his satin sleeve, squinting to try and determine was was real and what wasn't.

Were those twins that were coming up to him dressed in overly patched denim jackets or was he hallucinating? They looked like his ex. From what he could remember, his ex didn't have any twin.

He blinked once, twice, then three times before furrowing his eyebrows. No one remotely similar to his ex boyfriend was approaching him, leaving him to believe he's just imagining things. He had to be.

He felt a hand on his arm and he turned his head, everything seeming to spin and dance in the room. Fingers ran gently up his arm and some blue eyes framed with overly long lashes seemed to draw him in. The shade of blue kind of reminded him of the sky, and he wonders if his eyes looked the same.

Michael always used to tell him his eyes were as bright and beautiful as the morning sky. Sometimes he said they reminded him of an ocean, crisp and wild as the sun shined down on it with golden rays.

Michael.

He came to forget, not remember.

He chanted it in his head like a prayer, and the rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. No. No Michael. His words were empty. His actions were thoughtless. His love was a lie. He was nothing.

Luke scowled at himself and the girl's lips were moving but he couldn't hear a single word she said, the bass of the stereos and the ringing from everything else combined made his head ache and throb. He could make out the words "car" and "my place" but he didn't really want to go home with her. The perfume she wore was too strong for his sensitive nose and she was a little too short for his taste. He liked taller people, and she didn't even look to be five-foot-five.

She tugged on his arm, and he shook his head, leading her to pout that plump bottom lip of her's. It was stained with a too bright of a pink for her outfit, and it was a little too glossy for his taste. If he had to kiss a girl, he'd choose matte lipstick over gloss any day of the year. It's just a preference.

He must have played too hard to get, because soon she was rolling her eyes and walking away to the next attractive face she saw - a man with a perfect stubble and thick black eyebrows that were plucked and threaded and waxed to complete and utter perfection. He hopes he's had enough drinks to go home with the poor girl, he'd feel bad if she got rejected yet again.

He pushed himself off of his barstool, stumbling and nearly tripping over his two feet before finding his balance. He wants to blame his large feet and mile long legs but somehow he can't because he was seriously thinking of pulling his phone out to double check just what two plus two was.

He staggers through the large group of people, and it's much too hot and squished for him. Too many dicks pressed against him and too many asses that could nearly swallow him whole. Why was it such a big deal to have big hips? He'll never understand.

Someone pushes into him and he fell, the wold turning into yet another mess of black lights with neon streams coming from the ceiling. His eyes were burning, his butt aching, and his head throbbing. He graciously took the hand of a man who wanted to help him up, and then stood up.

His journey to the door was almost as great as Christopher Columbus sailing to America, and when he finally found himself outside, he was shivering in the cold late night air. He's glad there's no fans or paparazzi out to capture him in all of his shivering drunken glory. Alongside his wish of not being spotted worked out, he kind of wishes he had a jacket, and when two people burst out of the club and the man gives the woman his bomber jacket, he feels a heavy tug on his heart. Kind of like it was being pulled straight to his stomach.

He misses having someone to give him their jacket. Only months ago he was being given t-shirts and hoodies and sweatpant's and every clothing item known to man kind. His favourite of all time was a denim jacket, ripped to shreds and patched with stupid shit like 'I'm dead inside' and old patches of a flannel shirt that had paint on it. He remembers the Nirvana smiley being on it, and a bunch of other little logos of their favourite bands.

He wishes he were here, making fun of the DJ'S music choice and giggling as Luke tripped over his own feet. He wishes he had his hand buried in the back pocket of his jeans and was pushing him up against the nearest pole to makeout as they waited for a cab to come and pick them up.

Why did Michael have to go out and be with another girl? Why couldn't he have been satisfied with just him?

Luke wrapped his arms around himself, his vision blurry from either his forming tears or drinking one too many shots of Ciroc. He felt a weight on his shoulders and he turned around, finding a boy only an inch or two shorter than him. He wore all black, but he wasn't anywhere close to the person he wished to badly could be here with him.

No. This guy had brown eyes and pale skin with a little red scar on his right cheek. He smiled sweetly, and Luke couldn't stop himself from checking him out. Broad, muscular, and oh-so sexy in skinny jeans and a button up. When the guy did the same to him, he only assumed the feeling was mutual. He hoped the feeling was mutual.

If he can't forget Michael when he has more alcohol in his veins then blood, then maybe he can forget it when he's coming undone because of a stranger inside of an unknown room. Hopefully.

He pulls the weight down, realizing it's a black blazer that felt expensive. "Wanna get out of here?"

His voice sounded far away despite their close proximity, but Luke just nodded before following him to a black Jeep. It was nice. He wasn't used to it since he usually was driven around in a Range Rover, but he liked it. He liked this guy too. But he really just blames the alcohol clouding every inch of his senses for thinking that.

There's only one person he liked, and if he can't get him to so much as answer his calls, maybe he can get him to crawl back after finding out he's been out and about with other men. He'd do anything to have him just so much as look at him again.