Give Me Love (Muke)

The Galaxy Chicken

When Michael gets off the plane in Sydney, he looks like a chicken who fell into a vat of galaxy dye and then got caught in a hurricane.

Cleaning up in the bathroom, he wrinkles his nose and tries to straighten his hair out. It persistently sticks up in every direction, worse than usual, a result of both Michael's naturally unruly hair and the way he tried to sleep on the plane. As for the color, Michael knows he could have done a neater job, but despite that, he fairly outdid himself, even considering his no-sloppy-dye-jobs rule.

He grabs his backpack and heads to the baggage area to find Ashton, who's supposed to be picking him up, and to get his suitcase. It's inconveniently crowded, enough to make Michael, who tends to avoid being social, more than a little irritated. His irritation evaporates when Ashton's face appear in the crowd, searching for him.

"Ashton!" he calls. He has to repeat himself several times before Ashton finally catches sight of him and, his face lighting up, heads over to him.

Ashton's grown up quite a bit since the last time Michael saw him. He's a little taller, his hair's a little curlier, and his arms are a little more muscular than Michael remembers. He's wearing a grey bandana to keep the hair out of his face. The guy grew up good, he figures. Unfortunately, puberty didn't give Michael the same insane kind of looks; the only things he got out of it were earrings and vividly colored hair.

"Mikey," Ashton says with a grin, pulling him in for a hug. "Thank goodness you got rid of your fringe."

Three years. Three years since they last saw each other and this is what Michael gets.

"And I thought you liked it," Michael says. "You're looking good too."

"Puberty did some amazing things."

"Your old hair straightener did some less amazing things."

Ashton hits Michael on the arm lightly, the banter picking up as if it had never stopped. The two boys turn themselves so they can see the luggage belt in case it starts moving.

"So, how was the flight?" Ashton asks. "Did they feed you?"

"Yeah," Michael says, choosing the second question. "But it was plane food, so...you know."

"Poor you. We'll get you some food as soon as we get home."

"Thank goodness," Michael says with a laugh. The luggage belt starts to move.

"What color are your suitcases?"

"It's black," Michael says, and they watch for it.

When it finally comes around, battered from years of air travel, Michael grabs it and yanks it off the belt, narrowly avoiding the head of a wayfaring little girl who strayed a little too close. He sets it down on the ground heavily.

"That it?" Ashton asks with a frown. "Just one suitcase?"

Michael shrugs. "Let's go."

Ashton nods. "Okay, come on, I parked on the floor below this one in the parking lot."

Ashton leads Michael down escalators and elevators and finally out the doors into the parking garage. He opens the door of a rather old looking black car and slides in, and Michael finds his way to the passenger seat.

"Okay, so let me just brief you on the details," Ashton says, pulling out of the parking space and driving toward the parking garage's exit. "You remember Calum, right?"

"The guy who looked Asian but wasn't?"

"Yes, but don't say that to his face," Ashton confirms. "He's playing bass and doing some vocals. I'm playing drums, obviously. And, uh, do you by any chance remember Luke?"