Muke Fluff

Neon Blue

“Did you spill Blue Heaven ice-cream on your head?” Luke asks Michael the day he walks into school with new hair, a few days later. Luke’s leaning against the wall outside the gate, waiting for him just as he does every morning.

“Again with the food jokes, Lucas?” he laughs, coming to a full stop in front of him and self-consciously tugging at the blue fringe sweeping across his forehead. He knows Luke doesn’t mean it as an insult; the look on his face clearly indicates his genuine concern, before Michael pinches the boy’s cheek. “I dyed it again, silly.”

Luke doesn’t answer; he just blinks and takes his hand. “It makes your eyes look gorgeous.” In the cool winter light, the wispy bits of hair that have escaped the gel holding Michaels adorable spikes in place, glow like ice and snow.

Michael laughs at him, leading him into the school building. “Come on, blondie, let’s go to class; I’ve got Pokémon paused in my bag.”

Luke flashes back to when he first discovered Michael’s passion for video games; it was a Saturday, around three in the morning, when he receives a text asking him to come over. He’s bored, and it’s way too hot to sleep, so he hops up and gets dressed, walking the three blocks to Michael’s house. When he arrives, he climbs in the open front window because he doesn’t want to wake Michael’s parents and he knows he’s too lazy to come and answer the door. He’s sat in the living room, bundled up in a sweater and a blanket even though it’s almost thirty degrees outside, but he doesn’t question it because he knows he’s probably been there since Friday, after school, when it was much cooler and probably hadn’t even noticed yet. He smiles sweetly at him and takes a seat next to him on the floor, she barely looks at him when he says hello.  He elbows Luke’s arm, jokingly, “I’m going to kick your ass at FIFA, and then we’re going to cuddle,” is all he says, tossing an X-Box controller at Luke’s chest. Luke doesn’t find anything wrong with that, so he sinks onto the couch, pulling the blanket over him, just to get closer to the other boy.

As they play, and Luke does indeed get his ass kicked, but he can’t help but get distracted by Michael’s house. There’s nothing in the family room, where they are sitting, other than the couch and Michael’s own personal gaming studio. He mentions this, briefly in-between rounds. Mikey pauses the game and looks over, and Luke momentarily forgets his question because he has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is deflated and un-styled with the blue fading out around the tips. He still thinks he looks beautiful.

“Mum and Dad aren’t around very much,” is all he says, and Luke accepts that because he has no reason to lie; whom would he tell anyway?

His parents are gone when they wake up at nine the next morning, cuddled on the couch like a koala on a branch, and the only thing letting them know Mr and Mrs Clifford have even checked in on their son is a yellow sticky note hanging off the controller that has slid to the floor sometime during the night. Michael whines and pulls the blanket over his face to hide form the light streaming in the window, and Luke yanks his arm out from where it’s jammed between his chest and Michael’s shoulder and unsticks the note.

He rests his elbow on the tuft of blue hair sticking out of the blanket burrito somewhere near his stomach and peers blearily at the bright yellow paper. We’ll be back sometime around nine, there’s enough pop tarts left for you and your friend. Don’t spend the day lazing on your butt and don’t break anything while we’re out. If you’re going to have sex with him, don’t do it on the couch. Luke thinks that’s a pretty horrible thing to say to your son. But Michael's expression looks as if he is used to it.