Polaroids || Muke au

f o u r

italics are phone calls.

bold are texts.

bolded italics are michael's internal dialog bc yes.

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"luke?" michael chokes, hardly willing himself to breathe. this was wrong. this was so, so, so wrong.

"um, heh, yeah. yeah, it's me."luke replies, sounding about as awkward as michael felt, "oh my god- oh my god, wow, i uh, i honestly didn't think you were going to pick up. this is... holy shit i don't even know right now. um, how- how are you?"

pretty fucking shitty, but you wouldn't know anything about that would you? "i'm alright, i guess, um, yeah. just- just alright." michael tugs at his hair restlessly; why was luke calling? after all this time. why now?

"oh, that- that's good. real good, yeah, um, yeah."

"so, um, why are you- why are you calling exactly? i mean, we haven't really, talked in like nine, ten months? yeah, like, ten months. so what did you want, luke? be- because i'd really kind of like for there to be a reason as to why you decided after all this time to call me up, y'know?" michael squeezes his eyes shut, trying way too hard not to cry. he shouldn't have picked up the phone. he should have looked at the caller id and not picked up the phone.

"oh, um, shit, there's really no easy way to say this is there?"

no easy way to say what? we're already fucking over, what else could he possibly need to say?

"can you- can you just spit it out, luke? it's kind of really fucking hard for me to talk to you right now, so honestly what the fuck do you want?"

a heavy sigh and some shuffling is muffled on the other line. neither of them speak for what feels like centuries but was actually seven and a half seconds, and michael really, really regrets picking up his phone.

"fuck, michael, i fucked up, okay? i really really really fucked up with you- you know that, and i know that- and i'm so sorry." luke stumbles over his words every now and then, breath hitching, syllables coming out a bit too fast. michael thinks he's trying not to cry, and doing a very poor job at it.

"oh, um, yeah, no, it- it's fine i guess? yeah, it, um, it's fine." michael replies. he grinds his teeth, sinking down onto his bed and pressing his hand against his eyes. fuck, he was such a bad liar. always had been. because it wasn't fine, not really. luke put michael through hell for the past seven months; he was not fine.

"no, um, no mikey, it's really really not. i fucked everything up, and i miss you really fucking bad. i haven't seen your face in a- ages. i just- fuck- i need to see you again."

"oh, yeah, i, uh, i don't think that's a good idea, luke."

"no, mikey, i just- please?"

please. please. please. please. p l e a s e. the word rings through michael's head like a church bell. luke sounded so broken when he said it. so run-down and tired. but hell, so was michael.

nonononono, ineverwanttoseeyouagain, ineverwanttoseeyouagain "um, y'know what, yeah, okay, sure."

"really? um, wow, i thought- you know what, never mind. how about we go for coffee? at that one café you used to love? i- i could pick you up at our- oh, um, your- apartment tomorrow around noon, if that's okay?"