GHOST OF YOU | MUKE

Chapter 1.

He made the pencil turn between his fingers. He did it in a loose way, as he used to do, when he was overthinking.
The object suddenly l'oste the idea of having mass and volume in that fast movement and for a few seconds you could imagine it was composed of water for the fluidity with which it slid between the phalanges of the boy. He did so when he was uncertain about what he could ever represent on his sketch book, which was lazily resting on his own legs, in an unstable balance, and the page left open still sadly empty.
But even though the sight could be disturbing in seeing him like this on the edge, at the same time one could not think that there was no more comfortable place to keep it.

That boy's sight really caught the eye of everyone. If only someone had ever really seen him. He was fascinating to look at, with his clear eyes lost in the void and in the depths of his thoughts, which went beyond the reality in front of him. It didn't seem to live in the same life as others, completely out of the ordinary. His blond hair fell on his forehead, his gaze always elsewhere, the headphones stuck in his ears that let him hear a weak piano melody. He seemed on the verge of thinking about  places that others couldn't even imagine.

He remained silent for a very long time, locked up in a small world that was inside his head, and continued to look non-stop in front of him.

But even if, after this description, he may seem to you to be as poetic and fascinating as such a person, with such details covering him, no one seemed to have ever noticed him. Always sitting in his usual place in the courtyard, he led an existence that seemed doomed to loneliness. As if he were waiting, sitting in silence for hours. He waited, he didn't know what either, he just did.

Waiting for him there, sitting down, waiting for something to come. He hadn't even decided what was to come. He didn't decide if that thing was actually A thing, or maybe it was waiting for someone to arrive. He waited in silence, alone, and in the meantime he would go back to thinking, looking elsewhere and turning his usual pencil between his fingers.

<umh, sorry? > The voice just came to the boy from the blonde hair, that the one who had spoken had to repeat it a second time to overcome the wall imposed by the earphones. At that point, the boy finally turned his head to the left.

In front of him there was another boy. He knew him, but only by name. Everyone knew him a bit, to tell the truth. Luke hemmings. He was nice and social. It was as if the sun had a pair of legs and a pair of arms and had decided to take a ride on the earth in the form of this twenty-year-old boy.
Michael was surprised by the presence of the boy in front of him. A guy like him would never talk to a guy like luke. Yet things seemed to say the opposite.

How did one of the most popular guys from the school get there in front of him?

He quickly brought his hands towards the headphones, pulling them out of his ears and leaning slightly towards the other boy.
<emh, yes? > he said confused in turn, hoping not to seem pathetic in the eyes of a guy like Luke, still trying to understand the situation in which he was, but everything seemed out of place. He tried to figure out if he was in the wrong place, or if something serious had happened around him and that he was to blame.

He didn't actually think that Luke was one of those people who make fun of those who are more "particular" or weaker, even if he firmly thought so of his group of popular friends with whom he was seen in constant presence around. He took a second look around, but didn't seem to see them nearby.

The boy in front of him smiled, thus emphasizing his tender cheeks. <incredible, you also speak> exclaimed with irony, bending his head to the side, a gesture that yoongi found cute. But he couldn't say it.

Michael raised an eyebrow, confused by the boy's statement. <"Do you even talk?" > He repeated his words in a flat and slightly confused tone, as if luke had spoken in another language. <what do you mean? > repeated, not looking away from the brown-haired boy.

He shrugged his shoulders, raising his eyes in the direction of the blue sky of that afternoon, completely free from the clouds. <Well, I've always seen you here alone, sitting in silence, and I almost thought you didn't have a voice.> It probably had to be a phrase born out of being a joke, but Michael didn't understand it anyway and neither of them laughed even a little bit.

Though, in a way, the way he said it gave rise to an idea of laughter inside the blond. Who could have thought of such a thing? <ah yes? > he just said, with his usual serious and flat tone. <but I do have one. But I'm alone anyway> Luke made an unusually serious impression, which was clearly out of tune with him. He was almost unbelievable on his face. <what? >asked, surprised by the reaction of the tall guy.

<you talk about it as if it were something to brag about> he answered with a frosty coldness luke, looking him in the eyes. But even though Michael could be a king of icy looks, the boy's could not support him, and he immediately took his eyes away.

He moved it to the soccer fields full of boys chasing a ball. <Well, now I've gotten used to it," he just replied. <probably for you it's different. You're full of friends who will entertain you and your schedule is full of parties and commitments. You don't even have the idea of what loneliness can be. > His thunder becomes more and more troubled, almost as if he were locking himself up more and more in himself. He suddenly wanted to escape far away. He didn't want to talk anymore.

At that point the brown haired boy sat down next to the other, and Michael kept wondering how this happened. <right, but I think that's also true for you. I mean, I don't think there's a ZERO on your skin, do I? > he answered with a corner of his lips raised, referring to the counter that each person had on their skin.

Michael immediately looked down, swallowing. He doesn't think there was a zero, really? It had to be normal. Hardly anyone had to imagine. It was sadly impossible for a person not to have a happy day, unless it was children, but that was justified. He thought he was going to make an instinctive  gesture, but still laid the pencil on the drawing block to slightly lift the wrist of his black sweatshirt, until he showed the other the zero he so did not believe.

First chapter of the story! Please, tell me what do you think😔❤️