Blog. ┆Muke [On HOLD]

2014.11.09

All insane on the Luke Hemmings front.

His smile still lights up my day and makes me wish he would just put his hands around me, never letting go.

Please, slap this feeling out of me. I feel infected by his perfection, so terribly ill by a desire to touch him.

Today is Sunday and like no surprise, I was out with him. I actually was out with him every since, well, since the day he said "Hey."

And today, like almost all of those days I skipped my stop and left the bus together with him. I'd laugh at him, that he's making me watch those stupid horror movies with him again, and he would just agree with me, with a genuine grin on his cheeks.

Walking into his room, I saw that little notebook that made me think about it more than once, lying on his bed sheets. The same notebook he was down into while sitting in the bus stop.

"Luke?" I heard him swearing in the kitchen - he was no better than me at making snacks, or actually, anything. "Can I read your writings?" 

"What?" Luke rushed over to the room, grabbing the book out of my hand. "No, Mike."

His voice was different. I wish it was harsh. I wish it was mad. But it was sad, making me feel like a bucket of an ice cold water was dumped on me.

"I didn't want to get into your personal space or anything, sorry." I murmured, trying to work my shit out of this situation, without drooling just by having him a step away from my face.

"It's not what you think, okay." He shrugged, dropping the center of our conversation away, into a pile of papers in his drawer, closing it. "Forget about it. You wouldn't like it anyway."

When he left, I didn't have anything else to do, just curled into his bed feeling nothing better than shit. Why would I ask such a stupid, stupid thing? His plastic smile before leaving didn't mean anything satisfying.

It didn't take long to hear him coming back, he walked in, again, like a model. Actually, I was wrong this time. Models doesn't fall down like idiots, after tripping over his own carpet, and just don't land on their friends peacefully lying in bed. 

And this is how Luke Hemmings got on the top of me. Tragically, not literally.

"Oh god, I'm.." He said something, however, I didn't hear a thing. I just saw his lips above my face, and I knew, that it would be enough for me to lift up my head slightly. Just a tiny little bit.

"Mikey?" He smirked with some more charm getting over his face, in a form of his hair falling out of the quiff. "You're staring."

I wish I would've been able not to stare.

I wish he didn't stare back. 

I wish I hadn't say. "I-I need to go."

And left.

I wish I didn't hear him shouting from his window "Michael, wait."