Give Me Love (Muke)

Medicine

Michael’s painfully aware that the expectation, being that his aunt agreed to go back to Perth and the boys promised not to bother him, was that he would get better. Even though he swore up and down he had no notion that he was tipping overboard, even though he was cleared, nobody really believed him. Rather, they believed overdosing wasn’t intentional in the way they initially thought it was, but they sure as hell believed Michael would have done it just the same. And being morose and reclusive as he’s been in the week since he arrived home, nobody’s likely to give up that idea.

But the boys’ hope is overwhelming, a stuffy perfume that blinds their senses to reality. It would be impossible to not notice how their dreams for Michael overpower their sight, distorting it so they read into every sign, clawing through a mess of feelings and seeing, with their selective vision, any ashes of light Michael still possesses. And Michael notices, because the sickly perfume settles over him each night and suffocates him.

The meds work like they used to. Michael’s clear, but in a different way. Sadness and chemicals have the same effect; in this way, he’s not particularly worried about lashing out. He’s weighted by the pressure of upholding his promises. He’s Atlas with the world on his back, unable to move. At any second, it’ll come crashing down. It’s a test of strength.

The hardest part isn’t really channeling his anger; everyone tiptoes around him, and hardly anyone interacts, giving Michael no opportunity to explode. The part Michael struggles with is keeping up pretenses, having to be different around Luke. Artificial smiles and plasticine hugs, molding himself to be what he has to be. For Luke, to be what he has to be for Luke. Michael’s a puppet to his responsibility.

Michael wants to be what Luke needs. Some days before, he knew he wasn’t anywhere close to attaining that. Most days now, he doesn’t try.

Michael’s an actor. He lives on a stage, and people wait for him to fall off the edge into the orchestra pit. And then they’ll play him a requiem mass as the tragedy plays itself out above.

---

“Michael, we’re going downtown and you’re coming with us,” Ashton announces, barging into Michael’s room. Michael blinks in surprise and looks up from the strings of his acoustic, which he’s plucking at idly, laying back against his pillows.

“Why?” Michael questions, not in the mood to leave his bedroom (although, really, he hasn’t been for weeks).

“Because it’s lonely with just three of us.”

“You must have managed before I got here,” Michael points out, hoping they’d leave him alone for an afternoon.

“Also, Luke wants you to go,” he adds.

Michael winces. “Really?”

“Of course. It’s terrible, he won’t do anything with us anymore,” Ashton sniffs. “Won’t go anywhere without you.” Ashton’s trying to cheer Michael up, coax out a fond smile, but Michael’s tired. Too tired for Luke. Maybe tired of Luke.

“Can’t I just stay home?”

“You’re always at home,” Ashton reminds him. “It’ll be fun, come on. I promise.”

“Uh.”

“Michael,” Ashton whines, “you’ve been in here for days. You need sunlight. And love. It’ll only be a couple of hours.”

Michael sighs and sets his guitar aside. “Whatever.”

Ashton’s smile fades a little. “That’s the spirit. We’re going in ten minutes.” He trails out of the room, and Michael rubs at his eyes and slips over the side of his bed. He frowns at himself in the mirror. Dark circles and hair like a hurricane, pale like he’s been exsanguinated. Michael doesn’t know what to do with himself. He cherishes his time alone like the dead cherish the dirt above; bitterly, but with a touch of affection for the familiarity.