blondie [muke af]

five

five

Luke tip-toed into Michael's office with a platter of homemade cookies. They were Luke's personal favorite, a peanut butter cookie with a chocolate kiss in the center. He spent all night making them as a small apology gift for being rude. 

After all, Michael is his boss. Luke can't afford to get fired. 

His just-past-the-knee dress swished between his legs, he felt like a character in American Horror Story with his all black outfit. The dress itself had a white collar, which had his favorite pair of black circular sunglasses clasped over them.

His black Chanel watch was far too large for his tiny wrists; it slid up and down his arm as he walked into the plain office. He felt silly wearing an eighteen dollar choker with seven hundred dollar earrings. Luke constantly spent more money on clothing or accessories than he ever did on important things like housing or food. 

Earlier in the morning, while he was impatiently waiting for the cookies to bake, he painted his index fingers a violet shade of purple, leaving the rest the soul-crunching black. His lip color matched his purple nails perfectly, he was satisfied for a gloomy Thursday morning like today. 

Michael's office made the blonde sad. The wooded walls were empty, dust and discolored prints showed where large paintings and photographs were once covering the walls. He pouted his lower lip at the sad sight. 

Cyril sat in the back of Michael's Suburban, crossing his arms over his chest, "You barely finished high school, why should I go?"

"You're in ninth grade, don't start with me," the older man sighed, pulling up to the curb of the three story brick building. "You can do this, Bud." He looked at his brother in the rear view mirror, giving him a soft smile. 

"Okay." The brunette slipped his earbuds in, shrugging his heavy, leather satchel over his right shoulder. He jumped out of the large car without another acknowledgment. 

Mike turned down The Killers, he wanted to be in silence now. He felt bad for forcing Cy to do something he obviously didn't want to, but it's his education. He has to go to school until they find a better option, there's nothing else Michael could possibly do.  

Luke went behind Mike's desk, his need to snoop was far too strong to ignore. There was a CD rack under Michael's desk, hidden from view. The blonde leaned down, flipping a cold finger tip over the many racks. He had every single All Time Low album and EP ever created, from The Party Scene to Don't Panic: It's Longer Now which made Luke grin like a child.

When Luke first started working at C & C Incorporations, he was twenty-three and fresh out of college. The original Mr. D. Clifford was in charge of everything. He would walk around, truly wanting to know about everyone. He was the type of guy who could strike up a conversation about anything. 

His moody son with a different hair color every week would trail behind him in ripped skinny jeans and muscle tees, showing off his many tattoos that Luke knew his father hated. 

They would get in arguments behind closed doors, everyone able to hear the constant yelling.

Sooner than later, change happened, and the moody son stopped wearing muscle tees and started wearing suits. He had a business to run now, ten years before expected. 

Luke stood up after going through racks of a genius music taste. The large, wooden desk was covered in files, books, and flash drives. An empty Vitamin Water was obviously thrown yet landed within three inches of the metal trash can. 

Luke fixed the one picture frame (a simple black and white photo of all four Clifford's), then picked up the plastic bottle, placing it in the recycling basket on his way out (saving the planet). 

Michael was humming softly along to Say Anything on his way into work, swinging his key of rings around his fingers. 

"Here's your schedule for the day," his secretary and intern stood up as he walked by. Michael took the paper from her hand, not bothering to look it over. She'll give him a five minute warning regardless to his reading of the packet. "You have a conference tomorrow, you have to be at JFK before 10 a.m.," she continued to talk as Mike walked into his office.

His eyes caught sight of the platter of cookies and he zoned out the words flowing behind him. The sentences weren't even going in one ear and out the other, they were only levitating above Michael's head. 

Sorry for being a butt-face, 

-Luke

Michael held the card in his hand, does he know a Luke? He felt over the card, trying to rack his hazy head.