friends [muke af]

lubrifiant

lubrifiant

“Luke!” Clémence yelled from the kitchen, “you left lube in here!”

Michael looked at the younger blonde with wide eyes, “really?”

“Oh my, God, I’m going to kill myself.” Luke took his long legs to his messy kitchen with papers scattered across the counters and on top of appliances (probably a fire hazard). 

He took the bottle in his hands, hiding it behind his back.

“Wow, strawberry flavored, never knew you were into that kind of stuff,” Mike teased, taking a seat on a Tiffany blue chair, kicking his sock-clad feet on top of the table. 

“Dad, please, stop,” Clémence begged, sitting next to her father on a teal chair, “did you paint these yourself?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Luke responded after hiding any other objects a fifteen year old and ex-lover aren’t supposed to see, “this apartment was so empty and colorless. I spent years in the dark, I didn’t want a single second more like that.” 

“Talking about furniture, when you were blind, we used to move furniture an inch every day until you ran into them. And then a day later we’d move them back.”

“You were the cause of my broken toes.” He sat down in his own navy blue chair, grabbing the bowl of M&M’s in the center. He’s a grown man in his own apartment —he’s allowed to snack on junk food. “Does Rosie still live up here?”

“I think so, I haven’t seen her in a while,” Michael responded, “her and Steve had a few kids and they’re off being prestigious.” He respected Clémence’s mother until she made C’s visits shorter and shorter. He couldn’t stand the look on his blue-haired daughter’s face when her own mother continued to reject her. 

She wasn't a mistake in Michael’s eyes, but maybe that’s just him.

“She was never cool anyways,” Luke smirked, trying to eat the small candies color by color. 

Clémence idolized Luke in all honesty, even though she hasn’t seen him in almost a decade, her thoughts have been filled with his voice, his face, his eyes for all those years. She traced all of his facial features with her own eyes, the way he reclined in his chair and munched on the snack. The way the poorly lit room casted shadows on his face, all the tiny scars from his surgery still visible. 

“C always liked me more,” Mike gloated, reaching his hand into the overflowing stack of candy. 

“He still forgets to pick me up from school at least twice a week.”

“That was one time!”

“No, it was not!” 

Luke smiled at the way the two acted with each other, nothing has changed. They still treat each other like best friend’s the way their arguments start with something stupid like the pronunciation of a word, but always end in bear hugs. 

The love the two Clifford’s radiated was enough to fill a room. 

“Do you have a charger? My phone kind of died a few hours ago,” Michael asked, wiggling his phone out of his skinny jeans, holding it up as if Luke needed evidence.

“So irresponsible,” he giggled like a school girl, “but yeah, upstairs, next to my bed.”

Mike jumped up, heading up to face the destruction of Luke’s room.

“Okay, C, you know I love you to death—.”

“You wanna know how many dudes my dad has f.ucked?” Clémence asked, smiling in her devious way.

“You know me far too well,” Luke’s tone was happy and cheerful but in all honesty he wanted to know the answer. 

He’s always thought of Clémence as his daughter, even if he got one letter every few months from Michael, sending a few photos of her growing up. He always thought of the (once) blonde hair girl as his own.
Looking at her now, she easily could be. With the metal in her lip, her hair piled with product to make it look beyond perfect. Her high-pitched giggle, her clumsiness. It was as if she was his own. 

“He went on one date once, and came home in tears because the dude had a dog named Luke. I’m not joking, you ruined Dad.”

Michael plugged in his phone, sitting down on his bed and waiting for it to reboot. The black sheets smelled of Luke, Mike wanted to lay down and engulf himself in the familiar smell. So far, that’s the only thing that’s felt normal in New York. 

He looked around the room, clothes were strewn around, books were on the ground. His laptop was plugged in and laying on the floor, three packed binders laying on top. Sticky notes were falling off his wall with reminders that’ll never be filled. 

Mike looked at his bedside table, there were guitar picks in a purple container, a few pencils, CDs, a water bottle, but the thing that made his heart swell was a framed photo of Michael and Clémence. 

It was the most recent photos Mike sent, when the two (plus Michael’s parents) took a trip to Portland. Mike and C were standing in the rain, posing in front of Boddah’s coffee shop, the small girl had her lips pressed to Michael’s stubbly cheeks, while his face was scrunched like a kitten. 

“You’ve gotta be lying,” Luke said. 

“No joke, he has gotten no action in nine years.”

“You have such a filthy mouth.”

“Do you even know my father?”

(a/n) i want to go on a roadtrip with ashton goodbye that is all

xx, soph