blondie [muke af]

twelve

twelve 

Luke and Michael swung their entwined hands back and forth as they walked down the streets of New York City. It was a warmer winter day in January, the sky was quickly fading into the night colors with every step they took. 

They were both in black jeans and band tees, their shoes clicking against the ground. They had a running conversation, nothing too deep or worth noting.

Luke was on edge, waiting for Michael to ask to become official, but it still hasn't happened. Two months and three dates later, neither had made any other move. Luke isn't sure if Michael even wants to be official, does he even want a relationship?

"I don't know why you make me do all this walking," Michael complained, slightly squeezing the younger boy's hand, "I mean, we could have just driven to the cinema."

"Exercise is good!" He responded, reaching in his back pocket for his apartment keys. "Besides, I can't park."

He took a turn down the normal poorly lit alley towards his home as Michael held him back. "We shouldn't walk down there."

"Babe, my door is literally ten meters away," Luke laughed, pulling Michael closer.

"Why do you live here?" Michael asked, scrunching his face at the sight of moss growing up this bricks. Broken beer bottles and cigarette buds were thrown on the ground. Trash piled by the dumpster only meters away. 

"T—This is just my home," he shrugged, letting go of Mike's hand and putting the lock in the door. Luke was shy to bring Michael home, he didn't really want him to see the small apartment of his. Michael and Luke weren't too far off in age, Mike lived in a mansion and Luke lived in a studio apartment.

"This is literally a slum," the dark haired boy put his hands on Luke's hips, "I don't want my baby living in a slum."

"I'm not your baby." Luke shook him off, offended by Michael's rudeness. He opened the thin, wooden door, turning on the floor lamp nearby. He dropped his keys in a tray on the kitchen counter, stepping more into the small apartment. 

Michael stepped in, closing and locking the front door. He looked at the dimly lit, converted warehouse. "Never be afraid to ask for money, Luke."

Luke's face fell, that is not what he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear, "Wow, did you spend seventy-two hours painting those chairs? They're so beautiful!" He wanted Michael to look at his bed, the sheets tucked under the mattress and go, "You made the bed this morning? Good job!" He needed his friend to look at all the small details Luke spent six years perfecting. 

From the polaroids on the wall, to the paper stars hanging from the ceiling. From the records on the wall to the icicle lights above them. From the beach signs (even though he was hundreds miles away from a real beach) to the map of the world. 

Michael didn't pay attention to the color coordinated chairs or the homemade magnets on the fridge. All he saw was cheap furniture and a huge crack in the wall. "Is this safe?"

"Yes, Michael, it is safe," he snarled, unbuttoning his jeans and throwing them in a basket. He slid on dark purple leggings, tucking his band tee into the waistband.

Mike bent down untying his shoelaces. He could see a pile of dust around the corners of the small kitchen. The entire apartment was the size of Mike's closet. Michael doesn't even own many clothes. 

Luke ran a hand through his hair, trying to get the stickiness from his hairspray out. He opened his laptop which was laying carefully on his nightstand. Usually his nightstand was full of crayons and guitar picks and random things, but he actually cleaned it for Michael. He put on a playlist, Snow Patrol playing from the speakers. "Where's Cy, by the way? You're not, like, leaving him alone to be with me, right?" Luke asked, trying to get the annoyed tone out of his voice and change subjects. 

"Nah, he's with a friend," Michael answered, taking off his coat and looking for a place to put it. He settled on the counter top since Luke didn't even have space for a couch. 

"Lucky guy, I never had friends," he laughed, jumping on his bed. He placed a hand under his head, sitting up just enough to watch Michael crawl in bed next to him.

"I'm worried for him, honestly. He has, like, one friend," Mike snuggled into the curve of Luke's body. He laid his head on Luke's stomach, closing his eyes. 

"That's not something to worry about. Some people are just able to be alone without being lonely."

"He tried to kill himself," Michael said quickly, trying to get this conversation over with. "After our parents died, then after he got out of his little rehabilitation session, then a few months ago for no reason."

Luke's calming smile faded, "Sometimes people don't need a reason to be sad. Sometimes they're just sad."

"I don't want him to die, I'd have nothing."

Humans are selfish. They'll cry at funerals because they don't have that person again. They'll only think about themselves. "You need to be there for him, obviously. You need to be proud of the person he is, not the person he was."

Michael ran his thumb in circles on Luke's clothed stomach, "He has everything, but it's never enough."

Luke furrowed his eyebrows and sat up. He pushed Michael off of him and crossed his legs beneath his body. "Your parents died, what, six months ago? He went from a stable two parent home to a brother who was just as much of a mess as he is. You can't expect him to be okay with his new life."

"He has money, he has education, he has love," Michael said, sitting up himself. Mike and Luke were both too defensive. 

"That doesn't matter! When I was growing up, all I wanted was for someone to tell me they're proud of me, and guess what? It never came!"

"But he isn't you!" He yelled, raging more and more each second.

"He could be!" Luke yelled louder, his heart dropping when the emotionless side of Michael came out once more.

Usually, the thirty-one-year-old would try to be a softy while with Luke. His eyes would shine bright, he would be a happy human being. He'd be like flowers on a spring day, like kittens in a lap. It was much different than his work persona.

Michael stayed silent, standing up and slipping off the bed.

"What're you gonna do? Call me worthless, again?" Luke asked, a painful smile plastered on his face.

"I apologized!"

"Right, a kiss is going to solve everything!"

"What more do you want from me?!" Michael yelled, slipping on his shoes and coat. 

"I want you to love me, I want you to love Cy. I want to be your boyfriend, I want you to talk about Cy with hearts in your eyes. I want you to feel emotion, but you don't! You walk around every day like the heartless man you are! It hurts to know you're hurting, but no one can fucking help you if you don't admit that you, too, are just mess!"

Michael slammed the door.