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He’s run this moment over and over in his head. Every day for four years, Luke’s imagined every possible scenario which would result in a face-to-face with Michael Clifford. His ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend Michael Clifford with the huge square-framed black glasses sliding down onto his round little nose, blonde fringe falling over his green eyes, and the dark bands tattooed on his forearms that Luke liked to trace as Michael glared at a textbook with smoldering intensity. Now here he is, shitting his pants at the prospect of seeing the man again, all while in a restaurant’s clammy, damp, tiny bathroom.
His phone buzzes with a text, and he nearly slips into the toilet seat in alarm. It’s Michael, informing that he’ll be there in five minutes. They exchanged numbers, and with a pang, Luke realised that even after all these years, Michael never changed his number. And that he never deleted it from his phone. Luke, on the other hand, has had three phone numbers in the last four years. Security reasons.
He stares at himself in the mirror. Blonde curls trimmed and gelled, a sprinkling of stubble on his chin and the sides of his jaw. White shirt, collar crisp and ironed, slightly unbuttoned and covered with a leather jacket. Painted nails, black jeans, heeled boots; if someone were to look at him just once, they could tell that he’s a lead singer in a band. He looks the part. Maybe he overdid this. He should’ve stuck to a simple band tee and jeans. What was he thinking?
What will Michael think of him when he sees him like this? After so long? Luke’s changed, and he knows it. But what if Michael sees him as the same boy from college? Luke takes a deep breath. Maybe he can’t do this. Maybe while he can, he should just slip out and hide in a taxi until Michael leaves. What if this is the worst idea he’s had? What if he and Michael still have beef from their relationship in college, and it all ends in a huge argument? He smooths his hair out, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans as he convinces himself that it’ll be alright. He eyes the little bag resting on the platform. He bought Michael something when he was in Paris.
And he was in Paris last month, when he visited the Eiffel Tower with his bandmates, and his first thought was, Michael would love this. Immediately, he’d picked up a little silver-plated miniature Eiffel Tower from one of the souvenir shops and had it gift-wrapped. It was just instinct, Luke realises, looking back. Only that night, when he sat all alone in his hotel room’s balcony, staring out at the city of light, of love, it hit him that Michael wasn’t in his life anymore.
Little did he know that he’d get the opportunity to see him one last time, and give him the present. He takes a deep breath and sends a text to his bandmate Ashton, telling him he’s two minutes away from meeting Michael in the flesh. Ashton, as usual, responds with a string of overly excited emojis and thumbs ups. Luke smiles. Ashton’s always been the one to go to when he’s stressed, even before shows. He’s like the wise older brother who always knows what to say. And Luke’s so thankful for him.
Luke: i’m going out of the restroom now. i think he’s here
Ashton replies almost instantly.
Ashton: You got this, Lu. Just be yourself. And have fun.
Luke takes a deep breath. Be yourself. What if Michael doesn’t like who he is now? He considers saying as much to Ashton, but then decides against it. He doesn’t want the whole self-help therapy shit right now. Not when he’s already so jittery. He steps out into the familiar atmosphere of the restaurant, and finds a man at the door, looking around in a daze. He’s got light blonde hair, an emo fringe running down one side of his face, while black earrings dangle from his ears. As he nervously chews on his lip, his eyes flit upwards to meet Luke’s, who realises with a start that he’s staring right at Michael. And holy shit, he hasn’t changed even a bit. And yet, everything seems different about him.
“Um…” he wants to raise his voice to call out to Michael, or wave, or something. But his body is frozen stiff. His voice dies in his throat before it could even conjure up a sound. He’s just standing there like an idiot, watching the other boy- no, man - watching the other man stare at the place with wide eyes. He looks… lost.
“Hi, sir, do you have a reservation?” The maitre d’ smiles expectantly at Michael, who just shrugs and stutters helplessly. Luke suppresses a fond smile. Michael was never good with talking to people, especially strangers, and clearly, that hasn’t changed.
“Uh, I-I think so?”
“Hemmings. It’s Hemmings,” Luke pipes up, jogging to the little desk at the entrance. “He’s with me. I’m Hemmings. He’s with me.”
Michael’s head shoots up at the sound of Luke’s voice, his lips parting as his eyes wander up and down Luke’s body. Luke can tell he’s surprised, to say the least, judging by his wide eyes and rapid blinking, and he’s fiddling with his earlobe. Michael only does that when he’s either really shocked, or really upset. Luke hopes it’s the former, though that’s just the lesser of the two evils.
“H-Hi Mike,” Luke manages, forcing a tight smile. “Happy Birthday!”
Michael nods, exhaling slowly. “Hey, Luke,” he says, softly.
As the maitre d’ leads them to a table right opposite a sleek fireplace, Luke takes the opportunity to take in Michael fully. His hair has grown out in the last four years, all hints of dye completely wiped out. Luke can’t wrap his head around the idea of a Michael without coloured hair, as that’s all he’d ever known in college. He has bags under his eyes, enlarged on his pale skin through his large glasses, the only thing that Luke recognizes from the Michael in his memories. From his Michael. Luke orders a cocktail for himself, which is fucking obscure for eleven in the morning, and Michael definitely thinks so too, judging by the light frown that appears on his face.
“I- uh, I’m used to cocktails now,” he chuckles awkwardly. “Airport lounges, you know.”
Michael raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, eyes trained on his beer. He hasn’t spoken ten words since he got here, and Luke doesn’t know what to think, because all these years, he’s been the quiet one soaking in Michael’s warmth while the latter would talk and talk and talk, only stopping to take a breath. This new Michael? Luke doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“I-” he sighs. “This is so awkward, Mike.”
“I know,” Michael agrees. “This is… This shouldn’t feel like this.”
He’s fiddling with his earring, and Luke squirms in his seat. He’s making Michael uncomfortable. Does Michael even want to be here?
“How have you, uh, been?” Luke offers. It’s a cliche, sure, but someone has to start the conversation, right?
“I’ve been okay.”
That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say?
“What- What have you been up to? You know, job and stuff?” He waits with bated breath for Michael to tell him to fuck off, but it never happens. He waits for an animated response about his job and colleagues, but that never happens either. Who is this man in front of him, and where is the pure ray of sunshine that he left behind? Luke knows he’s pushing it, but he can’t wrap it around his head, that he’s sitting across from the same Michael he knew four years ago.
Michael clears his throat and stares blankly at his drink.
“I don’t know, you tell me,” his voice is quiet, like he’s holding back something. “You’re the one travelling the world.”
Ouch. Is that a… taunt?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke asks, immediately.
“Nothing,” Michael shrugs.
“Michael, are you okay?” It’s crossing a line, but he can’t keep up with the conversation if it continues this way.
“Yeah. Whatever.” He fiddles with the drawstrings on his hoodie, staring out the windows at some car that’s just pulled up.
“Do- Do you not want to be here?” Luke blurts it out before he can even process the words. “You- You didn’t have to meet me, you know. I just thought- I just- I was in town for a few days and I-I thought it’d be a good idea to catch up with you. But, if you don’t want to…”
His voice trails up, and his big blue eyes stare intently at Michael, dreading every movement he’ll make.
“This place-” Michael looks around. “It’s so fucking fancy.” He laughs mirthlessly. “Do you remember when we’d pass this place on our way to the old diner at the corner, wondering what it’d be like to be able to afford eating here?”
“I-I remember.”
What is he supposed to say to that? He realises, he wasn’t thinking. Luke’s not the same person anymore. He operates in totally different circles now. He didn’t stop to think that Michael was exactly where Luke left him, stuck in the same town, living in the same apartment. He didn’t mean to rub his success in Michael’s face. He never meant to.
“Michael, I’m sorry,” he rushes his words.
“What for?”
“I-I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable-” Luke hopes he doesn’t burst into tears. “I swear, I wasn’t. I would never. I just like this place, from coming here whenever I’m on tour here, and- and that’s the only reason I-I asked you to come here.”
“That’s…” Michael looks distant. Thoughtful. “That’s not your fault, is it? It’s not your fault that I’m still here. It’s- It’s just a silly memory anyway. I’m- I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“But-” Luke decides to leave it at that, not wanting to bring up anything from their relationship.
“But, really, tell me about you,” Luke insists. “It’s been so long, man, I feel like I know nothing about you.”
Michael just clicks his tongue. “You first.”
“Michael-”
“No, really,” he says. “You’re the one with an interesting life, you tell me. I have nothing to say, unless you want to hear about how I struggle to pull my rent together on the thirtieth of every month.”
Luke huffs out a laugh at that, relieved that Michael’s old snarky sense of humour is finally making an appearance.
“So?” Michael raises an eyebrow. “Tell me, rockstar. What have you been up to, since you left me crying in my dorm room the night before my Chemistry final?”
“I-” He winces at the memory, but sees Michael wearing a small smile, and relaxes. Maybe they’re past this? He doesn’t know. Do they even bring up their relationship? Or do they pretend nothing happened? Should Luke tell him how he’s felt all these years, or should he just laugh along, get this day over with and go back on tour on Tuesday?
“I’ve been… I’ve been great, actually.” He watches as Michael slowly raises his eyes to meet Luke’s, and his green irises still glow like the lamps that lit up Luke’s world years ago. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but some of that light seems to have dimmed out, weighed down by the pressures of adulthood, or whatever one wants to call it. The band tees, colourful flannel and the obscure, multicoloured trousers Michael would wear to get a laugh out of Luke are all long gone, replaced by heavy black and navy blue tones completely enveloping Michael in their darkness. It’s edgy, for sure, but Luke thinks it weighs Michael down. Not that it’s his place to have an opinion, but he does anyway.
He misses the vibrant Michael. He misses… Michael.
“You know, the band sort of blew up, these last few years, which was crazy. Like, touring and stuff has been amazing, and Ashton and Ian have been incredible throughout, and I- I feel so lucky.”
Did he say too much? Should he have toned down the… joy? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything anymore.
“Wow, that’s- that’s amazing, Luke.” Michael smiles genuinely, his eyes finally crinkling at the corners, and the snub of his nose turning upward by the slightest. Luke can’t help the fond smile that creeps up his face, nostalgia flooding his insides and twisting his gut around, making him realise how much he missed this man. And he hates how they ended. All because of him.
“Thanks,” Luke feels the heat settle on his cheeks, despite barely having thought of Michael in the last few years. But when he did, he felt the memories hit hard in the chest, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He doesn't know how he feels about Michael, but he wishes he didn’t end things so badly.
“No, really,” Michael says. “I’m proud of you. I’m proud of everything you’ve achieved.”
An unspoken ‘everything you’ve achieved without me’, hangs in the air, but none of them address it.
“So,” Luke crosses one leg over the other over the table. “Anyone special?”
“Nope. Nobody since… you.”
Michael says it with a sigh, and Luke wonders what he means. Is it- Is it wistful, bitter, or just- a statement?
“How about you?” He asks. “Someone as famous as you must have people throwing themselves at your feet all the time.”
Luke laughs. “That happens,” he admits. “That happens a lot. But, no. I’m not seeing anyone. I haven’t really had the time for a relationship, plus…” he hesitates. “There’s nobody out there like you.”
Michael bites the inside of his cheek, like he always did when complimented. Luke smiles warmly at the picture, wishing with all his heart that he could reach out and wipe off the bit of cheese that sits on Michael’s upper lip.
“Michael?”
He looks up from his food. “Yeah?”
“I’ve really missed you, mate. So much.”
Michael doesn’t say anything, letting out a long breath. He finally looks up to meet Luke’s eyes, his face a mixture of a lot of different emotions that are almost impossible to pick apart.
“So have I. More than I can tell you.”
“Oh, and- I’m sorry. For the way it ended.”
It feels good to put that out there, despite it having been four fucking years overdue. Better late than never. Michael, however, just hums in response.
“That’s a conversation for another day.”