Archive of Our Own ^beta

Luke looks up at the sound of the jangling of the keys against the keyhole, and the brief click that follows. Moments later, he’s met with Michael’s familiar, snuggly form standing in the doorway with a duffel bag and a Walmart plastic bag slung around his arm. 

“Get your ass up and give me a hand here!” he grumbles, green eyes flashing angrily at Luke. 

“Hello to you too, Mikey darling,” Luke purrs, smiling sweetly at him as Michael gives him the finger. “Since you didn’t give me a hello kiss, I ain’t helping with anything.”

Michael rolls his eyes and dumps his bags down on the floor, before throwing himself on a beanbag beside Luke. He lunges forward for the pack of Skittles lying by Luke’s beanbag, and groans when it’s snatched away from him. 

“Gimme,” he makes grabby hands for the candy, pouting as Luke’s grin stretches wider across his face. 

“Hard pass.” Luke swats Michael’s stubby searching fingers away, earning an annoyed grunt from the latter. “You, without so much as a hello, unceremoniously dumped yourself and your stuff into my spick and span living room, which, I’ll have you know - I took the entire afternoont to clean. Floors don’t just shine like mirrors with the snap of your fingers, y’know. And after that first disgrace, you reach for my snacks, which I painstakingly walked ten steps to the vending machine around the corner to buy, and that, too, with my hard earned, struggling library employee money. You deserve nothing but pain, Michael Clifford.” 

Pleased with himself for his dramatic monologue, Luke smiles toothily at his best friend, who’s glaring at him from across the room. He’s dressed in loose, baggy clothes as always; an army green hoodie (Luke’s own, by the way) and grey Target joggers that Luke can bet he hasn’t gotten out of for the last three days, minimum. He looks very soft, huggable; like a teddy bear, compared to his own bare chested, dad-like self despite the chilly weather outside. Luke just doesn’t feel the cold, it’s not his fault. But then, Michael wears hoodies even in peak summer. So there’s no telling who the weird one is. Maybe both of them. 

Luke and Michael have been best friends since elementary school, moving out of the country all alone, but together for college, getting through all the highs and lows of adulting together. There’s never been a person who knows them that doesn’t refer to them as “Luke and Michael”. Always paired, and if one’s without the other, questions are immediately asked. Hell, some people automatically assume they’re dating, and he hurriedly corrects them. But deep down, Luke doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know when his brain made the transition of looking at Michael as a friend to someone he’d want as more than a friend, but it’s true. Sometimes, when he stares at Michael’s choppy, often dishevelled blue hair, he feels like-

“Luke! Earth to Lucas Hemmingway!” Michael taps Luke on the cheek repeatedly, a last ditch attempt to get his attention, it seems. 

“Wh-What?” Luke snaps out of his Michael-starring fantasy, focusing his gaze on the man himself. Fucking hell.

“I’m staying the night,” He announces, brandishing his Pokemon pyjamas in Luke’s face as evidence. 

“You are?” Luke perks up and immediately tries to tone down the enthusiasm in his voice. One should not be so excited about a best friend spending the night at their place. Well, maybe it checks out, because of the whole besties-stay-up-all-night-and-talk-till-their-voices-give-out thing, but the only problem with that is, they’re not twelve anymore. 

“Jason’s been giving me a hard time again.”

Luke frowns. “What’d he do now?” 

Jason is Michael’s middle aged, hairy, obese, extremely nosy landlord. Apart from extremely absurd rules he insists on his tenants following, he’s really annoying about stuff like collecting rent a week before the first of the month as “you’re paying me rent for the coming month you’re about to spend in my flat, not the month you’ve already spent. As you very well know, I neither accept, nor tolerate what you youngsters call post-payment.” Michael hates Jason with a passion, and is too proud to accept Luke’s long standing invitation to permanently room with him and split the rent. He’ll just smile that warm, toothy smile of his, ruffle Luke’s curls (that makes his brain tangle itself into impossible knots) and say, well, Mum, if you keep helping me out, how will I ever do anything on my own? 

And yet here he is, crashing at Luke’s place yet another night. Luke eyes his worn out sneakers carelessly kicked off beside the door, his Target duffel bag dumped beside them, contents already overflowing. It feels like home, Michael’s stuff all strewn chaotically, in a stark contrast to Luke’s slick apartment, a little too clean for his own good. Michael’s words, not Luke’s. Michael always says that Luke’s perennial cleanliness disgusts him. That one shouldn’t be so perfect all the time (which Luke sometimes tends to ruminate over when he’s alone in the darkness and comfort of his bedroom), and that it’s beneficial to be messy. Luke doesn’t really believe it, but is willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. But only because Michael said so.

But in all honesty, Luke’s fastidious nature is something he uses to process the thoughts that run through his head, non-stop. When things get too muddled to look at straight, he picks up a dusting cloth and clears out his bookshelves. When Michael gives him a friendly peck on his cheek, calling Luke his beautiful wife and immediately gushing about how handsome Henry Cavill is, he grabs a mop and scrubs the floors until they’re as slippery as a skating rink. When his boss refuses to give him a salary hike, insisting he wait a little more for the in-season , Luke jabs and pokes the tightest corners of his apartment with the broom, wishing it were a sword and the contents of the dustpan the remains of his boss. Wishful thinking. 

“No Halloween decorations allowed, he says,” Michael replies ruefully. “Apparently they’re the modern generation’s way of imposing a form of culture on society that is harsh and forceful, and that the elders might not want to follow. And you know how much I love Halloween.” 

It’s true. Michael does love Halloween. Every single year, regardless of his age, he dresses up and goes trick or treating with the kids in the area, and hosts a raging party in either his apartment or Luke’s afterwards (mostly Luke’s because of Jason), for the few friends that they both have. He’s always counting down to the day from a week prior to it, prancing about the place like a puppy when it’s nearing. And on the day itself? It’s best not to ask.

“Mate, Halloween’s a good ten days away,” Luke laughs.

Michael wrinkles his delicate snub nose in disgust, and Luke impulsively reaches out to touch the tip and give it a little boop. Michael winces as he does it, like he always does, and reminds Luke of some Siamese cat, or a really tiny, furry puppy. And he says as much, heart bubbling over with joy as he’s rewarded with a full-bodied laugh, which involves Michael grabbing fistfuls of Luke’s shirt for grip as he nearly tips over in mirth. If only Luke could catch him, breaking his fall and trapping him into his arms, and press a sweet kiss onto his forehead. Nevertheless, he does catch Michael just in time, and looks down at his lap to find Michael staring up at his face with big, shining emerald eyes. Luke stiffens as he pulls his friend back upright, and heaves a small sigh when he’s sure Michael’s not looking. If only.

It’s only then that he realises he hasn’t yet reacted to Michael’s latest complaint of Jason, instead busying himself with the other man’s nose. Shame on him. Luke clears his throat violently, causing Michael to jerk his head up in alarm. 

“Sorry, I think a Skittle lodged itself in there-” He clears his throat again, so harshly that it now hurts, and he’s convinced himself - forget Michael - that something’s really stuck there. 

“Anyways,” He turns his attention back to Michael, who’s propped up cross legged on the beanbag staring intently at Luke, eyes half-closed and leaning forward, like he’s found a very interesting looking zit on Luke’s face. Fuck, what if he has? Why did he not notice the acne on his own face? 

“Halloween, you were saying?”

Michael nods enthusiastically. “Old fuck wants nothing even remotely resembling Halloween in the flat, he says. Not even so much as a regular pumpkin, like, what if I coincidentally want pumpkin soup for dinner on Halloween?”

Luke raises a questioning eyebrow. “Why the fuck would you buy a whole-ass pumpkin if you want soup, Mikey? Just buy a can.”

“But-” he opens his mouth to retort, and then shuts it again, resembling Dory from Finding Nemo. Just a very pale skinned, pink-lipped, highly attractive Dory who is off limits because he is Luke’s best friend. How fun. 

“Fair enough,” he huffs, rolling his eyes at Luke. “I suppose cans are more convenient?” 

“You suppose ?” Luke cackles. “You suppose cans are more convenient? Do yourself a favour, Mike, and stop lying to yourself that you can cook. ‘Cause you can’t cook to save your life, man. And you know it.”

Though Michael looks slightly put off by that, he nods anyway, albeit begrudgingly. He looks at Luke for one long moment, as though analysing the best possible response that will serve as a verbal slap on the face. Michael’s great at those. His expression softens as he next opens his mouth to speak. 

“Maybe I’m faking not being able to cook,” he snarks. “You know, so I have an excuse to come to Ramen Fridays. Which, in turn, is an excuse to see you.”

Luke, who’s just picked up a bottle of water, chokes on the mouthful he’s nursing in his mouth and nearly drops the bottle (which is made of glass and his mum’s favourite in the house. She gave it to him as a goodbye present-memory kind of thing when he left home for college) and turns a bright, fleshy pink. Is Michael pulling his leg, or does he mean what he’s saying? He curses his impeccable timing and advances on Michael with the bottle held aloft like a caveman weapon. Michael squeals and scurries away from Luke’s towering six-foot-four frame, positioning himself behind the second-hand blue velvet sofa, from where Luke can vaguely make out a middle finger pointed at him. 

“Fucker,” he mutters. “No more ramen for you.”

“ Hey! ” Michael sounds insulted, but his angry voice resembles a yowling cat, so it’s impossible for Luke to take him seriously. “You can’t take away ramen! Ramen is life, and death. It’s the disease and the cure. It is the very purpose of my being.” Michael extends his arms dramatically, like he’s DiCaprio in the Titanic. “You can kick me out of your apartment, but please don’t deprive me of ramen!”

Luke clicks his tongue dismissively. “Whatever. So, how long are you going to be couch surfing for?”

“Till Halloween?” Michael replies, but it comes out like a question. Like he’s scared Luke will refuse. 

“Oh. Uh. Of course. We could do something. Maybe a party.” Luke says, absent-mindedly, as he runs the various options for dinner through his head. Spaghetti? Nah, too much work. Mac and cheese? Inviting, but he’s only just started going to the gym. Salad? Fuck off. He;s only trying to get fitter, not become Chris fucking Hemsworth. Eggs? Not the worst idea. Doable. 

“Oi, Mike,” he finds the TV remote near his feet and throws it at Michael, drawing a surprised yelp from him. “Eggs for dinner?” 

“Gee, why not,” He deadpans, running his fingers through his hair, dyed a dark blue, nearly indigo. “Let’s just pop ‘em out the fridge and into our mouths, eh?” 

Luke doesn’t bother gracing him with an answer. Just continues staring stolidly at him. 

“What?” Michael puts out his arms in protest. “Not my fault you didn’t specify, is it?” 

“Omelette. Or scrambled. Hard boiled, last choice. None of that half done, sunny side up shit.” Luke loves eggs, and could eat an omelette sandwich all day, every day. But his enmity with uncooked eggs is something else altogether. He hates the runniness of raw eggs, their revolting smell that lingers on his fingers long after he’s washed his hands makes him want to retch. And those fucking eggshells. Always making their way into his food, uninvited. Bitches. 

“Scrambled,” Michael mumbles, with a wave of his hand. “With cheese. No onions. I don’t know why you add vegetables to scrambled eggs, but none for me.”

“Fuck off,” Luke makes a face at him as he stands up, brushing candy dust off his jeans and heading for the kitchen. “Be thankful I’m giving you a roof to live under and food to fill that very needy stomach of yours, despite your very well being able to provide for yourself.”

“Luke!” he shouts much louder than needed, just as he’s about to turn on the stove. 

“What is it, Michael?” Luke snaps. “I’m not the one with the shitty landlord, but here you’ll get me kicked out.” 

“Cheddar cheese, not American,” Michael clarifies. “If you put American in there I swear I will kill you.”

“I’m not your fucking butler, Mike,” Luke scoffs, taking the eggs out of the fridge, lingering for a moment to bask in the cool air escaping it. 

“Oh, but you are!” 

“Eat what you get, dick.” 

“Who’s giving me dick to eat?” he yowls, and Luke can only pray that old Mrs Faith upstairs didn’t hear him. “You, my dear butler?” 

Ow. Luke nearly burns his hand on the sizzling pan. Was that necessary? Luke’s fantasies are already out of control, and Michael’s only making them worse. 

“Shut the fuck up and come help me,” Luke growls, almost swiping the knife down on his finger instead of on the egg. Shit. At this rate, he’ll be dead before Halloween. 

Reluctantly, Michael shuffles over to the kitchen, looking like he’ll fall asleep any moment now. Hopefully against Luke’s shoulder as they huddle together for some Netflix after dinner. Only Netflix. No chilling. Just Netflix. Netflix and no chill. Especially not if Michael falls onto his lap. Fuck. 

“What do you need me to do, butler?” 

Luke points his knife at Michael threateningly, but the latter just laughs. “You’d never hurt me.”

“Maybe I would,” Luke puts on his best evil smile. “You’re being really fucking annoying right now.”

“But you love me!” Michael wraps his arms around Luke’s torso without warning, resting his head on Luke’s chest and Luke’s scared he can hear his heart thumping at the alarming rate that it is. Regardless, he puts an arm around Michael, holding him there as he pours the eggs onto the pan with the other hand. Luke would make a fantastic husband (to Michael, in particular), even if he does say so himself. 

“That I do,” he admits, resting his chin on Michael’s head, grimacing slightly as his hair’s rough tips scratch the underside of his chin. But it’s alright. It’s Michael. 

As the eggs sizzle against the heat of the pan, Luke allows a sigh. He can’t cross the line between friends and lovers. That being said, the warmth of Michael wound around him, his hoodie-clad arms snaking around Luke’s bare chest so tightly that Luke would technically suffocate, but instead he relaxes into Michael’s grip, a content (lovestruck) smile playing on his lips as he shuts his eyes and fantasises about this exact same moment, just as it is, except that they’re boyfriends. Michael leaning up onto his toes to press a kiss to Luke’s shoulder, Luke spinning him around to the front and dipping him back like they’re in a ballroom dance, making out on the kitchen counters; such dreams are best left to reside in the darkest corners of Luke’s brain, where Michael will never find them.

“Luke?” Michael breaks the comfortable silence that’s filled the kitchen. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m cooking breakfast tomorrow.”

Luke snorts as he divides the scrambled eggs between two plates and grates half a block of cheese onto them. Extra cheese never hurt anybody. 

“Dream on, Mike,” he chuckles, carrying their plates (and Michael, who is still positioned around Luke) to the table. “You can’t crack an egg to save your life. Make breakfast? Please.”

Michael says nothing as he shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth, throwing his head back onto the chair and moaning in bliss as the cheese makes its way through his mouth. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Luke smirks. If only he could make Michael moan like that. 

“It’s the cheese pleasuring me, dumbass, not you,” Michael says, cheekily, taking another bite. 

“I would, if I could,” Luke murmurs. 

“What was that?” Michael’s head jerks up, looking questioningly at Luke. “What’d you say? I didn’t hear you over all the cheese squelching in my teeth.”

Luke clears his throat and looks away, colour and heat occupying their rightful place on his cheeks. He’s such an idiot. Why would he say something like that out loud? What if Michael heard him? He didn’t. Or he wouldn’t still be sitting here. But when Luke glances up to meet Michael’s eyes again, twinkling back at him as a patch of ketchup lines his lower lip and he licks it off excruciatingly slowly, never once breaking eye contact, he can’t be so sure anymore. Operation Maintain Distance From Michael, is now a go.

“Nothing. I said nothing. Anyways, do you want to watch some Netflix after this, or should we get an early night?”

Michael just yawns in response. “No Netflix today. I’m tired.”

“I’ll bring the extra pillows and stuff then.”

“What for?” Michael asks, confused. 

“The sofa, of course? You’re sleeping there, aren’t you?” 

Michael only raises an eyebrow. “Luke, I’ve known you since before you knew not to piss your pants, and now you’re exiling me to the sofa?” He blinks, jutting out his lower lip and faking hurt. “My beautiful wife doesn’t want to sleep with me anymore? What have I done to upset my lovely wife?”

Luke squirms. Operation dangerously on the verge of crash-landing. “Fine, just don’t throw your legs over me at night,” he huffs.

“But you’re so warm and broad and nice to sleep with,” Michael whines, throwing his legs over both of Luke’s, wrapping around them like a snake. Luke can’t tell, again, if it’s just a general observation or a compliment, or just Michael being Michael. He decides not to ask. He could never differentiate between genuine gushy Michael and sarcastic gushy Michael, and with this newfound romantic jabs thing they’ve found themselves caught in, he can’t differentiate even more. 

Face it , he thinks. Michael is your friend, and loves you as a friend. Maybe even a brother. Not a boyfriend. And he never will. 

As he shuts off the lights and climbs into bed, he feels his arm rub against Michael’s, and freezes. Why is this so awkward? They’ve slept in the same bed so many times, sometimes even butt-naked. They have been ever since they were kids, dammit! Even though butt-naked is no longer an option for Luke, if he wants to preserve his sanity, he wishes he could just casually wrap his arm around Michael in his sleep, like he used to earlier. 

Now, with the newfound feelings that have taken up permanent residence in his heart, his limbs won’t move. They’re stiffer than stone. Michael, on the other hand, throws an arm around Luke’s torso and pulls himself closer, resting his head on Luke’s chest, and his leg snakes over Luke’s. Luke holds his breath, afraid Michael will hear the incessant pounding of his heart. Affection hating by day, and insanely clingy and cuddly at night (only with Luke, nobody else enjoys this privilege), Michael smiles into Luke’s skin, and Luke shivers, partly because it’s cold and partly because he can feel the soft curves of Michael’s lips on him. If only…

“Night, Luke,” he mumbles. 

“Goodnight, Michael.”

“I love you.”

Platonically. As a friend. Not ‘love’ love. As. A. Friend.

“Love you too…” Luke clenches his eyes shut, trying to tune out his hysterical thoughts, which is hard enough every night, but even harder with Michael pressed against his side. He grits his teeth and forces the word out, re-establishing boundaries (for himself, obviously) so no one gets hurt. “... bro.”

***

Robinson. Rosen. Rosoff . Too many rose-sounding names. Ross . And another. Slightly better, but not much. Roth . Quirky. Rowell. Rhymes with Adele. Rowling. AHA! Roy. Indian, perhaps. Roy is more of a first name than a last, so he can only assume. Diversity, that adds up. Rundell. Sorry, what? Rushdie. Huh? Russell. Thank goodness. 

Luke’s eyes threaten to flutter shut as he continues to stock up shelf after shelf according to name. It’s a little annoying. What’s the point of having two separate sections, one where shelves are divided by genre, and then name; and another where you just throw in all the genres together, just concentrate on name. Luke doesn’t get it. Then, again, there’s a lot of things about his boss that he doesn’t get. 

It’s shitty enough to have gotten a degree in English Literature and creative writing only to wind up working in a privately owned bookstore. The stereotypical middle class English major’s occupation. What Luke really wants to do is become a published author, and a professor maybe a couple of years down the road. But here he is, having Louie scream instructions at him while all his writing is pitifully tucked behind the Oxford Dictionary, because he’s too embarrassed to let anyone see it.

His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he goes up on his toes to reach the top rack (something some may refuse to believe considering he’s something of a giant himself, but when you’ve got HUGE shelves, you feel small) and stuff some ancient romance novel in there. He grumbles, pulling it out to see who’s calling at this time, especially as he has his lunch break in ten minutes. His frown is almost magically erased and replaced with a face-cracking grin as he sees the name on the caller ID. 

Moichael Cleeffuhd <3 is calling you…

He thinks it’s funny, the way he saved Michael’s name on his phone, the way it’s pronounced back home in Australia. And the heart… Well, Michael doesn’t seem to mind, so Luke pretends not to notice having done it. On his own phone. Living with Michael is the best thing ever, and he’s surprised he just realised it, despite having done it many times before.

“Hello hello hello!” Michael’s voice rings out bright and clear, like the sky on a summer afternoon. Luke’s heart immediately melts into a puddle into his shoes, like a lemonade popsicle. Goes perfectly with the whole summery analogy he has going on.

“Hey, Mike,” Luke breathes, unable to help a smile creep up his face. 

“You sound tired,” he observes. “What’s up?” 

“You know, the usual. Who knew R surnames were so try-hard?” 

Luke’s stomach simmers warmly in response to the delighted chuckle he receives. He can faintly make out a buzz of chatter in Michael’s background, and the chomping that punctuates his sentences. He must be on his lunch break. He says as much. 

“Yeah, just got rid of the most annoying customer. It was a pain in the ass, honestly.” Michael sighs, pausing to take a bite of whatever he’s eating. He works at a clothing store in the mall (while trying to get a degree in sound engineering online), and from all the stories Luke’s heard, it can be a scary job. He also used to work part time at this bakery opposite Luke’s apartment, back when he was just an intern, but when he had to start working longer hours, he had no choice but to quit, hence struggling to pay rent for a decent place, hence having to tolerate Jason’s bullshit. 

Michael proceeds to ramble on and on about some lady whose size was clearly an extra-large, but was firm that she could fit into a medium. Medium bodycon dress. Full sleeved. Luke shudders at the thought even before Michael can get into the details, silently saluting his best friend for enduring such horrors on a daily basis. 

“Obviously enough, we weren’t body shaming or anything, but you can’t fucking fit into a dress that isn’t your size!” Michael chatters endlessly, determined to rattle off the entire story to Luke before his lunch break is up, as someone has to share in his trauma. And saying that Luke should consider himself lucky that Michael’s chosen him for this noble, horrifying cause. And in truth, he probably should, because Michael’s usually very reserved. He avoids conversation unless absolutely necessary, and Luke’s pretty sure not even Michael’s parents know half the things about their son that he does. His overenthusiastic chatter is reserved for Luke, and Luke alone. And Luke loves it. 

“Obviously enough, she got stuck in the dress, and was screaming from the trial rooms - which she had locked from the inside because she was changing, duh. And like, Stephanie and Milana are working the evening shift today, so I was the only one around, and Noah forced me to go in and help her. Me. A guy. Go help a woman stuck in a dress two sizes too small. So Charlie and I kicked the door down - and then I find this lady standing in the middle of the room, screaming her lungs out, with both her arms sticking out upwards, because she just couldn’t fit them in, and… yeah, the dress was clinging to her so tightly that we had to literally pry it off her butt-”

He pauses, presumably to take another bite, and Luke tries his best to hold in the reaction for the end, because he knows there’s more left. 

“-And then, after everything, she’s standing there in her underwear- and Charlie and I immediately run out. When she comes back out fully clothed this time, guess what she did. She fucking threatened to report us to the police for harassment . Harassment. After she literally yelled at us to come and help her get her big butt out of the dress despite us telling her we were men. Can you believe the bitch?”

Luke bursts into loud laughter, earning a few rightfully deserved glares from his coworkers and a few customers who are clearly very picky about silence in a bookstore. The reading lounge is on the other side of the store, go there if you want silence! He hums in response occasionally as Michael goes on and on, only half listening to what he’s saying and concentrating more on the way he rolls his letters in his tongue before actually saying them, and his voice is all whisper-scream-y as he’s trying not to be too loud in whatever corner of the mall’s food court he’s sitting in. He notices the way Michael stops between every few sentences to say his name like he’s making sure Luke’s listening to him. He thinks of the way Michael slightly sucks in the inside of his cheek every time he says Luke. He thinks of Michael’s slow drawl, that gets all flowy and incomprehensible when he’s excited and talks fast. 

“Oh, and Charlie just looked so cute today!” Michael gushes. Luke rolls his eyes. It’s always Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. He’s a nice guy. Luke’s met him a couple of times. Plus, he’s very attractive; dark curls, dark eyes, lip piercing, painted nails, winning smile, and a smooth, mellifluous voice that’s pleasant to listen to. Michael yaps on and on about how Charlie painted his nails indigo because they match Michael’s hair and how he’s planning to get blonde streaks in his curly hair, and whether or not Michael should get streaks done too. 

Luke suspects that Michael has a crush on Charlie, and it gets to him. A lot more than it should. Charlie is cute, Charlie is smart, Charlie is witty, and Charlie spends eight hours a day with Michael every single day. What’s stopping them from hooking up? His blood boils, albeit unintentionally, but he can’t help but feel a sudden pang of jealousy for Charlie. What kind of name is Charlie? Luke is much cooler. Luke and Michael has a nice ring to it, friendly, easy. Charlie and Michael just sounds weird. It’s so… forced? Luke knows he’s not being rational, but Charlie and Michael just sounds stupid. Too many syllables.

He is so far gone for Michael, and it terrifies him. Michael’s known him like, more than ten years. Michael has played wingman for Luke several times in high school and college, as has Luke. And now, Luke wants to, what, kiss his own wingman? What’s next, ask his mum out on Valentine’s? 

“LUKE! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin, not expecting Michael to screech into his ear like that. 

“Wh-What the fuck?” Luke hisses. “You almost made me go deaf!”

Michael hums softly on the other end, and Luke can practically hear him smirking. “You weren’t paying attention to me,” he reproaches. “You weren’t being a good wife. So, I had to get your attention.”

Luke flushes, despite knowing full well that Michael’s joking. He’s fucking joking, and yet Luke can’t keep it in his pants; the fucker that he is. 

“I’m here,” he says, forcing himself to pay attention. An alarm beeps on his watch, and his wrist starts buzzing. 2:00. Fuck, yeah! Lunch. Luke goes over to unwrap his sandwich, which to his dismay, is literally dripping wet. The moisture from something has just crept up over the entire slice of bread and soaked it completely. Fucking hell, not even possums eat that shit. Luke slams it into the bin and turns his attention back to Michael with an angry kick at a bookshelf. 

“What’s for lunch, Lucas?” 

He sighs. “A groggy, soaking wet, disgusting sandwich that I just trashed.”

“Ouch.” Easy for him to ouch. He’s over at the mall , eating burritos in the food court and probably flirting with that bitch Charlie. Or anybody. It could be anybody. Luke’s overcome by a sudden wave of jealousy for whoever has Michael's affections at the moment, because he will never be that guy. He will never be the one Michael talks about with green eyes shining like Christmas decorations and big, animated hand gestures and a loving tenderness in his voice. 

On the contrary, he will be the one Michael’s talking to about whoever this person is. Michael is so close, always with Luke, always turning to him for help, for advice, or even just for a good laugh. But he’s so far away, at the same time. So unattainable. Because Luke will always be the best friend that Michael’s going to introduce hypothetical boyfriends to. Luke can never be the boyfriend. 

“You know, I think I have to go now,” Luke cuts Michael off halfway, knowing it’s rude, but he can’t help himself. He can’t listen to Michael’s chatter when he knows he’ll never be the subject of that chatter. 

“But aren’t you on your lunch break?” Michael asks. “And I’ve also got to tell you about this other man that came in this morning, fourth of fifth customer-” 

“I gotta go.” Luke snaps, and hangs up in between Michael’s hurried protests. He feels terrible doing it, and doesn’t even know why he’s doing it. All he knows is that he can’t stand the sound of Michael’s voice for another second. How is he going to face the man when he gets home, though? No fucking idea. How will he bear to walk around his apartment casually when Michael’s presence looms over him, smiling sweetly at him, falling asleep on his shoulder, giving him warm, loving hugs and constantly coming up with nicknames that usually, only lovers give each other.

All the nonchalant, friendly flirting, all the touchy-feely at night, the cuddles that just seem to have gotten more intimate over the past week, the fact that Michael now calls Luke more often than he used to; it all reminds him achingly of a relationship. He feels like he’s in a relationship. Like he’s in a happy relationship with the one person that he can never have a relationship that’s not friendship. 

He sulks for the remainder of his shift, throwing books into their designated shelves, scowling at customers who can’t find the books they want, grumbling when he’s asked to go get new stocks from the back room, and rolling his eyes while getting told off by his boss. Thrice. He can’t get the image out of his head; Charlie’s painted fingers curling through Michael’s, giggling and shushing one another as they trip their way to the trial rooms, making sure no one’s looking and locking the door behind them, making out while being surrounded by mirrors on all sides, aesthetically pleasing lighting and trashy pop music playing weakly through the speakers. It’s… a very plausible image, and Luke hates that. 

On his way back in the evening, he passes the old bakery Michael used to work at, and despite himself, picks up some banana muffins for Michael. His heart is always beating to the rhythm of Mi-chael, Mi-chael, Mi-chael, even when Luke’s trying his best not to think of him and Charlie together. Motherfucking Charlie, painting his nails the same as Michael’s hair colour. What a try-hard. 

Luke has half a mind to strangle the man, but Charlie is the only other human on the planet aside from Luke, that Michael likes talking to. So for Michael’s sake, he stops himself. When he gets home, he finds that Michael’s already there, bag thrown beside his shoes at the door, work clothes slung carelessly over the sofa and sitting cross legged in shorts and Luke’s Van Halen shirt (take that, Charlie), munching on microwaved popcorn as he keeps his eyes trained on the TV. 

“My love, I’m home!” Luke announces boisterously, just to see what kind of reaction he’ll get from Michael. As expected, Michael just holds up a middle finger, without so much as even turning his head towards Luke. No problem. Luke probably deserves it. He trudges into his room and throws his work t-shirt and jeans off, pulling on a loose graphic tee and sighing in relief. He hates the stupid purple shirt with the corny book-shaped badge on his chest that has his name on it. With the goddamn mandatory grey jeans. At least Michael gets to wear a black shirt, and works at a nicer place. 

“So, what’d you do today?” He asks, flopping down beside Michael and wrestling for the remote. 

Michael clicks his tongue. “It was a slow day after lunchtime, so Charlie and I just hung out, doing random shit. We got out early and watched a movie.”

Watched a movie. That’s not random shit. 

“What movie?” He asks. It better not be a bloody romance, he thinks to himself. 

“Rampage.”

Oh, thank goodness. 

“How was it?” Luke is desperate to get Michael out of his shell. He’s like this sometimes, after work, not in the mood to talk. But Luke prides himself on always being able to find a way to put that smile back on Michael’s face. 

“Eh.”

Clearly, something’s bothering him. Luke says as much, and is greeted with a long, passive glance before Michael stares at the screen again. What’d he do? 

“Mike? You didn’t answer me. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing,” he doesn’t let it go. Is it because Luke hung up on him earlier today? Once Luke’s latched onto something (or someone), he never lets go. That might be his fatal flaw, but no one’s ever told him that to the face. Or have they? Who knows. “Tell me.”

No response. Alright, politely asking isn’t cutting it? Time for Plan B. Which is…

“MICHAEL! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me-” 

He keeps up the tell me chant for a good minute before Michael groans and yells at him to shut up.

“But- But why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he implores, slightly hurt. 

“Because nothing’s wrong, dammit! Leave me alone!” 

Luke sighs. Michael gets like this sometimes. Vicious, one may call it. Best to leave him be, he decides, walking to the table and dropping the paper bag from the bakery in Michael’s lap before heading back outside. He’ll give Michael some time to blow off some smoke, and by dinnertime, he’ll be fine. Maybe he can reschedule Ramen Friday to… uh, Take What You Want Thursday, and make ramen tonight. Michael loves ramen. And Luke loves Michael. In what way, he doesn’t know yet, and can’t bear to sit down and think about it, so he lets the impending existential crisis hang about in the air for another day. 

He walks up and down the block, getting a coffee from the cafe at the end of the street, and watching a pair of high-school couples walk into the cafe arm in arm, all red-faced and giggly, most likely on their first dates. Luke thinks back to how he phoned Michael at two in the morning, three days before his senior prom, howling about not having a partner. They ended up going together, as friends. 

It was fun, running out when dinner was served to get McDonald’s in tuxedos and eating them while everyone else tried not to choke on their rubbery chicken, and bribing the DJ into playing Green Day when it was time to slow dance. 

Luke chuckles at the memory of the glare Cindy Hollander (cheerleading captain and BItch Supreme) shot at them over that jock Jonah’s shoulder when she finally got him around to holding her waist (despite his constant protests against dancing) and leaning in and the opening bars of Oh Yeah! Blasted through the speakers. Luke nearly wet his pants laughing that time. He even remembers when his chemistry teacher screamed at them over the music, “You two make such a lovely couple! I wish you all the best, darlings!” 

And when Michael asked, Luke laughed and blamed his flaming face on the faulty air conditioning. When, in fact, the air conditioning was absolutely top-notch. And they were standing right under one. 

“Excuse me?”

Luke’s shaken out of his thoughts when he hears a female voice behind him, followed by a light tap on his shoulder. He turns around to see a girl with dark hair looking up at him, somewhat worried. 

“Are you talking to me?” He asks, and the girl nods. She’s got dusky skin, with large brown eyes staring up at him, lips pursed in a pensive frown. “Can I help you?

She sighs. “Pardon the insolence, but… uh,” she turns to look at the cafe’s door, playing with the hem of her sweater as she speaks, clearly jittery about something. “I come here every morning for a coffee before I get to college, and I see you with your boyfriend, and I just-” she panics a little when she sees Luke’s eyes widen in shock at the mention of his boyfriend. She means Michael, doesn’t she? Luke wants to stop and correct her, but this girl is a random stranger, so what could it hurt? 

“Carry on,” he prompts, nodding slowly at her. She exhales heavily and glances at the door of the cafe again, before turning to face Luke. 

“I just wanted to- to ask how you did it.” Poor girl looks absolutely petrified, standing there at, like, five-foot-three, staring up at a six-foot-four Luke. 

“How I did what?” 

“Um…” she shifts her weight from one foot to another, probably trying to string the words together. Luke wonders why you would walk up to a random stranger at a cafe for advice, but doesn’t question it. If he can help, he’s happy to help. 

“I’m- I… I can kind of tell when I look at the two of you - I haven’t been eavesdropping, I swear, but I just catch a whiff of your conversations as you walk past me - I can… I can tell that you’ve been friends long before you got together-” Luke swallows, hard, trying his best not to launch into his own rant about how his boyfriend is really not his boyfriend “-and I just wanted to ask you how you… uh, worked up the courage to tell him, without- without ruining your friendship, because I’m… I’m kind of in love with my best friend, and- um, I’m trying to figure out a way to tell him.” 

She bites on her lip, looking hopefully at Luke as he wracks his brains for an answer. What is he even supposed to say? ‘Look, first off, let me tell you that you got the facts wrong. That man you see me with? He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my best friend whom I’ve been in love with since I don’t know when, and I’m in the same situation as you, so leave me alone,’ obviously won’t cut it, so he just smiles awkwardly at her. Gotta pull something out of the hat, right? 

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “I can’t tell you what exactly to do, because it’s probably different for everyone. But… give it time, I guess. Just spend time together because you want to, make him happy because you like seeing him happy, and just- hang out, basically. When it feels right, tell him, and if he’s not an asshole, he’ll take it well either way.” He looks warily at the girl, who seems to have relaxed considerably. 

“That’s… That’s really all I have to offer,” he shrugs. “I don’t know your friend, so I can’t really say anything beyond that.”

She nods, nevertheless. “Thank you. I… I needed to hear that.”

Luke nods. Maybe he needed to hear it too. From his own goddamn mouth. How ironic. 

“Anyways, I’m Sierra,” she extends a hand with a shy smile creeping up her face. “It was nice to finally talk to you.” 

“What do you mean, finally?” Luke asks, with an amused chuckle. 

Sierra slides her hands in and out of the sweater's sleeves as she looks back at the door one more time, presumably looking out for her best friend. "I've been trying to work up the courage to come and talk to you ever since July."

" July ?" He echoes. "What am I, Robert Pattinson?" 

Sierra laughs, and just then, the door jingles open and a boy walks out. She inhales sharply and looks at him for a moment, before painstakingly tearing her eyes off and greeting him with a smile. 

"Close enough," she smiles at Luke, thanks him again before falling into step with the boy. As they walk further, Sierra turns around one last time to wave goodbye, and Luke gives her a silent thumbs up. He knows how treacherous her situation is. Fucking hell, he's literally in the same bloody situation! He ruminates over the advice he just gave Sierra, about waiting for the right time. But with Michael, Luke feels like he might be waiting forever. He’s unsure of what he should do, what with the looming prospect of Michael and Charlie, whether or not he should make a move, or play it safe and stick to being the steadfast best friend. Or, he could win Michael over to his side. Prise him away from Charlie. Point, Hemmings. Game, set, match, Hemmings. Who gets the guy? Hemmings. Not- Not whatever Charlie’s last name is. 

He walks back home a little after eight o’clock, having his arms full of shopping for ramen night, and only hopes Michael’s not mad at him anymore, for whatever reason. Sometimes, he feels like he’s only a burden to his friend, always forcing him to say what’s on his mind, always the one to reignite the text chain when Michael goes silent, sometimes for days at a stretch. He feels like he’s just there, not helping whatever Michael’s working through, just pulling him along for the ride, probably even though Michael’s unwilling to come along. Luke, ever eager to meet new people and get out of the house, while Michael would give anything just to delete a few people from his life. He doesn’t believe in change. A few constants throughout are all he needs, and Luke hopes he’s one of them. 

Sometimes, he just can’t be sure of what Michael thinks of him. Despite the years and years of their friendship, and knowing Michael inside and out, there’s always been something about the man that Luke could never quite figure out. Maybe he never will. He sighs as he pushes the door open with his shoulder, finding Michael in the same position that Luke left him in. Michael looks up at the sound, and raises his eyebrows at Luke, eyes widening slightly and lips puckering together the tiniest bit. He’s sizing him up. Figuring out what to say to him. Luke knows it. He’s grown familiar with that look. 

“Hey?” He offers, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Michael only grunts in response and turns his attention back to the show he’s watching, which is… better than Luke feared, which is the total silent treatment, but worse than he hoped for. No matter. Without a word, he makes his way to the kitchen and puts the noodles to boil as he turns his focus to the intimidating heap of vegetables in front of him. He may or may not stick his knife into the carrots a little harder than necessary, and throws them into the pot a little too hard, causing several little juliennes to bounce back out. Still no reaction from Michael. Luke wonders what’s wrong with him. 

“Mike, a little help! It’s an emergency!” He calls, hoping he turns up. Faking an emergency always has Michael up and ready by Luke’s side, no matter how far away he is. It’s kind of like crying wolf, but Luke’s willing to run the risk.

“With what?” Michael grumbles, after a pause. Luke smiles triumphantly to himself. It still works.

“I…really need you here, it’s really, really urgent!” he hears the patter of Michael’s socked feet down his wooden floors, and grins. 

“What do you need? I’m here.” 

Luke doesn’t turn around, but can feel Michael’s presence in the tiny box he calls a kitchen. He just continues to stir in silence, a feeling of victory washing over him. It’s a small victory, maybe even insignificant. But, to Luke, Michael is everything. He suppresses a laugh as Michael taps a fork impatiently against the counter, waiting for a response. 

“Luke?” He asks, again. “What do you want?” 

He turns slowly, holding a ladle full of the soup to Michael’s face. 

“You,” he whispers, smiling as he gestures for Michael to taste, which the latter does with a roll of his eyes. 

“You’re so cheesy, man,” he complains, slurping the contents of the ladle before passing it back to Luke with an approving nod. 

“What? This is the only way I can get you to talk to me,” Luke shrugs, turning his attention back to the ramen. He turns around just in time to see Michael leaning over to take some of the strained noodles he’d set aside to add at the end, and pushes his hands away, tutting. 

“Let me have one!” Michael whines, but Luke snatches the bowl away from him. 

“Nope.” He empties the noodles into the boiling soup and laughs as Michael groans. “First, you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” He reaches for the bottle of water resting on the counter, and the tip of his fingers accidentally brush the side of Luke’s hip. He freezes. 

“Don’t lie,” he mutters. “I know you enough to tell that it isn’t nothing.”

Michael shrugs. “It’s really nothing. I talked to Charlie, I’m good.”

Luke groans inwardly. Charlie again. How many times will he lose to Charlie? 

“Well, what was it?” 

“Leave it alone, Luke. It’s not a big deal!” Michael snaps suddenly, and Luke recoils like he’s been hit. 

“Okay,” he mutters, hastily. “Okay, okay, fine. Let’s- Let’s go eat.”

He doesn’t say it, but the incident keeps replaying itself at the back of his mind all through dinner. When did Charlie replace Luke in Michael’s eyes? When did Michael start talking to Charlie about his problems, and brush them off when Luke asks? His heart sinks deeper than the chunks of carrots in the ramen as he mulls over the prospect of Michael crying against Charlie’s leather jacketed shoulder in the storeroom, while Charlie’s long nails cruise through Michael’s hair. He imagines all sorts of things, Charlie doing all the things Luke should be, that Luke wants to do; Michael growing closer and closer to Charlie, drifting further away from Luke until he’s just a tiny speck in this universe of Michael, while Charlie is the sun, at the centre of it all. 

He knows that whatever is going on with Michael will blow away soon enough, and the two of them will be good again in no time, but he can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy for Charlie. Being Michael’s confidante is a privilege Luke, and Luke alone, can enjoy. Nobody else. Maybe there’s only one way to find out the truth. The real truth.

“Hey, Mike,” he says, nudging him with his foot. “Wanna play a game?” 

Michael looks up. “What game?” he says, with his mouth full. 

“Word association.”

“ Word association? ” Michael laughs so hard that soup comes out of his nose. “What are we, elementary school kids on the school bus?”

Luke goes beet red. “Stop mocking me for two seconds, and play the damn game. It could be fun.”

“Fun, he says. Sure, then, you start.”

Luke glances around him for something to start with. He eventually wants to direct the course of the game to the two of them, but he needs something to start at. Aha!

“Fork.”

“Spoon.”

“Soup.” 

Michael stares at him solemnly, never once breaking eye contact. “Vegetables.”

Vegetables. Right. Vegetables make ramen. Michael loves ramen. Luke makes ramen. Therefore, by transitive property, Michael likes Luke. He wishes it were that simple.

“Fruits.”

“Um… Seeds.” Michael has a triumphant look on his face, like he thinks he’s very clever to have come up with that. 

“Plants.” Luke’s not getting any closer to where he wants to be. But patience is man’s greatest virtue. At least, at this moment it is.

Michael’s smile stretches wider. “Aha!” he exclaims. “Flowers!”

“Beautiful.”

There’s a moment of silence, with Michael staring right at him with the ghost of a frown on his face. Is that- Is he blushing? No, it can’t be, right? Why would he? It’s probably just the chillies in the ramen.

“Luke.”

Did he just- What the fuck? A noodle just hangs out of Luke’s mouth, what with his completely having lost the ability to chew. Did Michael just call him beautiful? Is this a compliment, or an attempt at flirting? Is it a platonic compliment, or a romantic gesture? Luke can’t decide on one. Well, what the hell does Luke make him think of anyway? 

“Michael,” he says, finally. Where there’s Luke, there’s Michael. Right? That’s what everyone says. 

He raises an eyebrow at that. “Glue.”

Glue? Like, Luke and Michael are so close, they may as well be stuck together with glue? Fair enough.

“Paper.”

"Notes."

Luke’s lips curl into a small smile. Now they’re finally getting somewhere.

“Love letter.”

Michael is stumped for a few seconds, before finally replying with,”Valentine’s Day.”

Valentine’s. Interesting. 

“Romance.” It’s finally going where he wants it to. Only a matter of time before the truth is in front of him.

“Lover.” Michael gives him a long look that has a lot of emotions. So many that Luke can’t read them, and all the while twirling his fork into a heap of noodles. Luke takes a deep breath. 

“Intimate.”

Michael nods. “Charming.”

“Edgy.”

“Fashion.” Wait, wait, wait. What? Fashion? No! 

“Hot men.” Luke struggles to keep his hold on the topic they have finally gotten around to.

“Models.” No, no, no, Mikey. Not models. He doesn’t notice the intent stare Michael’s giving him, instead panicking about how to get the topic back to romance.

“Uh… um- mannequins?” He’s losing this. He’s losing his hold. 

“Clothes.” Michael’s eyes haven’t left Luke’s face since they started this goddamn game. 

“Shopping.” Luke squirms under his gaze, desperate for an answer. He stares down at his bowl, which has been empty for a while, and sighs. How to do this?

“The mall.” Mall means outings, and outings mean dates. Dates mean boyfriends, and boyfriends mean… a confession? Michael’s lips part, and Luke waits with bated breath for the next words to tumble out.

"Fun."

“Charlie.”

No. No. Not Charlie again. Anyone but him. There’s so much to do in a mall, so much to see, so much to buy, so much to eat. But what does the mall remind Michael of? Charlie. Of course, it does! They’re dating, that’s why it does. He can’t deal with this. Everything he’s done for Michael, after everything they’ve been through together, he thinks of Charlie? That phoney bitch?

“I’m… I’m going to bed,” he says, standing up so suddenly that his chair falls back with a loud crash. Completely unnecessary, but he feels like it. Michael looks up, surprised, slurping loudly. But he doesn’t question it. 

“Don’t feel too good,” he adds, just for good measure. 

“Night, Luke!” he calls after Luke’s retreating figure. Luke doesn’t respond, slamming the bedroom door shut.

He feels sick to the stomach as he pulls the covers over himself, imagining Michael on the phone with Charlie right this moment, bitching about Luke. Why doesn’t he ever get what he wants? It’s not even like he has a huge list. All he ever wanted is Michael. That seems to be the one thing he can never have. Despite buying him muffins. Bet Charlie’s never done that. Bet Charlie doesn’t even know Michael likes muffins. Banana muffins. 

***

“Luke!”

There’s something soft continually pounding against his face, and Luke grunts and pushes it away. It returns, whacking him on the side of his head, causing something in his ear to pop. 

“What the fuck?” he groans, pulling the covers over his head in an attempt to avoid whatever it is that’s hitting him. It doesn’t leave, though, now travelling the expanse of his body, pummelling his back and his stomach before he’s compelled to give up on his sleep. He kicks his blankets off the bed and cracks an eye open to see an expanse of blue fill up his vision. The thing hits him again, square on the face, momentarily suffocating him. He winces, pushing whatever it is away from him and sitting up, annoyed. It falls on the floor with a faint thud, and that’s when he realises, it’s a pillow. It’s a fucking pillow.

“Hey!” Michael yelps, diving to retrieve the pillow and holding it in front of him like a shield. “Don’t ever disrespect my weapon like that again!”

Luke snorts. “Your weapon ?”

“My weapon. That I will kill you with.”

“Good morning to you too, Mike.” Luke blinks a few times, getting used to the brightness of the room around him. Of course, Michael pulled back the curtains, ‘cause he’s an evil fucker. 

“ Happy Halloween!” Michael yells, launching himself on Luke yet again, pillow thudding against his body again and again and again. “Wake up!”

“What the-” Luke reaches out, grabbing another pillow from the bed to defend himself.”What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Waking you up!” Michael laughs, a sound of pure, unadulterated glee that’s like music to Luke’s ears. The laugh, however, is followed by another hard blow to his chest this time. Luke just sighs, pushing Michael away far enough that he has room to stand up. 

“Charlie says it’s the best way to wake someone up!”

Charlie. Not him again.

“I’m already awake, fucker,” he chuckles, despite the itch in his brain at the mention of Charlie, throwing a pillow aimed at Michael’s face, but he misses, and it lamely hits the wall instead. 

“You missed!” Michael screeches, throwing both pillows back at Luke, effectively socking him in the face. Twice. What has he done to be attacked like this? “You’re cute when you’re all flustered like this.”

What? What the fuck? Luke’s going to ignore that. He’s been called cute so many times, and he still can’t help but get excited when he hears something that might be even slightly romantic in nature come out of Michael’s mouth. He hears something or the other every single day, but he’s still hoping. Always hoping. In vain.

“Stop, stop, stop!” he protests, holding up his hands in front of his face. “Timeout! I said time out!” 

“There are no timeouts in war, babe!” Thump, thump to the head. Thump. Another to his left cheek. Thump. Fuck, that was a big one. Michael’s laughter echoes throughout the course of the massacre being inflicted upon him, gracing his ears in muffled lots, thanks to their being constantly smothered by pillows. 

“This isn’t war!” He replies. “It’s fucking torture!”

Michael cackles, rubbing his hands together in typical mad scientist fashion. His hair’s all over the place, spiking upwards at the back, and sticking to his sweaty face at the front, while his pale cheeks are flushed, bright with colour. His hoodie-clad chest heaves up and down slightly from the mini workout he just did, while his eyes gleam with mirth. 

“Maybe,” he says, inching closer. “Maybe I like tormenting you,” he raises the pillow above his head, but Luke holds his own one up just in time.

“You know-” he avoids another headshot. “You know I can- ow! ” Didn’t expect one to the stomach, holy shit. That actually hurt, bloody hell. “You know I can torment you back, right?”

As if to prove his point, he whips out his own pillow and hits it across Michael’s shoulder, but it lands with a weak thump, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“But you won’t,” he teases, his smile reaching his ears at this point. 

“But I can!” 

“But you didn’t!” Another fucking shot to the stomach.

“But I ca- Ouch!” Luke staggers backwards, the back of his knees almost touching the bed. “Just you wait,” he says, ominously. 

“Just wait till the big pillows arrive. I’ve ordered for them, and they’re huge. You- You’d better start counting your days, Michael Clifford.” He throws a little cushion at Michael, which thankfully finds its mark on his face. Finally. 

“Technically,” Michael’s voice takes on an explanatory tone, momentarily tucking the pillow into his arm, like he’s carrying a pile of books to class. “If you really wanted to torment me, you could have broken my bones.” 

“What?” 

He shrugs, eyes wandering up and down Luke’s body so fast that he doubts it really happened, before they’re trained on his face again. “You are bigger than me in every way, you know.”

“Maybe I just didn’t,” Luke says, haughtily, with an exaggerated flip of his hair. “I’m a nice guy.”

“Nice guy?” Michael snorts. “Please, Luke, it’s just ‘cause you’re scared!”

He throws another volley of pillows at Luke, who regrets having bought so many in the first place. Maybe he should burn them all and sleep on the floor. That sounds good. 

“I’m not fucking scared, ” he retorts, knees buckling to the attack, and he plops himself back onto the bed. “I’m just a nice person, unlike you!” 

He points an accusing finger at Michael, who’s still smirking villainously. He throws himself onto the bed, crawling towards Luke and lodging both knees on either side of him until he’s directly on top of Luke. He lays his hands on Luke’s chest, leaning closer and closer to his face until there’s barely a few centimetres between them, and the latter’s breath catches in his throat. What the fuck is going on? Is this it? Is this the moment he’s been waiting for?

“Are you sure?” he whispers; slowly, dragging each word, and Luke shivers at the tone of his voice. “Or maybe,” he pauses, smiling wider, eyes narrowing. “Maybe you just like me too much.”

Luke shuts his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, which is getting increasingly difficult thanks to Michael’s warm breath against his face, a mere inch away. He can feel the blood rushing to his ears, and his brain goes numb as his eyeline is filled with Michael. He can feel the tip of Michael’s fringe tickle the bridge of his nose, and he bites his lip, uncertain. Eyes still shut, goosebumps racing up and down his limbs, heart pounding in his throat, he waits. He waits for the warmth of Michael’s lips pushed against his, for his fingers in Luke’s hair, for everything he’s ever dreamed of at night; but it never comes. 

It just never comes. 

When he opens his eyes again, Michael’s still looking at him, eyes wide open, green irises glowing like neon lights, like they’re reading every line on Luke’s face. But that’s impossible. Michael has Charlie. Cool, cute, handsome, fashionable Charlie. Why will he want Luke?

“Hi,” Luke breathes, looking right into Michael’s eyes, letting himself get lost in them. They’re so beautiful. So… alive. Luke’s so lucky, even if he can only ever be a distant admirer.

“Hey.” 

Michael’s hands press down further on Luke’s chest for a split second as he turns over, and rolls off Luke to lie beside him. So much for hoping. 

“So,” Michael lets out a long sigh. “What are we doing?”

“Huh?” Luke can’t process anything he’s hearing or seeing, head still reeling from the thing that happened mere moments ago. It might not have seemed like much; two best friends just messing around, but his brain (and other things) definitely felt the tension, and he can’t get over it just yet.

“What are we doing today?” It’s Halloween!” Despite the fact that Luke can’t really see Michael except out of the corner of his eye, he can make out the wide grin and the shining, excited eyes. His heart flutters violently in his chest like a trapped bird, one that’ll only be free when he can be honest with Michael about how he feels.

“Oh. Oh. Halloween. Right. I almost forgot.” Luke could kick himself, for zoning out like this. 

“You almost forgot?” Michael asks, incredulous. “After I’ve been harping on it for the last week, there’s no possible way you could forget!” 

“Right. What do you want to do?” He turns on his side, propping his head against his elbow so he can look at Michael, who mutters something like ‘new’ under his breath and looks away. 

“What’s ‘new’?” Luke asks. 

“What?”

“ New, ” he points out. “You said something like ‘new’, just now.”

Michael sniffs loudly and scratches the back of his head. “Oh, that,” he says, blowing a raspberry. “That was nothing.”

Weird, but okay. 

“Anyways,” Michael sits up, slapping his thighs loudly as if to get himself (and Luke, probably) to focus. “I want to do something different this year.”

“Different? How so?” Luke’s surprised, and it shows in his voice.

This is unusual. Michael doesn’t do different. He finds comfort in familiarity. 

Michael shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to do the whole Halloween parade, house party thing anymore.” he runs a long strand of his hair between two fingers, lost in thought. A rosy shadow tints his cheeks as he bites on his lip with a small smile. 

“I want to spend it with someone special. Someone, who, recently, I’ve discovered I really really care about. In a way I never imagined.”

“Who’s that?” Luke asks, dreading the answer. 

“Well,” Michael clears his throat. “He’s tall and lanky. Has the face of a fucking angel. And absolutely beautiful eyes that I’ve been staring at every single day, for as long as I can remember.”

Tall, lanky, someone he sees everyday… Not much to go on. 

“He… He’s so talented at what he does, and he’s been there for me when nobody else has, and-”

Wait, what the fuck? What the hell happened to Michael that he didn’t tell Luke about? Was it what happened a few nights ago? The day they had ramen? Luke fights it, but despite himself, his fingers curl tightly into fists, the tip of his nails digging hard into the flesh of his palm. 

“He’s cool, he’s smart, he’s kind, and he knows just how to make me feel good. Every single time.”

This is obviously Charlie. Luke’s not handsome, he’s not cool, he’s not particularly charming; there’s nothing extraordinary about him. He’s just a kid who loves to write, but doesn’t show anyone what he writes. That’s probably why he barely has any long term friends, except Michael. Now he realises, maybe even that’s merely out of convenience. Michael finds comfort in familiarity. He’s averse, maybe even a little afraid of change. Hence, Luke’s been the constant throughout most of his life. Otherwise there’s no way he’d have kept him around for this long.  

“You know,” Michael pauses, and Luke looks up long enough to see the other man’s face set in a wistful, adoring smile. His eyes are glazed over, staring into the distance dreamily. “Sometimes, I think I’m the world’s biggest idiot. I see this guy every day, and by now he knows more about me than I do myself. Hell, he’s even taught me things about myself that I didn’t know, and I still can’t tell him I love him.”

Love him. Love him. Not even like. Love. Fucking love. Michael loves Charlie, and Luke never even knew it.

Luke can’t believe it. He lost, again. To Charlie. How many more times, until Luke’s slowly pushed further and further out of the picture, while Charlie stands at the centre of it alongside Michael, where Luke’s rightfully meant to be? Tears blur his vision, and he clenches his fists even tighter, suppressing the urge to throw something at the wall.

“Okay,” he manages, through gritted teeth. “You do that, then. I’ll find something else to do.”

“Something else?” Michael echoes. “But why?” 

He looks surprised, if raised eyebrows and parted lips are anything to go by, but Luke doesn’t want him playing nice and inviting him to tag along on their little Halloween themed date night. So he says as much. 

“Because I don’t want to be the miserable third wheel tagging along on your fucking pathetic little date night with a guy you barely even know!” He cries, chest heaving in anger, with his fists clenched at his sides. Tears stream down his face, fizzling off the heat of his cheeks.

“Luke, what are you-” Michael tries to speak, but Luke doesn’t let him. He can’t hear a justification right now. There is no justification. He’s stupid. He’s stupid, he’s dumb, he’s a fool who was so blinded by love that he couldn’t see what was going on right under his nose. There’s nobody to blame but him. And possibly Michael, for leading him along for so long. And just now, with the pillow fight.

“No, I’m not finished,” he chokes out, his voice trembling. “I can’t believe you, leading me on for so long when you’re with someone else! Someone you’ve barely known for a year and a half, and you choose him over someone else who’s standing right here, and who’s been here ever since! Someone who’d give up his life to give you the best years of your life, who knows you better than anyone else, and will treat you better than even a prince; and you don’t even fucking see it!” 

Luke storms out of the house with nothing but a shirt bunched up in his hands. He picked it up from off the sofa, because he can’t go back in there again. Not after everything that just happened.

He almost trips and falls down the stairs five times, vision clouded by the steady stream of tears making their way out into the chilly October air. Everywhere he looks, all he can see is people dressed as ghosts, or clowns, or- well, characters of any sort. Every single building in sight has a majestic array of bright orange pumpkins (Luke can’t tell if they’re real or not), fake cobwebs and the occasional skull and crossbones at its entrance. He sees people walk around animatedly discussing Halloween parties, little kids practically flying to school, in full costume; festivity is in the air. Some short idiot in a Pennywise costume even gets behind him, tapping him on the shoulder to try and scare him, but it’s all Luke can do not to punch them right in that painted face of theirs. 

“Happy Halloween!” Pennywise says, cheerily. Luke frowns. He’s heard that voice somewhere, but he just can’t place it. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, turning away from Pennywise. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Pennywise taps him on the shoulder again. “Are you okay?” 

“Who are you?” Luke demands, irritably. “And why are you so interested in my personal life?” 

Pennywise has the grace to look a little uncomfortable as they shift from foot to foot, lightly tapping their shoe against the ground. Luke knows this action. He’s definitely seen it before. He can bet on it. 

“Who are you?” He asks again, not as harshly. “I’m certain I know you. Or at least, have seen you somewhere.”

“Well,” Pennywise lifts their wig to reveal a mop of dark, wavy hair. “It’s me. Sierra.”

Oh. Oh. That’s why it seemed like he knew this person. 

“Hey, Sierra,” he smiles apologetically. “Happy Halloween.”

“It doesn’t look too happy, though, from where I’m standing,” she remarks, fixing the wig back on her head. “What’s up?”

He sighs. “Nothing much. Don’t bother yourself with it, you have a good time today. Halloween was always among the best days in college. Enjoy it, because you only get four.”

Sierra laughs. “Yeah, we’re allowed to show up in costume today, and there’s a concert, and a party later tonight. It should be wild.”

Luke nods, trying his best to look happy. “That’s great. What are you doing out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be on the train or something, on the way to campus?”

“Oh, no, I’m waiting for Alex. He’s my boyfriend.” She fiddles with the buttons on her dress, and Luke smiles. Kids in love. How sweet. If only he could have a love story of his own.

“Boyfriend, wow!” he whistles. “Is this the same kid you told me about?” He asks. “You know, the best friend situation?” 

She nods. “That’s him.” A small smile lights up her face, but Luke just can’t take it seriously enough because of her costume. “Thanks for the advice, again.”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” Luke sucks in air through his teeth, and wishes he could rewrite his fate. Realign his stars, rearrange the solar system, or whatever the hell it is that astrologers believe in. All he wants is Michael. The same Michael who probably has his face full of Charlie at this exact moment. It could even be worse, but he tries not to think of that. 

“Anyways, are you sure you’re okay?” She looks up at him with her big brown eyes, wide and earnest. Well, as earnest as one can be while dressed as a clown.

He clears his throat, and nods. “Yeah, I’m sure. Things just didn’t turn out the way I was hoping they would, so I came outside to get some air. It’s… It’s no biggie.”

“I hope things get better soon,” she smiles. “Just- make sure you clear the air, okay? I’ve learnt the hard way, what happens when you leave people to come to their own assumptions. It may be messy, but clear the air.”

“I will.” He can’t believe he’s taking advice from a college student in a Halloween costume. “Thank you.”

Sierra’s phone buzzes and he can see her smile widen immediately. Must be the boyfriend. 

“I-I have to go now,” she says, speaking at a hundred miles an hour. “Happy Halloween!”

“Have fun!” Luke grins, waving as she sprints towards the bus stop a few metres away. That was a refreshing interaction. But now what? What will he do all day while Michael and Charlie are busy doing whatever it is that they do? He should clear the air, as Sierra said, but interrupting their date would only make Michael mad. So he walks around aimlessly, having nowhere to go, as he has a day off from work. A day off, he reminds himself, that he customarily takes every year to spend time with Michael. Decorating the house, adding finishing touches to costumes, buying extra candy to ensure leftovers for at least two weeks afterwards; all of it that they’ve been doing ever since they were children. And now, he’s all alone in a bustling street, without so much as a sweater to keep him warm. 

Luke has nothing lined up, nowhere to be, and nobody waiting for him. He doesn’t even have his phone or wallet, so he can’t even go anywhere on his own. He spends all day sulking; flipping off costumed Halloween enthusiasts who come rushing to scare him, earning irate glares from several mothers, but he couldn’t care less. All he can think about is Michael and Charlie. Michael and Charlie. Michael and Charlie. Nothing else runs through his mind all day. He thinks of Michael curled up in Charlie’s arms, with lyric tattoos snaking up and down them, on a horror movie marathon together, while Charlie presses reassuring kisses to his cheek. It’s always been Luke that Michael cuddles up to when he’s scared. Now Charlie’s probably doing it. He’s replacing Luke. Pushing him out of Michael’s life to take his place. And Luke hates it.

He loiters around miserably, stomach rumbling as lunchtime comes and goes, but he’s stuck without any money. And there’s no way he’s going back home. Not while he’s in there too. Eventually, even the sun decides to call it a day, resigning back into the clouds, allowing the looming shadows to take over, and rise higher and higher as the night gets older, and the stars are spread out like a shimmering picnic in the sky. But Luke’s still sprawled out on a bed of grass, limbs splayed out like a snow angel, as the excited buzz of Halloween night drones on behind him, fading into the background. It hurts to keep his eyes open, for he’s cried so much. His cheeks have tear tracks all the way down them, and his nose and lips are red and swollen. His stomach is rumbling from not having eaten all day, but his stubbornness won’t let him go home. 

The familiar sound of the fountain in the park gurgles beside him, and he shuts his eyes, finding momentary solace in the sound he’s heard so many times; this is the place he would come to with Michael whenever something was wrong. Whenever shit went down, they’d come here, under the light of the moon and a lone streetlight, accompanied by nobody but the fountain, they’d hold each other close until things got better. Until they could force a smile once again, convinced that everything would be okay. Now he’s here all alone, because everything will never be okay again. 

His peaceful moment is mercilessly torn apart just seconds later, as the park fills with the incessant chatter of children. Shrieking laughter pierces his ears as he feels the thunderous thud of several children’s feet against the ground. He groans, pulling himself up and opting to sit around the fountain instead. The children get there, laughing and talking and arguing, shepherded by very authoritative mothers who seem determined to become the next President of the United States. He buries his face in his hands, feeling a searing pain in his head, and cries. He cries until his lungs give out, until his voice is hoarse, and until his tears have all fallen into the water and become one with the fountain. He lets himself go, his sorrows drowned out by the chaos of the Halloween parade. 

He feels someone tap him on the shoulder. Not this again. 

“Trick or treat,” a husky voice whispers. He turns around to see a grown man, dressed as Batman. Is this, like, a soccer dad? Someone send help. 

“Trick,” he deadpans, looking Batman right in the eye. 

Batman nods. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, maintaining the husky Batman voice. “Follow me.”

Follow him? What the fuck? Is this the new way of kidnapping people? Luke hesitates, but then, again, what does he have to lose? Maybe he’s better off getting kidnapped. Who knows? 

Batman leads him to the other side of the fountain, where he finds a man in a Superman costume. A Superman costume that has a hood, for some reason, so he can’t make out who it is. 

“What’s going on?” Luke asks, at a loss of understanding. 

Batman takes off his mask, causing curly ringlets to fall over his eyes, and Luke’s expression darkens almost instantly. 

“Charlie, ” he hisses, his jaw clenching. “Stay away from me.” 

“Luke,” Charlie puts out his hands in front of him, in a typical woah, calm down, kind of gesture. “Let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, you bastard,” Luke growls, seeing nothing but red. “I know what you’re up to. I know you’re trying to crawl your way into Michael’s life, inch by inch by inch, and every inch closer that you get, is an inch further away for me.” 

“Luke, just let me-”

“No!” he bellows, beside himself. Everything he’s felt all these days, the sorrow, the anger, the jealousy; it’s all coming out. His body is shaking with the effort to rein himself in, and his teeth are grinding over each other. 

“You… You’re trying to replace me. You’re going to take my place in Michael’s life, and kick me out altogether.”

“ What?” Charlie and the Superman guy say, together. 

“Luke, what’s gotten into you?” Superman cries, hopping off the ring around the fountain and throwing back his hood. It’s Michael. Of course it is. 

“What’s gotten into me ?” Luke yells. “It’s not me, Michael, it’s you that’s changed! It’s you that’s been going on and on about Charlie! It’s you that runs to Charlie about your problems, and refuses to even tell me what’s wrong! It’s you that’s dating Charlie behind my back! It’s you who’s changed, and yet, you say I have!”

Michael steps forward, slowly, cautiously. His blue hair looks jet black in the dark, and the streetlights making his face look paler than he already is. 

“I’m not dating Charlie,” he starts, extending a hand towards Luke, pulling him back to the fountain. “What made you think I was dating Charlie?” 

“The fact that you-” Luke has a long list of things to say here, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Luke, I’m sorry if it felt like I wasn’t telling you things,” he says, contritely. “The truth is, I just couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t what?” Luke asks, in a small voice. “What is it that you can’t tell me ?”

Michael sighs. “That I’m in love with my best friend. And have been for a while.”

Luke’s jaw drops. “What -” he flounders like a deer caught in headlights. “You what?”

“I love you, Luke,” Michael repeats, taking Luke’s hand in his own. “Hell, I’ve always loved you, but not in the same way I used to.”

“Wh-” He’s lost for words. He can’t believe his ears. Michael’s looking at him nervously, like he might lash out at him any moment. 

“But- But I…” The words just aren’t forming in his mouth, and he can only stare from Michael to Charlie, and back to Michael. “I… I tried so many times to get a response out of you, and- every single time- ” he reminisces bitterly, “-Every single time, you chose Charlie over me.”

“Why?” He asks, in a pained voice. “Why’d you lead me on like this, Mike?”

“Lead you on?” Michael parrots, equally surprised. “ You were the one leading me on!”

“ME?” Luke squawks, incredulous. “How the fuck did I lead you on?”

Michael flushes, taking a deep breath. “This whole- flirty banter shit we had going on…” he murmurs. “You never stopped it.”

“That’s because I thought it was a friendly thing!” he protests. “I didn’t stop because you didn’t! I thought it was a platonic thing, I swear!”

After staring at him for one long moment, Michael sighs. His eyes are ablaze with hope and desire. 

“We fucked up, didn’t we?” He chuckles mirthlessly. 

“We did.”

“So, now what?” He looks expectantly at Luke, who shifts uneasily and turns to Charlie, who’s been coolly standing there with his arms crossed, all this time. 

“Charlie, man, I’m so sorry,” Luke says. “I-I really don’t mean anything I said about you… It’s just- I got carried away in my jealousy, and I-” he looks down at his shoes. “I’m so ashamed. I’m so, so sorry.”

The other man just nods. “It’s okay,” he assures Luke. “I understand where you’re coming from, and it’s… not easy. It’s cool. We’re- we’re cool.”

“Thanks, man. I- really appreciate it.” It’s terrible, the things he thought about this man. He doesn’t deserve his forgiveness, but he’ll take what he can get.

Charlie smiles, and Luke muses to himself how funny it is, how quickly one’s perception of someone can change so drastically. 

“You two can, uh, kiss and make up or whatever,” Charlie says. “I’m going to go.”

He jogs out of their view, and Luke turns around to face Michael again. 

“Well…” he starts, unsure of what to say. 

Michael clears his throat. “You sure made quite the scene there,” he says, quietly. 

“Couldn’t help it. I was so scared of losing you.”

“ Losing me ?” Michael sounds like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Luke, I literally said I wanted to spend the day with you!” 

“You did? I-I assumed it was Charlie!” 

A loud clap sounds, as Michael hits his forehead with his palm. “Luke,” he groans. “It’s you . You are the most important person in my life, and have been ever since I was a kid.”

“But…” Luke’s voice trails off. “I’m not any of the things you said,” he says. “I’m not- I’m not smart, or cool, or funny-”

Before he can finish, he feels Michael’s lips on his, hungry and eager, and yet, soft and delicate. He melts into the kiss, his hands snaking around the other man’s back as he pulls him closer, having finally got his wish. 

“Don’t ever-” Michael pants, pulling away. “Don’t ever say that again. You’re the most beautiful human I know, Luke Hemmings, and it’s time you knew it too.”

Luke doesn’t know what to say. He can’t control the tears that threaten to fall once again, but Michael holds his fingers underneath Luke’s eyes with a small smile. 

“Don’t waste them,” he whispers. “Save them for the inevitable day that we’re faced with drought. They’re too precious.”

Classic Michael. Joking at every opportunity he gets. The two laugh heartily, exchanging heartfelt kisses in the moonlight, giggling as they hear children make gagging sounds behind their backs. It’s perfect. 

“I love you, Luke,” Michael whispers, locking his fingers with Luke’s, as he stares up at the moonlit sky. “Just like the moon loves the stars.”

Luke huffs out a laugh. “You sap,” he teases. “I’m the writer here, not you.”

“But you love me!”

He sighs, nodding almost imperceptibly, tightening his grip on Michael’s hand, and letting his head drop onto his best friend, now boyfriend ’s shoulder. This is everything he’s ever wanted. A happy ending on Halloween night. What could be better?

“Always have, always will.”