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Michael would say that if someone had told him that he'd have a very specific checklist hanging on his fridge to prepare for certain times when Luke comes over, he would have laughed or gave some other sign of disbelief. But, then he'd be lying because in all honesty he probably would have agreed because Michael and most other people are very aware of what he'd do for Luke.
Everyone knows he would paint the night sky, fly to the moon and then return back before dinner if that's what Luke wanted; though thankfully Luke's a pretty reasonable person and has never asked for it but Michael's ready to try if it ever comes up.
He's about to rake through the living room for what feels like the eight-billionth time to make sure everything is just right when the doorbell rings and suddenly opening the door and seeing Luke on the other side of it is the most important thing in Michael's life. When he opens the door all he really sees is a flash of light and then suddenly there's a body slamming into him at what feels like maximum speed and hands clutching at the back of his shirt and the end of the most boopable nose in history slightly digging into his neck. There's so many good things about Luke and the way they greet Michael, especially on rough days, is undoubtedly one of them and Michael wouldn't have it any other way.
Luke slowly raises their face away from Michael's neck and looks up at him with the sleepiest, sweetest blue eyes ever and Michael thinks he's going to cry because Luke is the cutest human ever which is so unfair.
"Hi." Luke's voice is quiet and soft Michael almost doesn't hear what they say. It sounds a bit worn down and tired and almost raspy which only ever happens when they've just woken up or they've cried and Michael really wishes it was because they slept in really, really late today but he knows that's not why. The fifteen texts in three minutes, Luke's dried out and blotchy cheeks, and the fact that it's almost five thirty in the afternoon don't really add up to a 'Sorry I overslept but still wanted to drop by to see how you are' situation.
"Hey." Michael responds with soft tones to match Luke's, careful not to disrupt the quiet atmosphere that his partner likes so much. "The living room is all set up and stuff, as you can see. If you want to like, get comfortable and stuff I can go and get you water or something."
"Yeah. Thank you, by the way."
"'S no big deal." He kisses Luke's forehead and holds their hands just long enough to give them a quick squeeze of reassurance, god knows Luke needs as much of that as they can get. Being a trans kid isn't really the best end of the stick especially when you're on the nonbinary spectrum like Luke with the world tending to try and erase all signs of your existence. Plus, existing for them wears on their mental health it's exhausting on every level and scary on a daily basis and they can't show any sign of being terrified or tired because it would just make it worse. Michael kind of just wants to fight the entire world on Luke's behalf because they really do not deserve the shit they get at all and society as a whole just doesn't deserve Luke, they all got way too lucky.
By the time Michael gets back all he can see of Luke is a few sections of blonde hair sticking up from the three blankets they're probably under and maybe part of their foot because he knows how Luke can't deal with having their feet under the blanket but he can't really tell. And Michael knows its cliché – like, really fucking cliché – to say that Luke looks smaller and softer and quieter and way more vulnerable right now but it's very much the truth.
It's times like this when Luke comes over because they need to feel safe and stays for however long they want to Michael has a hard time remembering that they're a six foot seventeen year old with legs that go on forever and the broadest shoulders because they just seem so...unable to take up that much space. Luke can definitely be bigger than their body but it tends to only be when they feel confident and comfortable enough to do so. They could be a hurricane with bright blue lightning and shaking grounds if they really needed to but most of the time they're more happy with soft ivory lighting and candles that smell like vanilla and having so many pillows and blankets in the living room that you can't even see the floor, quite similar to how Michael's house is now. And, obviously, Michael doesn't need to do this, but he does anyways. Situations like these can be excessively shit and uncomfortable and whatever it takes to make Luke feel a little safer sounds like a good idea to Michael.
He sits down gently next to Luke and puts the cup of water on a tray table close by, clinking as it hits the surface, because he knows even if Luke asks for something in this state they won't get around to interacting with it for a bit just due to how severely tired they are. And the sense of tiredness that can be resulted in a nap that spans a couple of hours only makes up for maybe fifteen percent of the exhaustion Luke's feeling considering there's so many different forms of it with so many different solutions and shit it is so unfair that Luke has to deal with any of these at the heightened amount they do.
But Luke always says, "Well, that's life." and Michael just wants to just tell them that no, no it isn't, or it shouldn't be. Not for a seventeen year old, not to be treated like you're not human or you don't exist, not to be rejected around every corner. Fuck no.
Michael feels a hand on top of his, cold and slender fingers slowly trying to work their way into the empty spaces between his fingers, the metal of Luke's ring rubbing against his pinky. Luke slowly sits up and pulls themselves over to Michael, resting their back against the couch and their head on Michael's shoulder, never disconnecting their interlocked hands.
"D'ya wanna talk about it?" Michael asks in a hushed tone, turning his head to look at Luke, "What happened babe?"
"I...I dunno. Just had family over today and, well, you know how that is. Mom brought out old baby pictures and stuff and, like, there was just so much blue. So much talking about what a good...a good son I've grown up to be. There was so, so much boy." Luke spits out the word boy like it was poisonous venom in his mouth and makes a face to match and Michael can tell they're trying not to let their voice crack. "I tried excusing myself and going somewhere else but then mom just ended up following me. She kept saying how she wanted just one normal day and how she needs me to be her son today even though I'm a s...stranger. She just wants her little boy back..."
Luke looks up at Michael, away from the nude chipping nail polish and shaking hands, and gives something between a laugh and a scoff – all Michael knows is that it sounds all watery and breaks his heart, "And I can't give that to her. I can't give her the happy dream ending and her white picket fence son and easy life, you know? And it's not fair? 'C-cause I'm her kid I'm a kid living with their mom but she's living with a stranger? She...She doesn't know me!"
They've just about burst into teary anxious laughing hysterics and Michael brings their hands up to his mouth and leaves little kisses on Luke's, squeezing it tighter and wrapping his other arm around his partner. Michael hates Luke's mom right now, like, hates her hates her. He wishes that she did have a white picket fence like the one in her fairy tale hopes because that way he could go burn it the fuck down.
Murder might be a life sentence, but burning down a transphobe's fence couldn't be more than a couple hundred dollars and a bit of community service, along with a sense of accomplishment and a nice "Eat shit bitch, I'm coming to piss on your grave" message. Michael thinks that's pretty manageable.
"Shhh. Breathe, angel. You're safe, you're fine. You're damn ethereal but very, very real and valid. Your mom is being shitty and just fucking...ugh. She's wrong, okay. We both know that, I know we do." Michael hushes, talking against Luke's skin and rubbing circles on their side.
"If I was a boy she would love me, she would love me so much. But I'm not a-and I'm just stuck with this...this disgusting wrong body, it's not mine; I swear. The things it does isn't what it's supposed to do, these aren't the body parts I'm supposed to have and I just want them gone. I want them gone so much, oh my god..." Luke chokes out the sentences, ragged breathing and tensed muscles and getting cut off a few times by their tears and all Michael can do is hold them closer and tighter and it's the worst thing ever. It's the worst thing ever because Michael knows how real Luke's feelings are and Michael can do hardly anything to help. "I know they aren't boy parts but society doesn't and they make me feel so uncomfortable I just–"
Michael shushes them, exhaling softly. He knows Luke's skin crawls at the thought of their body, knows about them wishing on every shooting star for smaller shoulders and a more defined waist. He knows about the periods of time where they can't sleep or change or shower because the thought and reality of what's there that shouldn't be is too much. He knows the stories of Luke breaking, covering and turning around mirrors on extra difficult days and he knows the reality of them calling him at eight in the morning in tears begging for him to run and buy them shaving cream because there's so much hair on their face and they can hardly deal with it, let alone deal with going outside looking like that.
He's knows the hour long conversations on whether or not the blue acrylics Luke had bought were too much and too bright and too noticeable for the city buses, the yearning in their eyes whenever they see a cute blouse in a store window but having to balance safety over gender expression. Blues and purples and reds look gorgeous on Luke but do not belong on their skin ever.
He knows most of it but he doesn't live it and so many things that happen that Luke might not tell him about fly under his radar for that very reason. He usually won't notice micro-aggressions or other things like that unless Luke points it out to him and he's still is trying to learn all the elements to Luke and their life, it's a lot more than the stereotypical "stuck in the wrong body" narrative and it's a lot more than just Luke's body harming and bothering them. He can't imagine having to live like that but unfortunately the world doesn't play by Michael's thoughts.
"You are not in the wrong here, it's your mom. She should be able to love you regardless of how you identify, she shouldn't be putting you in these fucked up situations and she should be able to grasp the concept of not being a piece of shit towards her kid. Yeah, this can be a big change but she shouldn't be acting like this." Michael sighs gently, closing his eyes for a minute "You are not the problem. You are too damn good for this world. One day you'll get your body to be how you want it and you'll feel so much better even if you have weird bad days sometime. It'll all be okay, you'll be safe and happy. 'N I love you, right to the moon and right back."
He hears Luke sniffle and he knows he can't do much else about this now and just wait the dysphoria out, wait for it to go away little by little. And God, does Michael hate waiting but that's what he has to do.
So, Michael holds their hand tighter and whispers words of encouragement and love to them (though the occasional run on, word-vomit, babble-y sentence happens) and draws stars and hearts and silly little music notes on their side. He recites their favourite album track list and band thank-you's and quotes that aren't always serious because as serious as Michael is about making Luke feel better, he's almost as serious about dick jokes. Okay, no, he's not thirteen but c'mon.
In moments like these where things get really stressful and all you can do is wait it out time moves slower, or maybe it stands still or doesn't exist for a while – neither can really tell. It's like they're both on a train that's travelling at a million miles an hour and also isn't moving at all. Like they can feel it moving and see their surroundings speed past them and blur but it's just quiet and still but the quietness feels so loud sometimes. Michael would never get off though, really, just sit closer on the train to Luke and probably share his earbuds with him so they can listen to Green Day or something together.
After an hour and a half (or something like that, like Michael said; time gets weird) passes and they're both laying on the floor, facing each other with Luke playing with Michael's fingers and blue eyes being significantly less weepy. Their quiff has fallen flat and now their fringe is all floppy and even cuter in Michael's opinion and they're alternating between lacing their fingers together with his and tracing "I love you"s onto his palm. Michael's so glad Luke's okay, like, that they're alive and that this was such a short time to wait out dysphoria tonight and it wasn't as bad as it could have been because seeing Luke suffer like that is eleven out of ten the worst thing thus ranking very high on the "abso-fucking-lutely not" list. But now it's quiet and calm and everything feels normal and kind of happy. Everything feels kind of okay.
"Thanks for helping me out, I know it's not the most fun to listen to me whine, I'm really sorry." Luke says, breaking the silence and looking up at Michael, who furrows his eyebrows in confusion and a little bit of hurt because he doesn't want Luke to feel bad about this.
"Hey, I would never leave you in a situation like that, ever, fuck no. And I'd be kind of a shitty boyfriend if I was fully capable of helping you and listening to you and didn't. You don't have to apologize or thank me. I love you and would do anything to keep you safe, okay? It's really okay." Michael pushes their fringe back and kisses their forehead gently and he just wants to stay like that forever telling Luke how important they are. "You're my favourite."
"Your favourite what?"
"Person. Significant other. Anything."
Luke laughs lightly, gently shoving Michael, "You're so cheesy. Also, we really need to find something else to call me. Significant other is...weird."
"But we can't call you datemate or personfriend because those are ugly right?"
"Exactly."
Michael just rolls his eyes and his smile widens because that's such a Luke thing to say and he loves it. Luke's very firm on their belief that nonbinary people have the worst titles and, in their words, "you'd imagine we'd get one nice thing to, you know, make up for the constant abuse we get from the world and shit, but I guess we imagined wrong." But he's not necessarily wrong...
"We can't call me soulmate or other half either because that's really aro-exclusive and erasing and other half is kind of erasing to polyamorous people too. So, yeah, and I think companion makes me sound like a dog."
"Very true, sweetheart. Hey! That's kinda cute."
"Yeah, you could call me that or you could call me your paramour. I mean, you're not married and we aren't really a secret but it's gender neutral and usually refers to sort of a forbidden love thing. Society thinks I'm some forbidden thing and they're kind of the same about our relationship; I don't know. I think it fits. Plus, we can make some subtle nods to arguably one of the most iconic bands of the twenty first century."
Michael takes a second to reply because he's a little overwhelmed and astonished at how smart Luke is. Like, he's always known they're smart but sometimes he forgets just how smart until they suddenly pull out a bunch of knowledge on a word or some other small thing like that that most people wouldn't know so much about. "It's perfect. It's got that old-soul vibe to it but with a hint of bad asser-y like you do."
"Thanks, Mikey." Luke nuzzles into the crook of Michael's neck, smiling bigger than they have all day, "Glad it lives up to you punk-rock expectations and rules."
"Don't sweat it, my paramour."