High | Muke

Two

Luke's eyes trailed over the pastel yellow walls, his hands grazing over the smooth material of the open wooden door. He felt his heart tighten as he made out the shapes of purple fairies on the wall. He remembered the day Michael and him had both taken their Sunday to decorate the room. The two of them had had the stupidest fight over the colour they were painting the walls: Luke wanted yellow, Michael wanted purple. In the end, of course, Michael had given in to Luke's desires. It cost Luke two nights on the couch, Michael kicking him out of bed because he simply couldn't get over the fact Luke could get him to do anything he wanted. But soon enough, Michael was over it and begging Luke to come back to bed and cuddle because he felt cold.

Taking a seat on the rocking chair that sat in the corner, Luke closed his eyes. He could imagine himself sitting there, his precious little Daisy in his arms as he rocked back and forth, Michael's hands rubbing his shoulders gently. It was the perfect picture, the only picture Luke had ever had for Michael and him. But all of a sudden, it all changed. Luke didn't even know if in a year's time the two of them would he together, if they'd maintain contact of if they'd even remember the sound of each other's voice. Luke knew nothing and he hated it. He hated the constant weight in his heart and he hated rolling over in bed and looking at what felt like a stranger sleeping soundly next to him. Luke didn't even know how Michael could sleep, he spent his nights tossing and turning, trying to focus on Michael's soft snores to make him sleep like he did back as a teenager. But it seemed to him like the sounds coming from Michael only contributed to keeping him awake.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he stood up from the rocking chair. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to get out of the house. There were still forty five minutes before Luke had to leave for work; his trip to IGA had been a lot shorter than he expected. He hadn't spent hours looking through every single vegetable making sure they were exactly the way Michael liked them, he didn't search through ever single flavour of Tim Tams looking for Michael's favourite (and hard to find) double vanilla, he didn't even pick out his favourite flavours of Vitamin Water. He simply tossed anything he found in front of him into the cart.

Luke quickly took the bag he had dropped on the floor before entering the room they both avoided (for a reason) and headed down the stairs. The house usually felt too big and silent when Michael wasn't around, but lately it felt even worse when Michael was there. It felt cold and intimidating, nothing like the home Luke had always dreamed of building with his high school sweetheart. Whenever he stepped out of the house, a sigh escaped his lips, almost as if he was escaping the cage he had trapped himself into. He tried to think of the weather as he walked to the train station, avoiding the thought of Michael as much as he could.

Sitting in the train was even worse than sitting at home. He had time to think there, instead of occupying his mind with washing the dishes or vacuuming the entire house. In the train, he looked out the window, thinking of the million times he had taken the same train to Perth Underground with Michael, the two of then holding hands as Luke would talk excitedly about a new exposition they were having at the gallery. Michael nodded and pretended to care, because nothing was more important to him than the glint in Luke's eyes as he spoke about his passion. Now, whenever Luke tried to speak of it, Michael would block out his words, nodding like he did before, but not encouraging Luke to continue speaking.

He had tried to channel his emotions into paintings, like their counsellor had told him to, but that only made things worse. Michael would walk down to the basement, watching as Luke brushed his canvas angrily, trying to put as much emotion as he could into his art. But whenever he saw the look on Michael's face, he'd regret every single new piece he started. There was sadness in Michael's eyes, but more than that, there was regret. Luke couldn't figure out where that regret came from. Sure, they had had a rocky road, but Luke didn't regret taking the journey with Michael. The thought of Michael feeling like that made bile rise in Luke's throat.

"Morning, Luke." Stella smiled as Luke walked in through the front doors of the gallery. "Tough night?"

Luke nodded without much of a glance towards Stella, his feet instantly taking him to the café next to the reception and ordering a large coffee. If Luke was going to get through the day, he needed caffeine. And lots of it. Much to his dismay, Saturdays were the busiest days at the gallery, meaning Luke would have to put on the fakest smile he could muster and pretend not to be dying inside with every second his parter and him spent apart. He made sure to send a quick message to Ashton in the early afternoon, letting his friend know he'd be coming over after work.

Calum and Ashton lived in a small apartment in central Perth. The apartment itself was a mess, coffee stained manuscripts stacked everywhere thanks to Ashton; crumbled papers, guitar picks, cables and pens left around thanks to Calum. But as Luke walked in, the stuffed, messy apartment seemed a lot more welcoming than Michael and his spotless two story house in the suburbs. Luke's heart tugged at the thought, images of Michael getting home to find an empty house filling his mind. He had thought of sending him a quick message, but opted against it. If Michael needed him, he'd call.

"You doing okay there, Luke?" Ashton asked as he pulled out a glass from one of the kitchen cabinets.

Luke took a seat on the brown leather couch, removing Calum's notebook from under his body uncomfortably. Ashton could almost see the negativity radiating from his best friend, but he felt helpless. He knew about the trouvle going on between Michael and Luke at home and he couldn't help but share the pain his two best friends were going through, but it intrigued him how the most intimate and connected couple he had ever come across, had built walls between them. On either side, they barely tried to break the walls down, they kept making their own walls higher and stronger. He hoped he'd never end up like that with Calum.

"I don't know, Ashton." The blond sighed, taking the wine glass his friend outstretched to him.

Ashton plopped himself down next to Luke, tossing Calum'd notebook to the ground. Luke's eyes were fixated on the little black book, all of Calum's thoughts scribbled down in the form of songs. It made Luke think about how Michael reacted to his art, he wondered if Ashton reacted the same whenever he read over Calum's words.

"How do you feel when you hear Calum's songs?" Luke broke the silence, Ashton following his gaze to Calum's book as he took a sip of his Pinot Grigio.

"What do you mean?" Ashton asked as he furrowed his eyebrows. Luke ran a hand through his hair.

"Whenever Michael looks at my paintings," Luke paused, taking a deep breath to prevent himself from breaking down. "He just looks at them with such... I don't know, I want to say sadness but I don't think that's the word."

"Of course he looks at then with sadness." Ashton spoke softly, Luke turning his body to face the curly haired man curiously. "Luke, your daughter was born dead, he feels it just as much as you do."

"I know he does, he has every right to. He didn't even want Daisy at first, I had to drag him to the meeting with the surrogate and everything, but he did so much for me and for her. I-I don't know." Luke sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes wandering over the pictures of Calum and Ashton hanging on the walls. "He looks at my art as if he regrets everything, as if he regrets us."

~~~

:-)