Give Me Love (Muke)

It Comes and Goes in Waves

The first thing Michael does the next morning is swing his legs out of bed, stand up, and walk over to the mirror. He stands in front of the mirror, scowling at his pale torso and awkward limbs. He tugs at tufts of his faded galaxy-colored hair. At least he can fix his hair, if nothing else. He bought some dye a couple of weeks ago. He couldn’t find his normal brand, but it’ll do.

He needs something to do with his hands, anyway, it’ll keep his mind off of dealing with everything. Specifically Luke. Mostly Luke. Michael’s not too keen on dealing with Luke.

And, you know, the fact that Michael’s mother is no longer talking to him. But he’s not sure how to deal with that, mostly because there’s a very good chance his mother won’t remember the fight, even if Michael does. Which brings up the question, does he cave (as always) and forgive her, or does he hold a grudge?

It’s kind of hard for him to forget what was said.

So Michael will redye his hair. He can distract himself until he’s forced to deal with his problems. Or maybe he’ll just lock himself in the bathroom and wait until the dye fumes kill him slowly. It’s whatever.

He puts on a shirt and grabs the bleach and the dye and and makes his way out of his room and down the hall.

It’s been a good month since he last dyed his hair--way too long, but considering everything that’s unfolded, it seems perfectly acceptable.

“Stacy’s mom, has got it going on,” he sings softly, trying to put himself in a good mood. “Stacy’s mom, has got it going--ahhhh!” Michael’s voice rises in alarm. Luke screams (literally). “Jesus! I didn’t know you were in here!”

Luke snatches his shirt from the sink counter, clutching it to his chest. “What are you--”

“Don’t you lock the door when you shower? Jesus, fuck, put on a shirt.” Michael is definitely thankful he’s wearing pants.

Luke’s face is drained of color. “I’ll just go,” he stammers.

“Oh my god, my bad, my bad, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were even in here,” Michael finishes, standing there in shock. They stare at each other, frozen.

“I thought I locked the door,” Luke says, flushing, eyes wide.

“Just--I’ll just go,” Michael says, backing away. “I just--yeah, I’ll go. I was going to dye my hair, but--”

“I’ll be out in a second, you can stay, I--I need to--you know--put on my shirt,” Luke says.

“That’s okay, I can…leave,” Michael says, scratching the back of his neck. “I should leave. You were here first.”

“Just, I just have to put on my--my shirt,” Luke stutters. Michael tries to look anywhere but at Luke. He fails miserably. He can’t really help it, he doesn’t know where else to look.

“Okay,” Michael says, shifting his stance. “Uh.”

“Can you, like, look away?” Luke asks, his voice rising in pitch. Michael jolts.

“Oh! Yeah. Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t...mean to.”

Michael averts his eyes, and Luke, for extra precaution, turns around and slips his t-shirt over his head. “Okay, it’s okay,” Luke says quietly, nervously. “I’ll just--go. Uh--” He pulls at his wet hair and takes a quick look in the mirror. He grabs the hair dryer and pushes past Michael. “Sorry, enjoy your...hair-dyeing.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were getting dressed,” Michael says. “Oh, shit. Wait, you don’t have to take the hair dryer and go, you can just have the bathroom, I’ll dye my hair later.”