All The Stars We See // muke

chapter twelve

"After work," he remembers telling the being during breakfast. "- we're going to get you some clothes and shoes. I need my wardrobe back and you can't wear those boots everywhere."

Now, as he saw Michael step out of a changing room in his own clothes, Luke regrets his decision because now he was unable to see him wear the sweaters that fell loose from his small shoulders or the jeans that clung a little too tightly to his thick legs. He regrets not being able to smell his own cologne on the man or watch as he continuously pushed his sleeves up because they were just a little too long for his arms. The small things that involuntarily made him smile.

"No one suspects anything?" He asked as he tugged on his beanie and looked around at the people beside them. "I look like you?"

Luke ran his tongue over his dry lips as he felt shame bubble in his lower stomach. Right, the whole otherworldly thing they spent twenty-minutes trying to cover with layers of clothes, hair spray, and hats. The thing that separated him from the rest of the world, of its inhabitants.

He nodded. "Yeah... yeah, you look uh... you look human." He murmured to himself, resisting the urge to hit himself in the head for forgetting that little detail.

"I don't look weird?"

The words fell from his mouth before he could comprehend them.

"You look hot."

If Luke seen him pass by at the mall they were in, he could pass as one of the guys in his wet dreams when he thought Brendon Urie and emo anime characters were the only loves of his life. He looked human enough.

Michael was confused. "I'm... warm, not quite hot. It's hotter back home." He told him and Luke felt his cheeks turn red. "You're changing colors again."

"Come on. You should change so we can get back to my place. It's getting late." He muttered and Michael nodded before closing the door with a puzzled look on his face. Seconds later it locked.

"Is that your boyfriend?" He heard and he turned around to find a semi-familair face. It was someone from work, but he couldn't remember her name even if he wanted to.

Luke's heart stilled as he ran the question in his head. "My what?" He asked.

"Boyfriend?" She repeated and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he felt heat flood his body. "You both look close."

"I don't see how my outside relationships are any of your concern." He bit sharply and she rose an eyebrow at him.

He turned around to face the door that hid Michael's body and she scoffed. "It's not like I care that you're gay or whatever. I just thought you lived at the Academy to out show us all. I know you and the commanding officers are close, I just figured..."

Luke felt anger burn in his veins at the implied accusation and he turned around to face her, only to see she was examining her long nails in return. It was almost as if she didn't just insult him and the blood, sweat, and tears he poured into his job and into the life he's created for himself. She was debunking every breakdown he had at fourteen for being so far ahead of his class. She was dismissing every anxiety attack he had at fifteen for being surrounded by mocking eighteen year olds on their way to graduation. She was dwindling him into nothing but a brainless, spineless pawn, and he could feel his blood boil.

"I don't appreciate what you're implying. I got where I am because of my hard work, and I can show up all of you because I'm just better." He snapped at her, voice firm and laced with anger.

"Why? Because your the dean's son?" She mocked and he narrowed his eyes at her as her green eyes met his. "Because you deserve special treatment?"

"Because no one else has dedicated as much time and effort into that school like I have." He corrected and he felt a hand on his shoulder as he balled one hand by his side and used the other to poke between her collarbones. "Watch who you're talking to."

"Are you going to tell your daddy that someone was being mean to you?" She taunted and he grit his teeth.

"Luke?" Michael shook his shoulder slightly.

"Ma'am, is something the matter?" A worker asked as she looked between them.

He felt another hand on his arm and he stopped to evaluate his options before he did something to get them all kicked out of the store. He wouldn't dare hit a girl, but is it his fault if she clearly provoked the fight and threw the first punch? He knew how to get under people's skin, so if he just said the right thing he could hit her without being at fault. Should he? He doesn't know anymore.

Michael's hand held his balled fist moments after his homicidal thoughts were triggered, and he looked down at their hands before yanking his from the being's grasp. He left the hand on his shoulder, but he shoved his hands back into his pockets before nodding to the exit.

"Let's pay and leave." He decided and Michael followed him closely as they left the dressing room.

He was too angry to register the hand that was curling around his elbow, and then the arm that was twisting against his to help keep up with his pace. Or maybe he just didn't care in that moment.

"You're hot." Michael's hand pressed against his cheek. "And red. Angry. You're angry."

He wanted to tell him to shut up, that he didn't care and didn't appreciate his hand touching his face in plain public like that. He wanted to rip his hand from his skin and tell him they wouldn't even be in this store if Michael hadn't pointed at some jacket he thought looked nice. He wouldn't have even had to talk to her if Michael didn't walk out of that store looking like a God himself.

He bit his tongue, opting for a bitter silence as he held an arm full of clothes. No words were better than ones he'd regret.

He just stood there and waited as he recalled every rough moment of turning down normal childhood and teenage events to work on his school and teaching credentials. Ever hour he spent with his nose in a textbook while others shoved theirs into school gossip. Every minute his hand was cramped from writing an essay while others touched and held other people on rowdy Friday nights.

"Who was she?"

"No one." He spit and Michael flinched at his cold tone. "Don't ask."

He bowed his head, and if it weren't for the beanie and longer purple strands covering his ears, he's sure he would have seen them twitch with remorse. "I won't. I apologize."

The rest of the night was quiet, tense, and Luke cooked dinner but didn't eat a bite of it. He wasn't hungry, just exhausted, but couldn't sleep until he bad expelled all his pent up emotions. So he cried somewhere Michael wouldn't hear or see, and stared up at the moon as hot water rained down on his body. And he didn't stop until his chest was empty, numb, and his eyes hurt from rubbing.

When he finally felt his body slump, he dried himself off and threw on his pajamas. He fell asleep in his bed, empty and staring at the spot beside him.

1277 words