the boy with the white eyes [muke af]

où suis-je

où suis-je

Luke knew he wasn't at his apartment. His apartment never smelled like greasy food and gummy bears. There was a blanket pulled over his body that smelled musky and old and faintly like popcorn.

He scrunched his face trying to inhale the smell when a small pain shot through his nose.

That's when he remembered the fight with Calum then Michael going between apartments to make sure no one bled to death.

He heard a soft voice, "Why is he here?" A high-pitched one he recognized as Clémence asked.

"He and Calum had a little argument. So, Lukey decided to sleep over," a deeper one answered.

Luke smiled at the older lad saying Lukey. He adjusted his body, his feet hanging over what he guess was their couch. He hid his face into the pillow more, wishing he could tell the time.

"Can we wake him up? Maybe he wants some pizza, too!" The child said loudly, forgetting about her father's warning to stay quiet. She accepted his glare and sat down at their table once more.

"I already told you, you can't have leftover pizza again." Michael opened the freezer, realizing their breakfast options were very limited, "Frozen pancakes?"

"Can I please wake up Lukey?" Clémence begged again.

Luke rolled over, under-estimating his space and falling to the wooden floor. A groan left his mouth as laughter from the other two echoed throughout the walls.

"Look what you did!" Michael play-shouted, running to his daughter and tickling her sides, "You made him fall to the ground! Now he's never going to sleep over!"

Clémence's screams of laughter filled the air as he continued tickling her sides, her legs kicking out.

Luke wasn't sure what was happening, in all honestly. He was oblivious even before his eyes turned white and the world turned black.

"I'm sorry!" She yelled in-between fits of laughter.

"Michael?" Luke finally called out, "Can you help me?" He heard whispering and one single giggle.

Soon enough, a small girl held the twenty-one-year-old's hand, helping him stand to his full 6'-some height.

"Daddy said we can have pizza."

"I don't think I did," Michael remarked from the kitchen. He was currently sticking frozen pancakes into the microwave, not in the mood to make the batter for homemade ones. The microwave was probably his favorite machine in the world, it has saved him in many, many situations.

"Luke wants pizza," Clémence informed both men. She helped Luke sit on the wobbly chairs, making sure he wasn't going to fall upon their floor once more.

Clémence had a long, serious talk with Michael only minutes before about how to physically help Luke out. Her father was proud, so far.

"Yeah, Daddy," the college student cooed, smiling at himself.

Mike raised his eyebrows, trying to hold in an un-manly giggle, "Just for that, Luke gets nothing." The twenty-six year old couldn't understand these immature college kids and their daddy kinks, where is their chill?

Luke and Clémence whined at the table, wanting Michael to hurry up with their food. The small girl was sat in Luke's lap, her head leaning against broad chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. His freshly-shaved chin was sat on top of her head, her hair smelled of strawberries and Luke smiled at that.

The thought of a manly, punk rock guy like Michael bathing his daughter and making bubbled beards and mohawks made the twenty-one year old smiled wildly.

Luke looked so comfortable, his large flannel sleeves holding the child like she was his own. His sock-clad feet were sliding against the wooden floors, waiting for food to be put in front of him.

Michael loved this scene.

Three plates filled with half-burnt pancakes were put on the table. "Why don't you get off Luke so he can eat his food?" Michael offered the small girl.

"No!" The two responded on cue to each other.

Luke wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, "I'm taking her home with me."

The toddler giggled, dipping the pancakes into syrup.

Luke reached around the laughing girl, finding the plate and barely avoiding a handful of syrup before grabbing a miniature pancake.

The three made small conversations over the breakfast table, all enjoying the existence of each other. Clémence liked her dad more than her mother simply because he was the cool parent. Having more than one fatherly figure in her life at the same time was making all her little dreams complete.

"Your mum should be here any minute, Clémence," Michael informed her, "are you all packed up?"

"Can I stay here?" She begged, scooting closer into Luke. He wrapped his arms around her again, mindlessly chewing on his breakfast.

Michael had such a nice night with Luke, even if 90% of it was stopping the bleeding from his head and holding him when he cried.

The poor boy was scared. He was scared that Calum would be forever mad at him. Cal was his only best friend, his only real friend.

"It'll only be one night," Mike kissed her head as he picked up the empty plates. "Go get ready, I wanna talk to Luke alone."

"But he's mine." She pouted out her lower lip.

"Clémence...," he warned.

Luke felt a weight being lifted from his lap, small pitter-patter of feet leaving his hearing distance.

He sat up straighter in his chair. He's been wearing the same pair of jeans for over twenty-four hours, they weren't comfortable the first day and they definitely aren't the second. "Are you still hungry?"

"I'm good, thanks though." He hung his head down, lowering his voice, "Thanks for everything, man."

Mike smiled, dumping the plates into the almost full dishwasher. He ran his hands under the sink before answering, "I told you before, I'd do anything for you. You're always welcome here. Do you want me to go back over there with you? He can't be too mad."

"I don't know what he was mad about!"

"Sometimes people don't need a reason to be mad, or to be sad. They're just angry. That's life. I don't know anything about your lives but I do know he'll come to his senses. I don't think you want to sleep on my floor again."

Luke didn't want to admit that he didn't mind the couch. Last night was a relief. The way Michael laid pillows around his neck and head, tucking him in like a child. His soft lips left a mark on his forehead before his presences wandered down the hall, a cranky child in his arms. 

"I don't know what I'd do if you weren't my neighbor." Luke wants to be able to see Michael standing across the small kitchen, hands crossed as he smiled like an idiot. He wanted to see the older boy stare back, lust filling the air with passion.

He can't.