[DISCONTINUED] In The Crowd (Muke)

1.5 - Sadness

"What do you mean you didn't get the tickets?!" Luke panicked, a rush of sadness flowing through his veins, feeling them turn into ice and cracking every time he heard Ashton's words echo and bounce off the walls of his mind. He didn't hear a single word that Ashton had told him, but still said, "Okay." And hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

Many thoughts went through his mind:
I'm not seeing Michael in person anymore.
Michael won't know I exist.
Michael won't see me.
Michael's never going to know that I'm in love with him.

Michael, Michael, Michael.

Nothing else occured to Luke except for thoughts of the red haired boy, and it was tearing him apart and ripping him into tiny pieces. They were just tickets, calm down, Luke mentally ordered himself, but it didn't help. Those tickets were the golden chance that he had, and now what? Now he continues making videos in hopes that one day Michael will just suddenly fall in love with him? No, Luke knew that wasn't how things worked, Michael wouldn't just willingly fall in love with random boy on the internet, it didn't matter what Luke said to him or about him. It was a million- no, a billion to one chance that that would happen. He already ruined a chance of meeting him face-to-face, now this?

But deep in Luke's mind he felt that somewhere along the way he will get Michael to notice him, one way or another.

The stall-door three feet in front of him began to shake and rattle and it brought Luke back to reality, realising that he was still sat in a public school restroom, and that he probably used all five minutes that his teacher wrote on the pink slip that was now crumpled up in his left palm, leaving small creases printed into his pale skin.

"Um, occupied." Luke stuttered out, breathlessly. After he heard footsteps pad over to the stall next to his, he quickly flushed the toilet to give the impression that he actually used it, unlocked the door and washed his hands, then bolted out of the restroom, running down the halls through the few students that had a study period, and prayed that Mr. Dalton (Surprise, surprise, his teacher has a name) wouldn't call him out on being late. At least not in front of everyone else in the room.

"Mister Hemmings," He heard the second he walked in, and he groaned to himself, stopping in place.

"Y-yes, sir?" Luke's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat quickly. "Yes sir?" He asked in more confidence.

"What took you so long?" Clearly whatever God Luke had prayed to wasn't helping at all. Other students were now looking at Luke with amused eyes, snickering. Luke gulped.

"I- the- my-" Luke struggled with a response, tugging at his lip piercing with his teeth. Mr. Dalton raised an eyebrow, and Luke quickly said. "Well, I threw up everywhere in a stall, and had to quickly clean it up."

"Well I hope you're feeling better."

"Thanks."

Luke quickly rushed over to his desk, shrinking into the seat, feeling a tidal wave of sadness overlap him, surrounding him in upsetting thoughts that wouldn't disappear even though Luke desperately tried to think of something that would make him happy. And it was then that he realised how sad he really was. How could he have not noticed it before? He was so oblivious to his own feelings, his love for Michael blinding him from every other emotion he's felt.

But it wasn't Michael's fault, he thinks. It's not his fault that he grew up to be attractive and kind, talented and humble, lovely in every single way. Curse his parents for making such a beautiful creation, because surely Michael couldn't be human, he was some sort of gift created by aliens. Luke can't say Michael is perfect though, that would be a lie and lies cannot be called compliments. What Luke can say is that Michael has small flaws and imperfections, but he loves him with them anyway because anything that was considered a flaw was still just as amazing as everything else altogether. Michael was a work of art, a master piece. Beyond amazing, beyond the definition of "perfection". Michael was beyond compare.

Luke went through the rest of his day without any sort of interaction with anyone, the occasional "Sorry" slipping out of his mouth. Luke was sorry for a lot of things, he felt obligated to apologise for every single thing he did. Because everything he did was wrong, apparently. That's what he's been told, at least. He dragged himself up the stairs into his bedroom, doing his routine of dropping his bag on the floor, shrugging off his hoodie, and getting comfortable on his bed while scrolling through Twitter and Instagram.

"You look like sex." Luke mumbled to himself as he seen a new photo of Michael from the night before, and sighed as he remembered he wouldn't be able to take any photos of him while he performed. Luke noticed a new message from Ashton, it read: I'm sorry Luke I promise I'll do what I can.

It was almost like he knew what Luke was feeling.

'It's fine' Luke typed back emotionlessly, not really caring about anything else in that moment. His phone began to vibrate in his hands, a reminder flashing across the screen.

TAKE YOUR MEDS SO YOU CAN BE HAPPY!

He chuckled sadly at the words written on the screen, remembering the moment he set it. It was the day he was discharged from the hospital and on his way home. He was sat in the front of his mother's vehicle, Marisela in the back seat. He wrote it, hoping it'd make him feel happier and give him a sense of hope. That wasn't the case, though. All the medication did was numb his feelings and take any sort of emotions away from him, sort of putting him in a daze and leaving him drowsy.

He turned over to his nightstand, opening the top drawer and reaching for the blue medication case that held all of his pills that he would take each day, the right amount and type of pill according to whatever day it was. On daily he took three; one to "calm his hormones", one to "contain his emotions", and one to "keep his mind clear". He thinks they're all unnecessary pills and that he should just take one to keep him calm, not three different ones that pretty much do the same thing. He took the pills out of the small tab labled 'Monday' and held them in his palm, walking to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"Luke?" He heard his mother call out as he walked in, her back facing towards him as she was bent over the stove, cooking.

Luke hummed in response.

"Dinner should be ready in half an hour or so." She turned around on her heels and smiled at him.

He looked at her and nodded his head, not taking the time to send her a smile, and grabbed a cup in the cupboard next to her. He filled it with cold water from the sink and swished it around a little, frowning at the thought of taking pills. After nearly four weeks, he still wasn't used to the ugly lump that would go down his throat. He popped the pills into his mouth and gulped down the water immediately afterwards, cringing at the feeling. He didn't notice his mothers pained expression next to him, because it was gone as fast as it came.

He placed the cup in the sink and walked back up to his room, already feeling the effects kick into his system and it made him sadder than before. The fact that he needed medicine to feel better was upsetting, and Luke hated it. He hated relying in something else for happiness. But throughout the whole process of taking pills and seeing counsellors every Thursday, only one thought would repeat through his mind:

Maybe one day I'll be okay.