thinking about you [muke af]

fourteen

fourteen

Michael runs a hand through his hair as he sits at the kitchen table. He needs a new loop pedal, but he can’t simply drop half a grand on a new one, at least not right now. 

Calum came bounding around the corner and into the kitchen, going through their Five Guys leftover. “You ready for tonight?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Michael sighed. “Everything has been such a drag lately. I’m so tired.” He just wanted to give up. On college, on his music, on his life. He was sick of waiting around for something to happen when it obviously wasn’t going to.

“Good things are going to happen soon!” Cal said, putting his hands on Mike’s shoulders and rubbing slightly. 

“When, Cal? When?”

“Well,” he moved to sit across from his roommate, a handful of fries on a plate in front of the two, “Your last cover on Youtube got, like, seventy thousand views.”

The blue-haired boy shrugged, “Are any of them offering me a record deal?”

Cal sighed, “Not yet, Bud, not yet.”

It was three hours, two crying sessions, and one new guitar string later when Michael got on stage with his head hung rather low. He was tired of life, really, really tired of life. He wanted to skip a few years, he wanted to be at the top, not the bottom. 

Mike strummed a chord progression, making sure he was in tune. “Alright, cool. How are you all tonight?”

Luke looked up from his table with Ashton, his eyes sparkling. “Holy shit, that’s my babe!” He whisper-yelled. 

“He’s not your babe,” Ash responded, taking a sip of his Jack Daniels. 

Michael was doing his usual acoustic punk rock riffs, staring with heavy guitar progressions. A few bridges came before Mike finally looked up, the lights shining so bright as he sang all the words he’s written, “It started out just harmless fun/Now you've got me thinking you're the one/Cause if you wanna take me home/You know I'm ready to leave/You’ve got me under your spell/Please don't set me free.” His voice was so pure, it was something no one else could recreate. It was a mixture between Matty Healy and Ed Sheeran, it was something beautiful. 

Luke stared at him as he sung, he was breathless. Mike’s face would scrunch up as he went up the octave, his eyes closed shut, his dark eyelashes resting upon his high cheekbones so perfectly. 

“You've got me feeling strange/Cause I love to hate you so damn much/But I can't think of leaving/’Cause you're what keeps me breathing,” he sang, his torn apart fingers picking at the right strings.

Ashton leaned over, his mouth only inches from Luke’s ear, “Do you think he’s singing about you?” He asked. 

Luke looked at him, shaking his head from left to right. “No, I don’t think so.” His blue eyes were locked on Michael as they watched his every move. “He’s so beautiful,” he whispered to no one in particular. 

An exaggerated sigh left his lips as he watched Michael’s fingers move up and down the finger board, not missing a single note. 

It was 8:49 p.m. when Luke realized he was in love with Michael G. Clifford.