Invisible- Muke

Luke Pov

It's currently 8 am, and I am just so tired of being at this godforsaken high school. I'm tired of life, honestly. It's getting hard to pretend to be straight when I'm clearly not. Michael doesn't know, but I have a huge crush on him. The way he's so feminine and gentle and sweet. He looks like he'd snap if anyone breathed on him too hard, all narrow shoulders and collarbones that look like they belong on a Greek statue carved by someone who was actually paying attention. His hair is this real, messy kind of blonde that falls across his forehead in pieces you just want to reach out and tuck behind his ear, catching the light like actual gold. When he turns around and gives me that shy, half-closed smile, the one where his eyes totally disappear into crinkles and his nose scrunches up, and it honestly feels like getting punched in the gut. He's got these long, stupidly pretty eyelashes framing eyes that are way too soft for this dump, and watching him chew on his lip while he tries to figure out a problem makes my chest ache so bad I can barely breathe. Ugh, he's the definition of "so pretty it hurts." He just gives me that crooked grin again, and it makes my heart ache, if it weren't already aching before, which it is. I'm so depressed that no one knows that when I smile, it's a damn lie. I hate myself every single day of every single second. Next class is math, and I hate it. I HATE math with the absolute passion of a thousand suns. 
"Luke! Hey! You're staring at Mike again, mate," Calum, my best friend, says to me. He always catches me. I think he's starting to get suspicious, honestly. He keeps eyeing me like he knows. I HATE it. But Calum understands. He's been to my house. My mum is never home, and my dad is always dismissive of me because my brothers—Jack and Ben—are the "perfect sons," the ones who my parents want me to be—but I'll never be that. I always have and will be the disappointment of my family. They hate me at worst and tolerate me at best. I don't understand why. I'm a good kid; I never go to parties, I always study, and I make straight A's. But it's never good enough for my parents. "Be in extracurriculars," my dad says, so I got onto the football team. (Soccer, not American football) is not good enough for him. "Do better," he says, so I try harder. I then realize I'm in my head again.

"Hm? "Oh, yeah, sorry," I say in a mumble.
"Sorry? It's almost time for practice. You've got to stop staring at Mikey; he'll think you're into him. You know he has a crush on you," Calum says, and I almost choke on air. A crush? On me? No way! There is no way that the sweet, sweater-wearing, flower-crown-making expert knitter of an angel has a crush on me. none on God's green earth—and I'm not even religious. He knits his own sweaters! Then there's his personality...God...he is the nicest, most impossibly gentle soul on the planet, always running around making sure everyone else is alright before he even thinks about himself. He's the guy who stops dead in the middle of the pavement just to give a stray beetle a gentle nudge out of harm's way or spends his entire weekend baking vegan cookies from scratch because he heard someone in the year below us was going through a tough week. He laughs at the stupidest, most ridiculous jokes with this bright, ringing sound that makes you want to spend the rest of your life just trying to keep him smiling. His voice is always so soft and patient, too, even when people are being complete jerks. He's got these great, battered tote bags always filled with half-done yarn projects and peppermint tea bags, always offering to mend somebody's ripped jacket or share his headphones. He's loyal to a fault, the kind of person who will sit with you in complete, cozy silence when you're miserable. He never pushes, just radiates this warm, safe energy that makes the rest of the world totally disappear. I just want him to hold me.
"Well, yeah...maybe I want that..." I mumble aloud without realizing it.
"Are you gay? I mean, I don't care if you are, but if you are, it might be nice to say instead of staying in the closet, Mate. Just tell him, he'd be thrilled," Calum advises me, and even though he's right, I can't bring myself to admit what I am. because I'm ashamed of it. 
"I-I'm not g-gay..." i whimper to him, though he doesn't seem to find it too convincing.
Oh, gosh...he's walking up to me...fuck, fuck, fuck...
"Lukey, hi! I knitted you this cute little stuffed bunny. I remember you saying how you liked the one I made for Jessica's baby sister." He pulls out the cutest little knit bunny I've ever seen. I love it, and I stare at it for a bit. I think he thinks I don't like it at first, because he frowns, but then I smile and take it.

"D-do you not like it?" he sniffles, his big green eyes filling with tears.
"No, no, I love it! Thank you so, so much, Mikey. You're so sweet. Don't cry!" I quickly reassure him that I love it. I hate seeing or making him cry. It tears me apart inside and makes me want to cry. I give him a hug, and he buries his face into my neck. I can't wait until this becomes a daily routine between us...if it ever does. If I could just muster up the courage... I could be his. He would be mine. We would be happy. I just want to be happier. I just wish I had enough courage to get myself to tell him. Then we would be the perfect couple....
"P-promise?" he says to me.
"I promise, Mikey. I love it."