Words (Muke)

Eight: Hello

"M-Mikey," Luke whimpered.

Michael's tongue traced a path up Luke's leg until he reached the fabric of Luke's boxers. Michael knew he had reached his limit. He wasn't ready for that and he could tell that Luke knew.

"You drive me insane, Michael," Luke muttered pulling the smaller boy on top of him so Michael was straddling him.

"Is that a good thing?" Michael asked shyly.

Luke nodded his eyes never leaving Michael's. "It's better than good, kitten. It's f*cking perfect,"

Michael's cheeks flushed and a smile crept onto his face so he buried his head in Luke's shoulder. The blonde laughed at Michael's reaction to his words, but held him none the less. One hand tangled in his dyed hair and the other loosely around his bare back.

Michael felt a pang in his heart because it wouldn't last. He was riddled with bad and Luke was so good. Michael didn't deserve something so good. And oh God he still wanted to die. He wanted to back to last night and stop himself from calling Luke's name because he wanted to cut so badly. He wanted to cut until he died.

Luke can sense Michael's sudden drop in mood and he's itching to make him smile again. He's dying to make the boy laugh.

"You want some breakfast?" Luke asked him softly.

Michael's eyes meet Luke's and the pain in them is evident causing the blonde's heart to squeeze uncomfortably. Michael didn't really want breakfast. He felt fat and disgusting, but Luke wanted him to eat so he nodded.

"C'mon then," Luke said patting Michael's back as the boy was still seated on his lap. Michael crawled off of Luke and instantly slipped into one of the blonde's sweaters and sweatpants. His feet were still covered in small white socks and Luke found himself smiling and staring at the smaller boy.

Michael was uncomfortable under Luke's stare. He was certain the boy was realizing how hideous he was. How terrible. He waited for Luke to scream at him to get out. Waited for Luke to hit him, but the strike didn't come so Michael squeaked out a word. "What?"

"I'm admiring you, baby. Don't be nervous," Luke cooed standing and hugging the smaller boy.

Michael let himself melt into Luke. He felt himself mold to the taller boy and thought how cliché it was that they fit together as if they were two abandoned and forgotten puzzle pieces finally coming together.

Luke pulled away to slip on another pair of sweatpants before pulling Michael down the stairs to the kitchen. When they reached the kitchen Michael gripped Luke's hand a little tighter. He didn't want to have to let it go.

"Mikey, babe I need my hand to make breakfast," Luke laughed when Michael didn't let him pull his hand away. But Michael held tight and Luke grew concerned rapidly. "Mikey, kitten you okay?" Luke moved in front of the smaller boy and bent his knees slightly.

Michael's washed out green eyes were pooled with unshed tears and Luke cupped the boy's cheek with his free hand. Michael didn't want to look into Luke's icy blue eyes, but he couldn't look away either. In truth Michael didn't want to see the sadness and pain in them that he knew he was causing. But it was so hard sometimes, pretending that he wasn't prepared to shoot himself if given the chance.

"Kitten," Luke whispered gently.

"I don't want you to leave," Michael choked. "Everyone always leaves," Michael couldn't stop the tears or the sobs and he hated it. He hated that he was so weak. Hell, Michael hated himself, and by extension, Michael hated that he was alive.

"I'm not leaving you, baby. I'll f*cking stick around forever and annoy the hell out of you. You'll be begging me to leave soon enough. I'm not going anywhere,"