You & I~Muke

-Michael-

I shrug.

And then

"You going to tell me what's going up?"

I shrug again and look him in the eye.

"d-depends."

"On?"

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Luke's face falls and I feel bad but I need to know what's going on.

"I'm fine, Michael, really, I am." the blue eyed boy nods at me and smiles and I'm not convinced but I know I shouldn't push, not yet.

Because I will figure it out.

-

For the next few days, Luke comes home looking more and more tired.

By Thursday, he walks through the door, the bags under his eyes heavier than usual, and his eyes look bloodshot, but not from crying and his shoulders look slumped and he isn't right.

Sad.

I lean against the wall as he walks through the front door, slipping off his shoes and his smile is smaller than yesterdays and more desperate.

"Hey L-Lukey." I say quietly, struggling not to cry at the sight of him so down. He smiles back weakly and walks over to me slowly.

And then he hugs me for a long, long time. Arms tight around my waist and he kisses my head and it's like we haven't see each other in weeks but it's only been seven hours.

I feel him flinch when I hug him back.

-

It's the evening when I find out what's going on.

"I'm going to shower." Luke's voice is thin and he touches my hand before walking away and when he walks from the dinner table, leaving just me and dad, I place my head in my hands.

Dad moves closer to me.

"Are you okay?" my balding dad asks me, his voice soft and warm as usual. I shrug.

"I d-don't know..." tears like rivers. "m-my d-d-depression is g-getting bad again." He nods and says he knows. "b-but there's s-something u-up with Luke."

"Why don't you ask him?" dad suggests and I know my old man's just trying to be helpful but I almost roll my eyes.

"It's n-n-not t-that s-simple," I groan, and then I stand up, detaching dad's hand from my back and then I walk away into my bedroom and see black and blue.

Luke's eyes open wide and then I realize someone's hurt him when I wasn't there and where I can't see it.

I gasp, covering my mouth and then tears fill my eyes but I don't cry because I don't want to

And

I can't.

The bruises run along his torso and his ribs and it's like the oxygen has left my body and the world and I'm dying to breathe.

"Luke," the word escapes my mouth like I'm choking because I am and I walk over to him, and I place my fingers lightly on the bruises that don't seem to ever end.

Clever, I think.

They, whoever did this to him, is very clever; they knew he'd be coming home to me and that he's too shut off to tell me about how he feels so they hurt him under his clothes.

We both want to say a million things but neither of us can say one and then seeing as I left the door wide open dad sees us and Luke and the pain displayed on his body and in our eyes.

"ohmygod." Dad walks into our room and he's pale as a sheet and I can tell all this attention is making him very uncomfortable.

Luke Hemmings; the boy I love.

Arrogant and rude and insecure and kind.

He's wonderful but apparently scary.

And it drives me crazy because everything changes but to those people who spend that time talking about him and making up these rumours have no idea.

How would they know that the smile he's wearing is a mask for someone who's really ruined.

And that the rudeness and bad attitude is because he's talking about the love and the world and how it's going wrong and that he's really truly done.

They wouldn't.

Because it seems I'm the only one with the privilege of getting to know him; the boy with tattoos and piercing and wears lots of black who buys his girly boyfriend flowers. The boy who makes me smile and cry and the boy who takes pictures of me when I'm asleep and tags me in them on Instagram.

The boy who makes me wear his clothing even when I'm not cold because he thinks I look cute in it and because he likes that I smell of lavender and soap and so he can remember me when he wears it.

The boy that I love; a little sad, a little broke, and a little disaster.

A beautiful mystery.

The boy who belongs to me; Luke Hemmings.

-

ok i'll try keep this short

(she says)

and i know i'm always saying it and you guys can skip this, but i want to let you all know home much you fucking mean to me. 

like, obviously, i adore anyone who reads my stories because it is my favorite thing in the world, when i log in and see notifications from you guys; i reply to every comment i get and they honestly make me feel like the happiest person in the world- you guys pick me up on my lowest days and i really can't thank y'all enough for being here through out. 

and i really need you all to hear me when i say i'm here for you. 

i know everyone says that but i genuinely care and i know a lot of people in this family are sad and lonely and we're all here for each other and i just want you to know you're important, you're absolutely beautiful, you're smart, you're interesting, and you're damn wonderful. 

(which is my favorite adjective/word ever and if i say you're wonderful you damn are)

writing is my biggest passion in the world, and to have people enjoy (?) it, makes me cry sometimes. 

so thank you all

lots and lots and if you ever need to message me, feel free, because i'm here:)) 

I love you all lots and lots, tysm, and i hope to update soon