Give Me Love (Muke)

If You're Still Breathing You're the Lucky Ones

Luke’s the most nervous, but also the most worried, and his investment in Michael’s wellbeing somehow outweighs the anxiety.

“D’ you wanna eat anything?” Luke asks, timidly stepping into the room. He keeps one hand on the doorknob, as if ready to bolt any minute should Michael react adversely.

“No,” Michael says, barely lifting his head from the pillow. His stomach hurts significantly less than before, but the lingering unrest mixes with his distaste for interacting and worries about Luke.

“Oh,” Luke says. “That’s fine. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Pills?”

“No.”

“Have you already taken them?”

“Luke, just--”

“Or should I not ask?”

“Luke, please--”

“It’s just, how do I know you’ll be okay this time? I don’t want you to be sick again, how do I know--”

“You don’t,” Michael cuts him off flatly. He sits up unwillingly. “Luke, are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Luke says, pausing in his frantic rambling. “Oh. Yeah. Just--you know, getting a bit--upset?”

“Upset?” Michael questions. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Just--ah, a bit anxious. It’s nothing to worry about, obviously, since I’m diagnosed with it and it’s there all the time, and hey, I’m still here, just been worse lately, and always it’s worse after panic attacks.” Luke cuts off with a shaky sigh.

“Oh,” Michael says, digging his fingers into the covers. He’s never had Luke talk about it quite so openly. “Luke, I’m sorry--have you been, uh, having panic attacks?”

“Just one,” Luke says, looking away and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Uh, the night you...went to the hospital. It’s okay, though. I’m doing better. It’s just been stressful with, with everything.”

He never told Michael.

“Oh, Jesus,” Michael says, exhaling heavily. “No, that’s my fault, I should have known, you never said while I was--sorry.”

“’S not your fault,” Luke mumbles. “Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we get out of here?” Luke rushes through it. “I mean, I just wanted to clear my head, but maybe it’d be good for you too.”

“Luke, I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’ve been here for hours.”

Michael swings his legs over the side of the bed and rubs at his temples.

“Please,” Luke says softly. “It’ll be good.”

Luke waits for Michael to respond, shifting back and forth on his feet. Michael wavers. He doesn’t feel like going anywhere. But maybe Luke’s right. Still, he doesn’t want to disappoint Luke by being a downer.

In the end, thinking about Luke always wins out.

---

Michael stands by the water’s edge, his black Converse dangerously close to the spray, sinking into the damp sand. The water washes up to the tips of his toes and recedes again, swallowed up by the endless ocean. He stares out at the dull water’s surface, a flat blue-grey under blue-grey skies, too flat to reflect the sad clouds. A ways down the beach, Luke sits atop a giant rock, one knee propped up, foot braced in a dip. He’s got his chin resting on his arms, watching the ocean with Michael.

The breeze is a bit chilly for an Australian wind, but it does bring back some icy clarity that maybe Michael needs, although he’s not particularly inclined towards it. The waves crash and fall back, echoing in his ears in a roar.

Michael would rather be thrown to the ocean than live on this way.

There’s salt in his mouth and wind in his hair, sand in his shoes and coldness in his heart. His sweater sleeves stretch past his hands to shield his extremities from the elements. Michael is but a tiny figure eaten up by the mass of sand and water colliding at his feet. Michael’s so small in the whole world, insignificant. Nobody is more aware of the insignificance of his existence than Michael.

Staring out at the falling horizon, occupied by the obstructive sound of the sea, he doesn’t notice Luke’s trek down from the towering rock. Luke’s visibly shivering, hair blown back by the wind, and eyes watery, bluer than the ocean on this dismal day.

“I’m cold,” he stumbles out, and blinks fast. “Can we go home?”

Michael opens his mouth and doesn’t respond, his voice dying in his chest. The ocean draws Michael, pulling him forward. If only Michael could float away, and be sucked under by the icy hands of the creatures below. Would that it were so simple.

“Michael?” Luke mumbles again. His face is drained of color. Michael jolts himself. He forgets, often, how much smaller and easily tired Luke is.

“Yeah,” Michael says, but doesn’t turn.

Luke steps forward and slips his freezing fingers into Michael’s, drawing them out from the safety of his sleeve. He watches Michael, the way he always does, but Michael hardly sees him at all, and his hand is silent and motionless in Luke’s.

Michael is as cold inside as the screaming sea.

---

(A/N) fuck i'm so sad but this turned out well i think i really got into all the symbolism

just imagine two boys with this icy white skin by the grey seaside i'm upset

anyway my parents are imposing this ridiculous new schedule where i only get an hour of internet everyday and they take away my phone and my computer for the rest of it so definitely no midweek updates and to all of you wattpad people i talk to or text, this is a heads up that if i don't respond i still love you i'm just burdened by the crushing structure that my parents have built around me

which is annoying bc they took away my music and anybody who could dissuade me from the usual bad habits but hey whatever i'm totally not upset

i mean i get to go to otra next year (woot woot) and then rowyso 11 days after so that's two reasons now to live until july but i'm feelin kinda trapped

enough about me i'm annoying :/ have a perfectly cold and empty chapter and i'll see you next week (if my parents don't shut off my internet weekends too wow i'm totally not bitter)

bye friends xx