the boy with the white eyes [muke af]

coq bloqué

"How would you know?"

Both boys let out a smile before returning to a serious persona.

Calum grabbed the tall boy by the hands, closing his computer and carrying it with him.

Luke continued to complain as he counted the steps in his head, "I don't want to go to his place, I want to stay in my own room!"

"Arms up." Calum followed routine, ignoring the younger boy's complaints. Luke raised his arms as Cal put on deodorant and cologne for the blind boy. His life is an epitome of struggle. "I'll come and get you in a few hours."

"This is unfair," he whined, "he could be a mass murderer!"

Cal put Luke's computer, a few snacks, and a drink in a bag for Luke. "If he was a murderer, I think he would have killed that screaming child by now."

"She's cute, don't be mean," he defended. Luke was standing in the corner of the kitchen, waiting for the feeling of Calum's hands to pull him across the hall.

"Once again," the dark-haired boy paused, "how would you know?"

Luke doesn't think people don't need to physically look cute, it could be the way their voice rises and falls when they talk, or the way their finger tips feel against cold skin that makes them cute.

Calum wrapped their hands together, dragging him out the door.

Michael's door was already open, waiting for the arrival of the blind boy. Calum liked the vibe of Mike's apartment, it was relaxing. Good Charlotte was playing in the kitchen, a few interruptions from Michael cleaning old dishes. Their living room was filled with old, used furniture that was from a vintage store down the road, drawings by a five-year-old were covering almost every single space in the apartment. The aroma of pancake batter was filling their noses as the walked in. "We're here," the dark-haired college student called out.

Michael came out of the kitchen, greeting them with a smile. "Sorry it's a mess, I was supposed to clean."

Luke stayed quiet, not trusting his senses. He doesn't know where everything is in this apartment. He doesn't know where the turns are, where junk is on the floor, where he can and can't walk. He could feel his mind filling up with thoughts as his breathing was picking up. He was getting overwhelmed, he was getting stressed out. Luke didn't like new places nor new people.

The three stood in an awkward silence for a few seconds. "Do you want me to, like, hold his hand?" Michael asked, putting down his spatula.

At times like this, Luke tends to wish he was deaf as well. "Just tell me what the place looks like," he answered, annoyed.

Calum said his goodbyes, skipping across the hall and slamming the door behind him.

"I'm gonna lead you to the kitchen," Mike said, his voice breathy as he grabbed his soft fingers. "Right now we're in the foyer-type area. I'm not prestigious, it's a place to throw random shit."

Luke smiled as he tried not to trip over anything, Michael wasn't very good at leading him. He just pulled on his arm and hoped the blonde was following his exact steps.

"My kitchen is filled with pizza boxes, markers, and beer. Sorry." He continued with his tour, seating Luke on the small breakfast table, "This table," Mike knocked on the cheap wood, "has lots of cartoons done in Sharpie markers by my drunk friends."

"How old are you again?" Luke made himself comfortable in the wooden chair, crossing his legs and leaning his arm on the table.

"Too old." Michael turned back to the stove top, waiting for the pancakes to cook. "Did you already have breakfast?"

Luke liked how Mike would switch into his fatherly voice quickly. "You don't need to make me anything."

"Shut the fuck up," he handed over a plate. "That's one of my masterpieces, enjoy it." He turned back around, making pancakes for himself now.

Luke felt around the rough table until he found the plastic plate. His thumb hit the pancake first, tearing at it slightly before placing it in his mouth. It was nice to have some food that wasn't from a box or frozen over. A good home cooked meal was all he needed to remind him of his own home thousand miles away, even if it was only a slightly burnt pancake.

The two stayed in silence for a while, The Front Bottoms playing from a few feet away. Michael continued to burn food, Luke devouring it faster than anyone could imagine.

"Mikey," Luke paused, "can I call you that?"

He smiled, "Of course, Kid."

"Where's your daughter?" He asked, running his fingers over the edge of the plastic plate again. Luke likes kids a lot, he was the youngest of three and never had the chance to watch someone grow up or anything. He didn't get to play with toys with them or watch cartoons with them. He didn't get to drum on their stomach or laugh at their bellowing giggles. It made Luke upset when kids were always afraid of him.

"She's with her mom." Michael finally sat down across from Luke, a plate full of a warm breakfast meal. They were devouring their third helping slowly.

The blonde swallowed his food, wishing he could see Mike's facial reactions. Conversations were hard when he couldn't see. Luke never realized how much he used his eyes until he didn't have them. "Are you married?"

"Do you really think I'd be living in a shitty apartment with a bunch of drunk college kids if I were married?" He chuckled, scratching at the scruff below his chin again. "You're practically a teenage, so I'm not gonna ask you the same."

"I'm legally an adult!"

"Barely," he joked around, still staring at the blind boy. Michael was just so fascinated by Luke, "Tell me about yourself."

"I was born outside of Tallahassee, lived down the street from Alex of Mayday Parade, never met him though."

The older boy chuckled as he continued to eat and listen.

"I moved here for college, majoring in Psychology with an interest in Foreign Politics."

"That's a low of words, wow. I dropped out around your age because Clémence came along."

Luke placed his hands on the table, feeling the bumps and ridges of each crack in the table, "So punk rock."

"I try hard," Michael sighed dramatically. He looked at the pale fingers that were stretched over his table, they were so rough and had many cuts, bruises, and scars around his fingertips. He can't imagine being blind—not knowing where his hands are, not being able to see the beauty and pain of life, it all seems so difficult. "Clémence and I moved to this complex a year after she was born, but she lives with Rosie every weekend and most holidays."

"Your ex is Rosie?" He clarified.

Michael nodded, quickly realizing Luke couldn't see him nod, "Yeah, she's married now to some big lawyer guy now."

"I doubt he's as cool as you," Luke spoke. He hoped Michael was blushing, he wished so badly to see the boy's skin light up. He wishes he could at least see him, imagining him was hard. "Would you mind telling me what you look like? I want something to imagine."

Michael smiled softly before obliging. He mentioned his pale skin that constantly burns in the sun and bright lights, his green eyes with the left one being half blue. He told him about his hair, all the damage years of poor bleaching and bad habits has caused.

Luke didn't like how Michael kept talking bad about himself. Saying, "I'm rather tall, but not fit like you," or "I have an eyebrow piercing, but piercings look better on you." Michael continued to compare himself to Luke, not knowing how else to describe his image. Luke thought he sounded lovely, picturing him as a dream.