Michael
"The other moving trucks are here-"
"Fuck yes!" He immediately shouted, running downstairs and outside the house despite only being inside of a pair of mismatched socks and Pokémon sweats.
"Michael!" His mom hissed and the boy immediately helped reach for the stuff inside, picking his television up. "Put clothes on!"
"I do have clothes on." He rolled his eyes before heading back inside. "I was out of my mind bored all night. Insomnia is not fun, mother."
"Just close your eyes and sleep."
"Just close your eyes and sleep," Michael muttered in a high pitched voice as he took his television upstairs. He set it on top of its stand and then grabbed a random shirt from a brown box.
He slipped the soft fabric on and then quickly put his Nike sandals on before heading back outside to the trucks. "Better?" Michael asked and his mom nodded as he took his box of game systems and CD cases out.
It didn't take long until Michael had a majority of his room complete, aswell as boxes stacked on top of boxes from 'things that matter' to 'literally toss this shit out idiot'. He was notorious for keeping stuff he didn't need, like that one ripped shoe and the photo he drew of his mom back in the third grade.
All he really needed to do now for his bedroom was to hang up his posters and fix his closet so his clothes weren't a mess on his floor. Of course he wasn't going to do it now, or tonight, or even tomorrow, but he'd do it sometime soon. Maybe.
He hooked up his television and then as soon as he plugged his Xbox in aswell, his dad was shouting at him to actually get dressed. "Why?" The almost eighteen year old whined loudly, wanting nothing more than to play his video games and lay in bed for the rest of the day.
"One of the moving trucks needs a jump start and the other doesn't have cables, so we're going to go help them." He answered and Michael huffed in annoyance.
"I'll be back babies." He promised his Xbox and television before heading to the door. "Coming!"
-
Why does it take an hour to jumpstart a freaking truck? Michael didn't understand. It should take like five minutes tops, not a whole god damn hour. An hour. It's the most basic thing to know about cars beside replacing a tire, fixing the headlights, and changing the oil.
How could you take an hour for something like this?
Michael threw himself on to his bed and huffed, covering his face with his pillow as he heard tables moving against tiled flooring and nails being drilled into the wall for whatever reason. He was too irritated to do anything, to even get up to turn his Xbox on, so all he did was lay there.
He waited and waited for himself to calm down, but it didn't work. His aggritation didn't leave. He just stayed silent and listened to every little sound as they rearranged furniture and brought new ones in. In fact, he didn't get up from his spot on his bed until he heard the trucks drive away and his dad shout that they had chinese takeout on the table.
"Your guitars are in the garage, Mikey." The teen heard his mom say and immediately Michael bounced out of his bed.
"All of them?"
"Not a single black guitar is missing... unfortunately." His mom sighed, and Michael bolted downstairs. "Eat first!"
"Not hungry!" He shouted back, but his dad quickly told him to eat regardless. He grabbed the white styrofoam box and then took it into the garage. He didn't forget his drink, holding the plastic water bottle between his teeth as he opened his garage door.
He set the items on top of their washer and then looked around the garage full of boxes. He found his stand and then immediately ran up to it, looking at the four black guitars. "Oh yes... my babies." He smiled as he ran his fingers over the stand.
He picked his a black Gibson Les Paul, and then ran his fingers over the strings gently, almost as if he's never touched it before in his life and he was scared to break it. "Gorgeous." He whispered before pulling it over his shoulder.
He walked up to his larger garage door, opening the heavy door slowly. Immediately the cold air flooded the room, but he didn't care as he pulled up his amp. He plugged it in quickly, sitting on top of his dryer as he flicked the amp on with his big toe.
He turned the volume down before strumming his guitar, turning it up slowly so it wasn't overly loud. He stared at the neck of the guitar, holding it in his hand awkwardly as if he forgot every song he's ever learned on guitar. He couldn't decide on what to play, so he sighed and picked up his takeout.
He picked the small, plastic fork up and then took a bite of his chow mein, kicking his legs slightly as he looking outside. "What's a song that never gets old?" He asked himself, seeing Luke's front door open slightly.
He smiled, feeling a little too awkward and underdressed to go say 'hi' to the boy. His left sock had freaking Squirtle and his right sock had Charmander. So he decided to just sit and take one more bite of his food before picking his guitar up. He turned the volume dial on his guitar up and then laid his fingers in the shape of a barre chord.
Soon the classic November Rain by Guns N' Roses was ringing through his amp loudly, and he was glad his guitars were still in tune. He hummed along gently, an indescribable feeling settling in his chest. It was almost blissful, like he didn't have a worry or care in the world. All that mattered to him was in his hands, and he knew that he'd never let anything happen to his guitars or his music.
It was too big of a part in his life for him to just let slip past his fingertips.
"When I look into your eyes, I can see a love restrained..."
Michael looked up from his guitar, and Luke was staring while watering a thick flower bush infront of his house. They were pretty, a bunch of pink and white roses that would no doubt die as the cold winter hit. But it was cute that he still cared for them, despite the fact he surely must have known.
Michael smiled over at him, giving him a curt nod before looking back down at his electric guitar. He was still singing, but a lot quieter as he felt eyes on him.
He wasn't even weirded out by Luke's staring. He was kind of flattered, hoping his gaze was in the 'oh wow, he's cute' or 'wow, he's good at guitar' way, and not the 'holy fuck, this guy fucking sucks' kind of look.