Archive of Our Own

Michael is one of the few people in the world who can say he is used to having Luke at his door. The door of his house, the door of his hotel room, the door of one of their studios. 

The point is that he has never had him in front of his door in this state.

The sky flashes lightning, it's pouring, the wind howls between buildings and narrow avenues. Luke's clothes are soaked, but what kind of clothing is that?

He has black patent trousers, a taffeta shirt, leather straps along his broad and soft chest. The elegant man's jacket on his shoulders is disconnected from the rest, it looks like it belongs on someone else's suit.

He also has rings, chains around the neck, a belt with a silver buckle.

He's letting his hair grow, it's spread along the sides of his clean-shaven face, the waves of his curls run through with water, the blond color is darkened by the night.

But his face… oh, his face.

He has an unnatural paleness on his lips, blushed cheeks and glitter on his skin. He has makeup running under and around his eyes. Dark, battered, badly blended as if he had passed his hand over his face after it began to melt.

Michael instinctively thinks it’s because of the storm, but the spots are vertical below his lower eyelashes. And then he asks himself: is it tears or just the fucking rain?

Meanwhile Michael has his mouth open, he’s in a huge mid-thigh t-shirt whose sleeves almost completely cover his hands.

“Luke, what the…?”

Luke runs his hand across his face from bottom to top, again.

He looks at him with eyes that Michael has never seen before. They have always been ocean eyes, but now they are truly made of water. 

“I'm leaving, Mickey. I'm leaving and I'll never come back."

Michael blinks at the same time the sky thunders. 

“What are you on about? Let’s go inside and..."

“No, listen to me.”

Luke is out of breath.

It's not cold outside, but Michael has shivers. He goes quiet.

“Are you with Crystal?”

“No, she's with her family this week.”

Luke begins to bite his lower lip, he seems hesitant.

So Michael keeps on talking.

“What’s happening, Luke? Why are you dressed like that? What do you mean you're leaving?”

Luke inhales. Inhales rain, oxygen, humidity.

“I… ah, fuck. It's complicated.”

Michael can see his desperation. He has never seen him like this, not even in the saddest drunken moments.

“If you come in you can explain everything.”

“I don't want to come in, Mickey. Not without first telling you how things really are."

Michael sighs, lowers his shoulders, leans against the doorframe.

“Come on then, tell me.”

Luke closes his eyes, pushes his hair back and it's so wet that it holds the style when he lets his hands fall and looks back at Michael.

“Ashton and I are together.”

Dry and direct as if he were telling him that he wrote a new song or that he ate a very good pizza for dinner.

“What the fuck…?”

“We were, to be honest.”

Those blue eyes fill with water again. Tears. Rain has nothing to do with it.

“Luke what are you saying? Did you take… any drugs by any chance?”

He knows it's hard to believe, Luke's now scared of that stuff, after what he went through the last years. But maybe they gave it to him against his will, maybe...

“I'm saying he dumped me, holy shit. That asshole. For a girl!”

Luke's tears flow in rivers, his face is distorted, his fists clenched, one of them against his chest. For a moment Michael is afraid he will have a heart attack. 

Or maybe he’ll be the one struck by it.

“Luke… Luke… calm down. Let me understand.”

“What’s so hard to understand, Michael?”

Michael doesn't dare to touch him. He doesn't dare to do anything. It's all so… paranormal.

“When did it… start between you, for example.”

Luke purses his lips. He seems on the verge of screaming, freaking out. 

“It's been years, it was serious. Just for me, apparently.”

Michael is stunned.

"Years?!"

Luke grimaces.

“It happened, and then it lasted.”

Michael ruffles his hair running the hand over the side of his head. He doesn't know what to say. He saw them with girls, he saw them hook up girls with enthusiasm, he talked about fucking girls with both of them, they never seemed uninterested.

It's very hard to accept this reality, but he's smart enough to understand that Luke isn't there to give him a detailed insight into his relationship with Ashton. Hell no.

“O-okay. So… what happened now?”

“It happened” Luke grits his teeth, he doesn't know whether to cry or hit the wall in anger.

“He met someone. And he wants to be with her 'seriously', quote unquote. 'You know Luke, it's nice but complicated between us, there's a beautiful friendship between us'…and then the icing on the cake: 'this will never work, Luke'.”

Michael’s not sure he’s really up for handling this.

“Sorry to ask Luke, but… you've both already had girlfriends in the meantime, right?”

Luke's glare goes right into Michael's stomach.

“And it has never ever stopped us.”

Us. God, it's really serious. Was. 

Fuck.

“Mate, I mean… it's never worth giving up work, friends and success for a woman. I guess it's the same for a man. Are you with me?”

“You didn’t understand, mh? I don't ever want to see him again. Playing in the same band could be a problem. Are you with me, mate?”

Michael rubs his face. Shit.

He doesn't have the nerve to ask him anything about makeup and his outfit. He can't help but think of gay clubs and some sorts of… games. 

Jesus. Ashton and Luke. Unbelievable.

“But where will you go? What will you do?”

“I'll disappear for a while, and then maybe I'll record something on my own. I have some rough lyrics, some arrangements in my head. I just want to never see him again.”

Michael watches him as he stands in a puddle of settled rain at his feet, in the middle of his wooden porch.

The trees on the avenue bend with every gust of wind, but Luke doesn't. He stands solid in its fragility. 

And maybe it’s because of the glitter, or the reflection of the water still slowly running over him... but he shines like the ocean at night, like the reflection of the small stars in the middle of the black water. Cold, wet, melancholic flashes.

“Have you thought about 5SOS?”

Luke's eyes are sad, but his voice doesn't tremble despite his early crying.

“I'm sorry, Mickey. I'm really sorry for you and Calum."

Instinct tells Michael to throw things at his face, but something of his human side stops him from unloading extra guilt on him.

“So now you're going to Calum’s and tell him everything?”

Luke lingers, but then shakes his head and looks at the ground.

“No?”

“No…”

“Don’t you expect me to tell Cal?”

Luke doesn't say anything. Michael is starting to get mad, and fuck the human side.

“You ring my doorbell at midnight to tell me that you and Ashton, supposedly two of my best friends, have been lying to us for years. You come and tell me that you're leaving the band, that you're leaving forever. You come and tell me that 5SOS is over, that our friendship counts less than a fucking breakup... and you don't even have the guts to tell Calum the truth? Is that all we’re worth to you?”

More tears fall from Luke's eyes. They are heavy, they rain directly onto the floor taking more mascara with them.

Michael doesn't let it affect him.

“You and Ashton are two fucking selfish people. It's not all about you."

“Mickey…”

“No, now you listen.”

“This fucking band saved our lives. We would be failures without music. We all dropped out of school at the first opportunity, we sucked at math, science, literature, and even theology. Holy shit, the only one who tried to go to college was Ashton but he had to work at KFC to pay it. And do you think we would have ended up in a bank or some office? Or do you think that by now our asses would be in a factory or a farm?”

“All we know is how to make music, that's all we have. It's everything we love."

Luke is still silently crying, his mouth is tight, his posture tired.

“I'm not saying that things don't change, I'm not saying that we are forced to keep 5SOS alive forever. I’m saying it can't end for such a reason. You've been lying to me and Calum this whole time, right? Well, that means you have no problem pretending.”

“It won't be hard pretending that everything is ok between you two, it won’t be hard being in the same fucking room working with us on the new fucking album. You've been pretending to be 'just' friends for years, so you can keep doing it for all I care."

Luke's nod is very small, infinitesimal. Michael thinks he imagined it.

“Yes, what?” He insists.

“Maybe… I can do it,” Luke chirps.

“Down the road, though. Not now."

“Luke Hemmings, if you disappear from sight I swear I will call the FBI and KGB to find you. I swear.”

Luke’s sad, tired face curls into what should be a tiny smile.

“What's the point of calling both the FBI and the KGB?”

“So I look for you both in the west and the east. And maybe I could also call the yakuza."

Luke huffs out a laugh, but it seems to cause pain in his chest. 

He goes serious again immediately afterwards.

“Mickey, I'm really leaving tomorrow evening, at least for a while.”

“Where are you going, hm?”

“Indonesia,” he says with a sigh.

“I want to disconnect.”

“And you’re going where we’ve been together two years ago? Nice idea, mate.”

Luke shrugs.

“I won't go to Bali, I want to have a wilder experience.”

“Hear me out… if you don't text me at least once a day I will report your disappearance. I’m warning you."

He doesn't answer. He runs both palms over his cheeks from the inside out blending his makeup into a mess of black eyeliner and glitter, he looks ready for Halloween.

“So can you come in now? This weather is wetting my bones.”

Luke bites his lip, makes no move to come forward.

“No, I'm not done yet.”

“Oh God, weren't you with Cal too?”

He wanted to be funny, but Luke doesn't laugh.

For a disturbing moment Michael fears that he's got it right.

“I'm here to ask you something, Michael. Something I think would help me move on.”

“And you have to ask me on the doorstep because…?”

“Because if you’re going to say no, I don’t think you’d let me in afterward.”

These are mechanisms too convoluted for Michael. 

“Okay, okay. You have my attention.”

The distance between them is about five feet, maybe less. The howling wind and rain gave enough privacy up there. There are no paparazzi around and even if there were they wouldn't have been able to eavesdrop on anything, for sure.

However, Luke leans forward a little to ask for that thing, and Michael himself thinks he didn't understand correctly.

After all… the downpour of rain is annoying, it sounds like a river in flood. 

It was recommended to stay indoors due to heavy rain.

Michael and Luke are so different right now. Michael in his terry socks, Luke in his boots with embroidered stars.

Luke swallows before repeating himself, and after having gathered some courage, he rides the wave of thunder that’s just passed.

“I asked you… to kiss me, Mickey.”

There is no room for misunderstanding, no.

Michael has seen Luke drunk so many times that he can be sure that he isn't drunk at all now.

The only explanation is that Luke’s gone crazy.

“Are you nuts?”

Luke doesn't seem to be joking, and this worries Michael even more.

“I didn't come here just to tell you the truth about me and Ash, Michael. I'm here because... you're the only one who can comfort me."

“Yes… I can give you something to drink, if you’re in the mood we can play some video games, I'll even listen to you all night. But kissing you would be..."

“It wouldn't be the first time anyway.”

Michael is looking at him in shock now.

“We were kissing on the cheeks and we turned the same way, Luke! A common mistake..."

“Maybe for you it was a mistake, but I turned exactly the way I wanted to turn."

Luke's smeared face is a mixture of shyness, cheekiness, malice and mockery.

“Say what you want, you little bastard, but it still wasn't a kiss. We just touched our lips.”

“And what’s the harm in actually kissing me?”

“I have a girlfriend, first of all. And you're messed up with Ashton, I don't want to get in the way since I take care of the band."

That dig doesn't affect Luke, but he shows himself in all his tiredness.

“It's okay Mickey. Not that I really expected it.”

“Then why ask me?”

Luke is sad, his eyes are very blue in the middle of the night.

“Because I've always wanted it, that's all. And now that I'm leaving for a while, and since it ended so badly with Ash... I don't know. I just wanted to close this chapter with something nice.”

Luke could have answered in a thousand ways and Michael would always remain firm on his answer.

But said like that, it takes on a totally different meaning.

A kiss... has ever killed?

Except for those melodramatic stories of poison on the lips or corrupt Judas, obviously.

“Something nice to move forward, you mean?”

He's serious too, now.

He's not a shy person, but this is something to be careful with.

Luke is usually slow with the unsaid, but apparently not now.

He looks Michael straight in the eyes.

"Yes," he nods too.

“I’m gonna take that plane, move on and I will never bother you again with this stuff.”

Michael doesn't fully believe him. Luke isn't good at moving on, he's nostalgic by nature, which is why he writes so well.

But why should he point this out? Why make him suffer more than that?

And about Crystal… well, it's no big deal.

Luke has been by his side from way before, and this favor implies nothing, it means nothing.

After all, he could have asked for worse. Helping him in something illegal, supporting him in some twisted lies.

A kiss is something simple, innocent, pleasant. It will be a story to laugh about in twenty years, or they will never talk about it again and it would still be okay.

“Well, I guess you can finally come in now.”

"Yeah?" Luke has that fake naive attitude that sometimes makes Michael want to scold him like he was a child.

“Yes, but I need a drink. Too much information all at once, you know.”

Luke smiles, and this time his chest doesn't hurt.

He doesn't think about Ashton entering Michael's house. So familiar, yet he hadn't been there in forever.

He immediately notices Crystal's touch here and there, while a little white dog sleeps blissfully on the sofa. He’s clearly not afraid of thunder.

“Come, I keep the best liquors in my hideout.”

He doesn't ask Luke to leave his soaked clothes at the entrance, he doesn't ask him to take off his shoes. Luke follows him downstairs.

The room is a little different from how he remembered it. There are extra screens, colored neon lights, a huge hideous leopard print carpet.

“What’s this?” Luke asks, pointing at it.

“My pride” Michael replies very calmly.

“Crystal hates this room and once told me that I have no shame in how I decorated it. So I added an extra trashy detail.”

Normally Luke would have laughed, but he's a little too sad to crack more than a smile.

“It's so ugly it has style.”

“You can say it!”

Michael is trying to relax. Luke went to his house, they’ll have a drink, they’ll chat, they could kiss, and then they will play video games, do other things. Everything as usual, like the good old days. Kind of.

He goes straight to the cabinets where he keeps snacks and alcohol, next to the shelf with a microwave and popcorn machine on it. It's a corner of paradise.

“Do you want something?”

“Yes, whatever you take is fine.”

Luke isn't picky about alcohol.

Michael usually loves to drink beer when he's with him, he's not sure why. It gives him an idea of ​​brotherhood, it reminds him of high school and of their first miserable concerts.

But he needs a few more degrees of alcohol now, and so he improvises that mixture he had in Tijuana. Tequila and beer is not complicated, isn’t it? 

It’s a matter of balance.

“If it sucks, let's try to make it better with some orange juice, okay?”

Luke smiles.

“Great start!”

They take their glasses almost at the same time, they taste it, they look at each other.

“Mh.” Michael is not happy.

“Tequila?”

"Yep."

"With…?"

"Beer."

“Just like Tijuana!”

“Yes, but this is the shitty-Clifford version.”

Luke chuckles, and it's nice to see him do it.

“It’s not bad, it tastes more like tequila. And I like tequila.”

“Oh never mind. I failed, I can live with that.”

Luke takes another sip and then places the drink on the nearby shelf.

“Hey, honestly… what's my face look like?”

Michael spreads a smile on the edge of the glass, quickly searches for the most appropriate terms of comparison.

“You're like… the Crow, the fairy godmother from Shrek third and… I don't know, a member of Kiss after a hard party. You know?"

Luke frowns.

“I'm going to the bathroom."

Michael laughs and drinks, lets him pass and then sits on the sofa, taking Luke's glass with him.

Five minutes later Luke comes out of the bathroom and still has traces of makeup on, but most of his face is red from rubbing.

Michael can no longer hold back.

“Um Luke… why the whole makeover? I'm genuinely curious.”

Luke was taking off his jacket, he was about to hang it on the bathroom door handle. At Michael's question, he stops, pouts a little.

“I'm… experimenting.”

“Oh, okay. I've never seen you dressed like this. Much less with make-up on.”

“‘Cause I feel embarrassed. Or rather, I felt. I was thinking of having a new look for our future projects.”

“With the band?”

"Yeah. Although I don't know what you and Cal think."

Michael shrugs.

“It's cool.”

The corner of Luke's mouth turns up a little, his eyes are sad and sweet, he looks like a puppy.

“Okay, so maybe I'll continue practicing with the eyeliner…”

“And what about those straps?”

“No, I like these,” he says, looking at his chest.

“Don't you?”

Michael thinks about it.

“Maybe with the latex pants the result is a bit excessive? I don't know, I don't know shit about fashion.”

Luke laughs again, Michael is proud of himself.

“Your yummy drink is here anyway, I know you're looking for it.”

“I'm soaked, Mickey. I don't want to get on your couch."

Indeed, even Michael knows he would ruin that damn designer couch, it's so delicate.

“Okay, if you want there are some tracksuits in those cupboards, but then you’ll come here and finish this terrible cocktail.”

The mood is light, and it is above all thanks to Michael's constant joking.

Luke lets himself be carried away, but when there is silence for too long his eyes become infinitely sad again.

When Luke begins to undress with his back to Michael, there’s no embarrassment between them. He takes off the almost transparent shirt, undoes the tight buckles and without malice caresses the traces they have left, he unbuttons his trousers and bends to take them off.

Michael’s attention is on the huge screen he has just turned on.

He's not sure whether to start a movie or some random episode, he and Luke have different tastes.

“Stranger Things marathon?” Luke suggests, reappearing in Michael's sight, taking the cocktail and sitting next to him.

He's wearing a blue sweatshirt from some Canadian hockey team, light gray sweatpants that barely reach below his calf, terry socks with ice cream cones embroidered on them.

Michael can’t hold back a laugh that wrinkles the right side of his face.

“Hey, what are you laughing at?”

“I had never paired this hoodie with glitter on my face.”

Luke flips him off and then insistently rubs his cheekbone.

“These fuckers don't even fucking go away with fucking acid.”

Michael blocks his wrist and doesn't stop giggling.

“Yes, but if you continue like this you'll set your face on fire, mate. You're very red."

Luke doesn't look at him the way he usually would.

He's not like Michael. He can't take it lightly.

Now that he told him about himself and Ashton, everything takes a slightly different meaning for him. And on top of it all… They’re going to kiss.

Michael catches his glare, releases his wrist, looks at the screen and types “Stranger Things” while taking a big sip of that all-tequila mix.

Deep down, under all the layers of carefreeness, maybe he perceives something different too.

Only tonight. Only for tonight, it’s a promise.

He plays the first episode and turns to Luke to ask him if he wants chips, but Luke is drinking. It’s nothing strange, at least until he fixates on his mouth and lips, how wet they are and how they clench to swallow the liquid.

The words are spoken by themselves.

“Don't you think we should just go for it?”

Luke raises his eyebrows, looks at him in surprise.

“Um… I don't know. It's okay whenever you want."

“Now.”

Luke is totally taken aback, it’s too sudden. 

He wasn’t planning anything romantic of course. 

It's just a wish to be granted so he can leave all those crushed for his best friends behind.

He watches Michael put the glass down and automatically does the same.

He feels vaguely nervous, who knows if Michael is too.

“Let’s kiss and then watch Stranger Things until death. Okay?”

Luke nods. Suddenly he feels horrible, stupid, he’s not ready.

Michael puts his right hand behind his neck, through his damp hair, and pulls him towards him.

It would have been easier if he had gone straight to the kiss, but he lingers and in that moment Luke can clearly feel his heart starting a wild race.

He sees Michael look at his mouth and then at his eyes again. Luke closes them, he can't take it.

Their mouths meet just as they had met by - sort of - mistake a couple of years earlier. It is little more than a peck.

They detach and then reattach three times, Michael sets the pace.

At the fourth touch something changes.

Luke's mouth was open from the start, but when Michael comes forward now he laps him with his tongue. Beyond the lips, beyond the teeth, it touches his.

Luke leans in because he likes to make it clear what he wants.

Michael retracts his tongue and Luke can feel his breath on his mouth.

He opens his eyes. Finding Michael's face so close and not Ashton's is a new thing, but he’s not thinking about that.

He thinks of those long eyelashes and those blue-green eyes, thinks of how plump Michael's red lips are, and not as soft as he had always imagined them. They are worth biting.

He feels a sort of electricity coming from him. 

“This doesn’t count as a proper kiss yet, right?” Michael says against his mouth, in a low voice.

“No,” Luke blurts out along with a breath and a heartbeat.

And he doesn't have time to wonder if Michael was hoping for a yes, because he kisses him again immediately afterwards.

A firm contact, a small lick as if properly preparing that mouth for the next invasion, and then his tongue inside again.

Up until then Luke didn't know what to do with his hands, but as soon as he feels the inside of his cheeks being licked he can't help but raise them and take the back of Michael's neck in turn while the other rests on his bent leg, covered by the synthetic fabric of his tight home trousers.

And responding to the kiss is the least, he who wanted it so much.

He moves his tongue, tilts slightly, enters past the reddest lips he has ever seen and breathes so deeply that he feels his heart melt.

Michael doesn't pull away, but rather offers himself, savors, closes his eyes because he feels his stomach knotting, his blood pulsing.

He's not one to deny himself pleasure, and he would find the idea of ​​stopping so soon stupid.

A kiss. It's just a kiss.

And he likes to feel Luke's hand holding him, he likes to feel his tongue going in and out of his mouth, he likes to discover that he has that effect on him. It makes him feel powerful, wanted, in control, and all hot. Both in the cheeks and in the belly, both in the fingertips and in the loins.

Luke sighs, really sighs.

He so needs physical contact, affection, hearts that beat without drama around him.

Michael has always been special to him. They became friends after hating each other for years, and it was like there was no reason to fight from there on out. They had a clear conscience, they had already exchanged the worst.

Having a crush on him meant nothing. Luke knew he was frivolous in certain things and despite what he showed, in reality there would be many who would have a chance with him. Just for fun though. Because his heart fell for Ashton day after day and no one could match him.

Ashton who isn't there now. Neither physically nor in their thoughts.

And a kiss... what unit of measurement is it? 

When they break away to tilt their heads to the opposite side and attack each other again, is it perhaps the beginning of another kiss or can it be considered a continuation of the previous one? 

In that moment of oxygen Luke breathes Michael's breath, and Michael opens his eyes wondering how Luke can be so beautiful.

There's nothing wrong with appreciating his pale features, his drawn cheekbones, his blonde eyelashes lowered like a fan. There's nothing wrong with still longing for his pastel mouth, his long, sweet tongue. There's nothing wrong with it, no, it's just a kiss.

Luke's hand squeezes Michael's thigh, that quadriceps half of him fits in a single palm.

He hadn't expected anything like this. Neither that Michael agreed nor that he then kissed him with that passion. And he... feels burning.

Michael doesn't reject it in any way, he doesn't want it to end but it's not a clear thought.

It has a warm, unexpected, enthralling tide inside it. And he feels like putting a hand on Luke's side and leaning in more is the right thing to do. 

Luke breaks away, and no one would have ever believed that he would be the first to do something like that. 

He breaks away when he realizes that Michael is lifting himself up by leveraging his knees, forcing him to recline and not to make him lean against the back of the sofa, but rather to lie down.

"Mickey, it's..."

“Just a kiss, right?”

Luke doesn't understand. He doesn't know if Michael doesn't realize that he's already making him horny and that this isn't "just" a kiss at all, no more. He doesn't know if he understood it well and doesn't care, he doesn't know anything.

Maybe... it'll ruin everything, but he has to tell him. 

“I'm just liking it a little too much, you know?”

Michael smiles in that distinctive, beautiful way of his. The white teeth emerge between the fleshy lips, the pointed canines leave greedy grooves in the pulp of the lower one.

“Yes, I understand, I'm a man too” he replies, looking him straight in the eyes, softening his grip on the back of his neck, resulting in being stupidly reassuring. 

“I think we can continue as long as it’s okay for both of us, what do you say?”

Luke nods in a very small nod, more out of gluttony than true conviction. Michael's hand on his hip rises and falls, but it doesn't feel like a caress. It's more like he wants to touch him inch by inch, and it makes Luke lose concentration and good intentions.

It's all soft, Luke, when Michael starts kissing him again and leaning forward like moments before. So soft that he slowly let himself go backwards until he’s half-lying.

When their tongues swirl around each other, gravity is missing in his head and all thoughts rise, float, float. 

He knows he is aroused, yes, and he is more and more so as time passes and Michael also touches him on the side and again down on the hip bone. He doesn't stick to him with his chest or even with his legs, he is on all fours on the sofa and only his head is lowered.

Luke doesn't leave him. He's holding on to the back of his neck as if afraid he might pull away at any moment, but with only one hand. The other still grips the side of his thigh, and he is afraid to move because he has never wanted to touch his ass so much as in this moment. He would like to push it against him, he would like to wrap his legs around him, feel if it is having an effect on him or not. 

And he doesn't realize he's panting in that kiss which is now like eating. He doesn't realize he's getting agitated, that he's breathing through his nose, that he's simply begging for more.

Michael has never seen anything like it. Never, never really. 

Luke is... hungry. Desperate, primordial, animal.

He’s digging his fingers into his thigh with a force that can't be caused by anything other than carnal desire. With every breath there's a legacy of voice that blooms from his throat like tears, and Michael feels like he can lick them straight from the inside. This is why he inserts more tongue, this is why he sucks lightly after each thrust.

He knows very well what's going on, he's not the type to lose his mind. 

Yet he has never come this close. 

A loud thunder makes the atmosphere vibrate, Michael feels it in his stomach and belly, he has the feeling that it is better to blame the storm.

Luke lets out his voice. It gives him goosebumps.

He really moans, tightens his grip, leans in and is like the apple of sin. 

Michael thought he was himself the snake, but now he knows he is just a miserable human. 

“Luke…” he sighs, pulling away, waiting for him to open his eyes again to be looked at. 

Eyes clouded, liquid, aware and yet not at all repentant.

“Do you… want me to leave?” Luke says.

Bastard. 

"No. I want you to explain to me what it means that you always wanted to kiss me.”

Luke is surprised. He didn't even remember saying it, but he knows that Michael doesn't miss anything.

"Heh..." 

He stalls, looks down, softens his grip on the back of his neck and his thigh. 

Michael, however, does not change his position.

“You are somehow the first boy I ever liked.”

He says it quickly, embarrassed, with the drawling Sydney accent that comes out only in the most real moments. 

“Oh, wow” he comments in amazement. 

His face lights up, he has a poorly restrained smile. 

“Tell me more.”

Luke now looks at him badly, and almost wishes he wouldn't say anything more to him out of spite.

“I was a kid, and every now and then you… hugged me and never let go, then you made me laugh, and… and also pissed off. With your hard head and the look of someone who doesn't care about other people's judgment. You messed me up a lot, yeah.”

Michael thinks it's adorable. 

“And at what age, sorry?”

Luke snorts. 

“Since we started playing music together at school.”

"Until…?"

The smirk doesn't leave his face, he really wants to hear every detail.

But Luke isn't laughing now. He blinks and seems to realize something.

“I… I don't know. Then Ashton arrived and everything changed.”

So does Luke still have a bit of a crush on him? So if the band hadn't been there, if Ashton hadn't been there, maybe he would have stepped up? 

Michael has never made a secret of his bisexuality, but he has never explored it fully. He has only ever had girls, and he hasn't created any different opportunities.

He certainly never thought about “experimenting” with his bandmates. 

“About that…” Michael says looking at him more seriously. Luke pays attention. 

“What do you think he would say if he found out about… this?”

The pout wrinkles all of Luke's handsome features, darkens immediately.

“It's none of his business anymore, so I don't care.”

“Yes, but let's say he were to find out…”

“He was jealous. It always has been.”

“Great, I'm going to find myself stabbed by one of his sticks” he chuckles.

“It's none of his business anymore, I said.”

Michael stops laughing, looks at him sweetly. Ashton really shattered his heart, of course. 

He raises a hand, caresses his temple.

"Sorry."

Luke shrugs, but his mouth remains pulled up in a tiny pout, the corners turned down.

“Can I kiss you again, Luke?”

“You say that because you feel sorry for me…”

“I'm saying this because I enjoyed kissing you, dumbass.”

He lights up a little, a flash of joy passes over his face. 

“You really have no problem doing that?”

Michael may know what Luke is thinking. And yes, he thought about it too. 

Crystal is his partner, she is "the right one", she is the one he imagines spending his life with. 

Since he's been with her, Michael hasn't even seen the others. It's something strong, true, fairytale-like. 

And yet… he doesn't know how, but Luke is the exception. Michael KNOWS this is true.

“I'm afraid on my priority list… you come first.”

That's a huge thing to say.

Luke is shocked, Michael himself feels his throat tighten. 

It is a truth that burns, that scratches, that has truly unignorable consequences. 

It just can't be “just a kiss”. It just can't born and die there. 

The reality is that that thing was born at least eight years earlier, so discreet, so subtle, so innocent. 

Michael is not one to curse what has already happened. The past is the past and it cannot be changed, it cannot be denied, it cannot be covered up. 

And the torment of not knowing how it could have gone, however, gives him no peace. 

All that is in his power now is to take what the present offers him, and if they are in that situation it means that what began to blossom eight years ago is not dead at all. 

“It's… messed up” Luke says. 

Incredible how he offers and then portrays, throws himself in and then only exhibits doubts and dangers during construction. 

“It is” Michael agrees. 

Accepting the mess it’s the only way to avoid being caught unprepared. Believing that it is simple, believing that there are no problems would be the biggest mistake.

“Listen Luke. I know Ashton dumped you a few hours ago, I know you’re suffering. I know being in the same band doesn't help, and I know my situation isn't an advantage at all either. But you know..."

He makes himself more comfortable, leans against his broad chest, continues to play with his wet curl on his fingertips. 

“I’m starting to think that the moments we would carve out for ourselves… would be worth it. Having someone to talk to freely, someone who knows 100%, someone to laugh or have a beer with. Being sixteen again and feeling immortal... you make me think of this."

“And what do kisses have to do with all this?”

Michael smiles. 

“We would be the sixteen year olds we didn't have the courage to be, right?”

Luke's eyebrows raise, it's clear that this sentence surprised him. 

Yes. He can recover. 

With Michael there is no drama, lies or power plays. There is no tension, there is no stress. 

He really feels good together with him, and if new, more intimate and tender experiences were added to the usual well-being... he really can't think of anything that would dissuade him. 

“Are you coming with me to Indonesia, Mickey?”

He laughs. 

“I was about to suggest we change destinations, to be honest.”

“And why?”

“Because I'd like to go somewhere we've never been, and make it feel like a business trip. Some European city, who knows…”

Now Luke is chuckling too.

“You're terrible.”

Michael shrugs and continues to smile. 

“Which destination were you thinking about?”

“If you say yes, I'll manage everything.”

“Are you one for surprises, Clifford?”

Michael raises himself, adheres to him with his body, approaches his mouth.

Luke gasps, obviously not even the slightest bit used to this yet. 

“I'm a man of many things, Hemmings.”

What a B-movie scene. 

Yet Luke flushes, feels stupidly light. 

What else can he do but kiss him again? 

Long, thoroughly, with the intention of doing it all night.

Michael is the one who will heal all his wounds.