blondie [muke af]

nineteen

nineteen

"Don't start any meth labs while we're gone," Michael half-teased from his open car window.

Cy rolled his eyes, "I don't need to start what I already have!"

Luke laughed quietly from the passenger seat as he played with a hole in his distressed blue jeans. They were a little bit too big on him since they were once Michael's. Luke had found them while they were moving his clothing into their now-shared closet.

It was the first sunny day they've seen since October. April brought hope to every New Yorker, the entire Midwest seems to be celebrating, except for Cy.

Luke slid the sleeves of his unbuttoned flannel up to his elbow. He happy to bring out his large array of muscle tees, even if he had no muscles to show off. The bottom of his jeans were cuffed up, his ankles paler than ever as they clashed with his dark shoes.

Michael pulled out of their driveway with a roar of the engine. "Are you excited for the weekend?" He asked as they hit the main road. 

"I'd be more excited if you told me where we were going and why I need my passport," Luke responded, looking over at Michael. 

Michael turned up 'Arctic Monkeys' from the radio, humming along to D Is For Dangerous. He enjoyed avoiding Luke's questions, letting him have the element of surprise. The blonde has been begging for days wanting some type of clue about their vacation. Mike was too afraid that if he started giving hints, he'd never stop.

Where's the fun in knowing?

The road ahead of them was long, about seven hours, four hundred miles. Michael held his right hand out, Luke gladly entwining their hands over the gear shift. Mike tapped his tattooed thumb on Luke's hand to the beat of the songs blaring. 

There was something pleasing to Michael about driving.

When little fringe-game-strong sixteen year old Michael got his license, it was a sense of freedom he gained. He liked driving until his eyes fell tired and his hands grew cold. He liked driving with only the hills and highway in view, beams of headlights behind him.

There was never anywhere in particular he was headed to, he was just driving to drive. Cy was born three months after Michael turned sixteen, his parents stopped giving him the attention he was so used to for so long. 

Michael was an only child. His parents gave him more attention than one could ever imagine. He hated it. He hated when his father asked about his, when his mother asked about school. He hated talking to his parents, he hated it all.

It stopped one day, though. Cy was born, and it stopped. 

Mike's father talked to him about the business mostly, to tell him about the big hopes and dreams he had for Michael. That made the sixteen-year-old feel terrible because he knew that he'd never live up to satisfy his father's wishes. He was just a kid with no real reason to live.

"What're you thinking about? You're clutching my fucking hand," Luke said, a tone of worry in his voice.

Michael looked at his boyfriend, half forgetting he was supposed to be doing something besides just drive straight. He let go of Luke, placing both hands on the steering wheel and merging into the next lane. "My dad," he answered shortly.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Luke never asked about Michael's family life, never wanted to poke holes in it. 

Luke remembers Michael's father well, but he never knew what happened behind closed doors. He didn't know what Mr. Clifford was truly like. 

"No, not really," Michael responded, he placed a hand on Luke's knee, rubbing his fingers into his skin. "Maybe one day."

Luke gave him a warm smile, satisfied with the answer. There were so many what ifs and maybes in his life, which constantly stressed him out. 

Michael was never a question, Luke liked that. Michael was in his life to stay for a long, long time.

Michael hummed along to his car ride playlist, tapping the steering wheel mindlessly as they made their way north of the city. 

He watched Luke curl up in the seat from the corner of his eye. Luke tried to get his head to rest without choking on the seatbelt. 

The blonde laid in fetal position, occasional snores leaving his parted lips. Mike smiled at his sleeping boyfriend, there was just something so beautiful watching a lover sleep. He was so beautiful yet so unaware. 

The fact that Luke felt safe and comfortable around Michael was all that the dark-haired boy needed to know for the rest of his life. His last relationship was a flaky artist who couldn't take the time out his day to love Michael the way he needed to be loved.

Michael was the missing piece in Luke's life, and Luke was the missing piece in Michael's life. They were the end of the checklist for one another. Everything felt alright. 

Mike pulled up to the boarder, taking out their passports and waiting in line. The miles of cars trying to get into Canada would take hours upon hours. 

Mike relaxed into his seat, just wanting to start the rest of their lives already. 

They arrived at their hotel around 5 in the afternoon. Luke collapsed onto the plush bed before them. Luke was never good at road-trips, he'd always knock himself out cold.

"Did you have dinner?" Michael asked Cyril over the phone. Mike laid on his back, his head resting on the curve of Luke's sleeping body.

"Duh," Cy answered, his mouth full of some type of pasta.

"I'm just being a responsible brother!" Mike laughed quietly. He played with his fingernails, not really focusing on anything.

"So, are you gonna do it tonight or tomorrow?"

"You need to be more specific," Michael joked. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Luke is asleep currently, so I don't think I'll ask until tomorrow." He stood up, going to his luggage bag and digging through the pockets to make sure he had the ring.

"You're disgusting. Why did the court let you be my guardian?"

Michael sat back on the bed, resting a hand on Luke's legs and slowly rubbing the material of his loose jeans. "Because they saw you were lame, and saw how cool I was. They decided it would be good for you."

"Sounds fake."