lost [muke af]

7.0 - michael

7.0 - michael

Michael thought college was going to be better, but he is still tired. He still hates school. He still was to throw himself off of a building eighty percent of the time. But, he’s pulling through. 

He steps into his songwriting class, one of his favorites--his only favorite. He hated the core classes, he hated numbers and equations. He liked watching the lines of sonnets pass under his fingers as they fly from his pen. 

Mike sat in the front, his hair a jet black. He took out his computer, opening the lid to type in his password and open the correct documents. 

It was winter, it was cold, the wind blew his hair out of style. He played with the sleeves of his itchy black sweater, pushing them over his knuckles. The back of the sweater was bound to leave red irritation marks on his pale skin, but it kept him warm, so he didn’t care too badly. 

There was a girl sitting next to him with ginger orange hair, she was flipping through some magazine, the pages smeared with graphics and pictured. Michael never wanted to be famous, he’d hate being stalked constantly by men with big cameras. He has too many secrets that would be uncovered too fast. 

His professor was two minutes late and he started to hit his head against the desk. The clock seemed to taught him, counting down the minutes and seconds of his life. This will be the last 08:02:57 of December 15th, 2015 and he was wasting it away. Michael woke up early for this class, he didn’t have time to wait around. He had sleep to catch up on, jacking off to fulfill. 

His green eyes followed back to the flipping pages of the girl next to him. She was one of four students here, this was miserable. 

There was a fit boy with tattoos up his arm staring at him through the print pages. He was a platinum blonde, his hair quiffed up to pristine height. He had his light pink tongue sticking out in the photo, his broad shoulders were sticking out as his hands clasped behind his black skinny jeans. His thighs were amazing and made Michael feel uncomfortable. 

Michael squinted, recognizing the large, black The 1975 logo box on this boy’s wrist. He rolled up his sleeve, looking at the exact tattoo lining his veins, then back at the picture. “Hey, who’s that?” Michael asked the girl.

She turned to look at him, her bright orange hair falling down her back. “That’s Luke Hemmings,” she responded, "Isn't he lovely? 

Mike scrunched up his eyebrows. “Can I see that?” He asked, holding out his hands. 

She shrugged, passing him the magazine. 

Michael brought it closer to his face, trying to look at the tattoos more closely. His breathing picked up when he noticed the slim moon on his wrist, then the seven phases crawling up his faces. 

Holy shit, it’s Luke Hemmings. 

Michael could hear the music of some strumming love song pick up in his head, he quickly stopped it, realizing that wasn't punk rock.
Michael stood up, the plastic chair screeching below him, “Tell Dr. A I’m going home,” Mike said to the class, quickly packing up and leaving. 

He held the cheap magazine in his hands, the smeared, saturated colors under his thumb. His heart wasn’t beating as he looked into the blue eyes. Those blue eyes knew everything,and that slightly scared Michael. 

He flipped the pages, reading about the famous Luke Hemmings whom’s been taking over the world in the matter of only years. 

He was beautiful, inside and out. 

Michael made his way to his apartment, throwing his bag on the cluttered floor and calling out his roommate's name. He sat on the couch, still clutching the one page of Luke. 

Ashton came down stairs wearing nothing but a dirty pair of grey sweatpants. He ran a hand through his golden curly hair let out a cough. "Michael, you are yelling."

Michael threw the magazine at Ashton, the older boy fumbling to catch it. "Look at his tattoos."

Ash eyed them, not seeing anything weird. He shrugged his shoulders, throwing it back at Michael.

"Ash, those are my tattoos."

The tan brunette was making his way to their small kitchen when he froze. The broad muscles in his back clenched as he turned around, grabbing the magazine again. His eyes scanned every ink print the magazine laid upon the page. "No way."

Michael rolled up the sleeves of his sweaters, moving stringed bracelets out of the way so Ash could flicker between Luke and Michael. Luke and Michael. LukeandMichael. 

"Holy shit, Mikey." Ashton sat down next to his best friend of two years, "You're soulmates with Luke Hemmings."

Michael didn't know how to respond. He didn't know what to say, what to do. "I'm too high to actually freak out right now," he joked, biting his bottom lip. 

Ashton quickly eyed him, making sure he wasn't actually on anything right now. He decided it was a joke and ignored the comment. "Okay, let's go find your soulmate."

At nineteen, he was filled with something new: hope.