lost [muke af]

11.0 - michael

11.0 - michael 

At twenty-seven years old, his arm was scattered with tattoos. He wasn’t drunk, but he was nearly close to it.
The pub he was at was only a few blocks from his hometown. There was loud music playing, sweaty bodies swaying, but Michael was alone in the corner, softly sipping his drink. 

The lights were dimmed and he wished they were not when a boy with a beautiful voice came up to him. “Are you alone?”

He sighed, “Yeah.”

“No soulmate?” He asked, reaching over and taking Michael’s drink. 

“I’ve given up,” Mike responded, moving over in his booth. 

The mysterious blonde with a husky voice sat down, his jeans tight but his muscle tee loose. The first thing Michael spotted was 1:02 on the inside of his wrist. His breathing picked up as he tried to focus his eyes on the figure next to him. He didn’t want to scare him off if it was Luke, this was the closest he might ever get to the multi-millionaire. 

“Me too,” he responded. He tilted his head back and took a large swallow of the vodka-based drink. His head was at the right angle and the shining lights stopped blocking his silhouette. 

That’s when he saw it. The pale, sloped nose. The perfectly plucked eyebrows. The calming smile. It was him.

Michael looked up at the clock ticking above the bar, 1:02 a.m. His eyes were practically bulging from his face. “So, w—what’s your name?” Any game he had to take any boy home today flew out the window as he started to stutter.

“Luke,” he responded, looking down at the empty bottle that wasn’t even his. He came here to rid his blues but they’ve only increased around his third drink. 

“I’m Michael,” he introduced himself as if it was supposed to mean anything to the other twenty-seven year old.

“Can we skip this all and just go home and f.uck? My daughter is with my mom for the weekend and I’m desperate.”

Michael smiled as he stood up. He grabbed his denim jacket and Luke’s hand. “My place or yours?”