the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

fifteen

(a/n) loOK AT WHAT @xyoungvolcanox DID. LOOK HOW CUTE MIKEY'S LIL NOSE IS I AM SCREAMING. LIKE I AM ACTUALLY SCREAMING.
I LOVE ALL OF YOU GUYS, IF YOU EVER WANNA SEND ME SOMETHING MY AESTHETIC INSTAGRAM IS JACKEMBARGOACT OR PM ME FOR MY PERSONAL STUFF.

fifteen

    Luke opened the door, squinting at the sudden light from his porch lights. "Why are you here?"

    Michael handed him over a bouquet of blue roses. "We are going on a date."

    The older blonde looked him up and down, his shoes were shined, his jacket steamed. He was dressed to the top, his watch costing more than Luke's monthly rent. "What?"

    "We are going on a date," he repeated.

    Luke took a step back, letting him wander into their living room. "But, I'm watching Netflix." He pulled at the thick fabric of his sweatpants.

    "Come on, I'm cute, let's go."

    Luke turned around, placing the flowers upon their kitchen counter. "I've gotta find a vase, and then get dressed. Where are we going?" He started to reach up above the fridge, opening cabinets until he found a dusty glass bowl, one they bought from a thrift store.

    "There's this amazing restaurant I've been meaning to check out. It's on East 4th, there's a little outdoor bar, too. It's adorable." Mike took a seat on their couch, turning to look at Luke every time he talked.

    "Oh, God. You're taking me in public. I have to actually look nice." Luke placed the flowers on the end of the kitchen counters, hoping none of his dumbshit roommates would come home and knock them over.

    "I've seen you clean up nicely." Michael reached forward, flipping through a magazine on their coffee table. He crossed his legs over one another, his fingers flipping the pages.

    Luke left his bedroom door open as he went to change. "I'm always cute."

    "Is it hard to hate yourself yet still be vain?" Michael called out.

    A blonde head peaked out from his bedroom door. "So exhausting," he answered with an eye roll. He went back to his and Ashton's closet, trying to find something nice enough. He regrets not doing laundry for a month and half.

    He stripped off his pajamas, the ones he has been wearing for over forty-eight hours. He changed his underwear, pulling nice-looking black jeans up his legs. Luke left them unbuttoned as he pulled out a light blue button-down from Ashton's side of the closet. "So, how nice do I have to look? Not too nice, right?"

    "Anything is good, baby." Mike put the magazine carefully back on the coffee table. His eyes scanned the apartment, it was in good need of a dusting. And new furniture. And new paint.

    Mike decided they just needed a new apartment. One in which four men weren't living in less than four hundred square feet. Michael is pretty sure his childhood bedroom was more than four hundred square feet.

    Luke walked out, carrying his only clean pair of Converse. He turned around a few times. "Is this okay?" He asked.

    Michael smiled at the look of Luke. He was so handsome, so well-built. "You look beautiful."

    "Do I look okay for your fancy restaurant?"

    The eighteen-year-old laughed, "It's not that fancy."

    "It's on East 4th, yes it is." Luke placed his shoes next to the couch as he wandered back to the kitchen. He took out a scrap sheet of paper, quickly leaving a note for his roommates. He didn't want them to call the police when Luke didn't show up.

    "Have you never been to East 4th?" Michael turned his head, once again watching Luke pace around the apartment.

    He clicked off the television set, then sat down next to Michael. "I don't think I could even afford parking on East 4th, Dear." Luke never liked talking about finances to anyone, especially potential lovers. But, Michael has seen where he works, seen his apartment, seen everything.

    It's comforting to not hide.

    "Well, this should be an adventure."

    East 4th wasn't an adventure. Michael's driving, though, Michael's driving was an adventure.

    Luke has never seen such a fragile kitten have such road rage. He was swearing at drivings, flipping them off, tailing them. Anything and everything pissed off Michael.

    Then it hit the blonde. Michael has only been driving for two years. He's a fucking teenager with shitty driving skills. Luke feared for his life the entire way, and promised himself that he would drive back.

    Michael took Luke's hand as they crossed the street. His fingers felt so warm against Luke's cold skin. Mike leant into the blonde, their hands swinging between their two bodies.

    The door to the restaurant was held open, Michael letting Luke explore in first. The purple-haired man gave their reservations, before they were quickly led to a table on the outside porch.

    Luke's eyes scanned the scene. Lit up light bulbs were hanging from a dark string, connecting the buildings together. Everything felt complete, the iron fence next to them polished and freshly painted.

    Their table was covered in a white cloth, Luke noticed the small stitchings of flowers lining the seam. He often wondered if details like that were hand-sewn. he doubted it, but a boy could dream.

    His date was perfect. With a small smirk engraved into his face, never leaving around Luke. Michael picked at the basket of garlic rolls in front of them, tearing off pieces and eating slowly. He was telling a story, a story in which Luke couldn't seem to focus upon.

    Luke was painting portraits in his mind, Michael knew this. Luke didn't care for scenery paintings, no one cares about those. He liked portraits. He liked Michael's head facing down, his eyes closed mid-blink. He liked his elbows on the table, casually leaning over to be closer to Luke. He liked the posh people in the back, giving them glances, not understand why teenagers were at such a nice place.

    Luke liked tonight.

    "What're you thinking about?" Michael asked, even though he knew the answer.

    You. "Just stuff." Luke sat back as their dinner arrived. He gave the waiter a smile and quick thank you. "What have you been doing all day?"

    Mike shrugged. He placed a napkin in his lap, beginning to dig into his own meal. "I don't remember. I slept, I painted, I slept some more. Have I ever told you how much I love sleeping?"

    "A few times, yes." Luke laughed. The food in his mouth could probably make him explode with happiness. Everything was perfect. His world was perfect at that exact moment.

    He felt like there was no harm in the world. He felt like he could never float down to sadness ever again. He felt like he could close his eyes without seeing his funeral.

    "I like when you smile," Michael said. He covered his mouth, hoping to not spit out half his food and ruin their night.

A flush of red rose to Luke's cheeks. "I like when you make me smile."