the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

nineteen

nineteen

Michael sat in his car outside his parent's choice in restaurant. He knew he wasn't going to like anything besides a glass of water. They may even mess up that by making it gourmet.

He buttoned up the top button on his navy blue button down. He hated the texture and the way it rubbed against his skin, but he couldn't have his parents seeing his new tattoos. Michael has been hiding every single once since he got his first stick and poke at fourteen.

Mike figured his parents knew he had a few tattoos, but they aren't expecting over one hundred.

He stepped out of the sports car, locking the doors and shoving the keys in his pockets. He never trusted the valet guys with his baby, never, ever, ever. He'd rather park further away than see them riding in his most prized procession.

The front door was opened for him, he smiled at the miserable-looking doorman. He gave the hostess their reservation name, automatically being shooed to a private booth in the back.

Michael thought his parents were a little extreme. They weren't the richest man and women in the world, they were probably on the list of top fifty, though.

He greeted his mother with a kiss to the cheek, his father a side hug. They were dressed to the tens, making Michael look like a child.

He scooted in, facing his parents with a painfully fake smile. He knew he was in too deep when he thought about doing this all with Luke. He wished Luke was next to him, holding his hand to face his parents.

"How have you been since we last spoke?" His mother asked. She sipped at the champagne in her hand. Her dark violet lipstick left stains around the pristine glass.

"I've been good. And you?"

He could feel his eyes drooping with every word out of their mouth. Michael wasn't sure how he was going to manage to get through their lunch.

Their voices droned together, they often did. His mother spoke the most, his father only popping in here and there. They've been like this for as long as Michael could remember. He didn't know what his parents were like before they met.

"Are you seeing anyone?" The question brought his attention back to their conversation.

He blinked a few times, then swallowed a lump in his throat. "Kind of," he responded.

"What do you mean kind of?"

Their waitress came back, placing their meals in front of each Clifford member. They thanked her, waiting for her to leave.

Mike had his full attention on the plate of small food in front of him. He wasn't interested, but just wanted to drop their subject.

"Michael Gordon, I expect an answer from you."

Michael wondered if his life would have been any different if he had a sibling or two. He wondered if his parents would be their sophisticated, uptight, self-indulgent people they make themselves out to be today.

"I mean, like, I'm not sure."

"Please elaborate." His mother's voice was strong. She was a strong women, she ran everyone's life.

"His name is Luke, he and I have gone on a few dates and we hang out a lot." And he took my virginity.

"Him?"

Michael looked up at them, a smile on his face. "Oops, surprise, I'm gay."

"We figured, Mike," his father responded. He looked up at his son, their eyes catching with a gleam.

"That's not very nice. You can't just expect someone is a certain sexual orientation or whatever." Michael munched on his lunch, his back slouching and elbows resting on the table.

"We saw the way you looked at your 'guy friend's'." Michael's mother glared at her son, the type of glare he was used to. "We knew you were sneaking them in, you know that, right?"

He fixed his posture and took another bite before continuing. "Whatever."

"Tell us about this Luke. When can we meet him?"

"Never," Michael quickly responded, "Never, ever."

"How old is he?"

Mike bit his lip, poking his tongue out the side. "Er, twenty-eight," he whispered. Michael ate his meal faster, piling it into his mouth in hopes he wouldn't have to respond.

"He's practically your father!" His mother tsked. She kept her voice low, though, because public appearances are always crucial. "And you're not even dating him. We didn't raise you like this, Michael."

"Mom, yes, you did. You literally raised me, I wasn't brought up my wolves."

"Why can't you find a nice girl around your age?"

"Not really my thing," he said, his mouth full of the garlic knots appetizer. "I like artsy, blonde boys named Luke."

"Great," his mother rolled her eyes, "Another boy with an unstable career. Magnificent."

"It's not unstable, Mom. I'm doing fine. I'm doing more than fine."

She shook her head from left to right. Her ivory earrings dangled from her earlobes. "Is he?"

"Well, not exactly."

"See! That's my point. He can't even support himself, how do you know he's not just getting to you for your wealth?"

The thought crossed Michael's mind for a quick second before he brushed it off. Luke didn't care about stupid things like money nor wealth. He was a sad artist looking for nothing in life but happiness.

"Mom, I don't think he's even interested in me."

"Maybe that's a blessing in disguise."

Michael looked over at his dad, begging for some type of reasoning. He put his hands up in defense, even he knew it wasn't use to reason with Ms. Clifford. "You're upsetting me."

"You're upsetting me," she responded. Her head was held high in the air, her nose pointed up.

"You're acting like a child, Mom." Michael stood up. "Call me when you're ready to talk like an adult about my love life."

(a/n) i finished writing this story, so i'm going to be uploading every single day. woo.

i have another story coming out called West Hills that's teenage!muke. so, look out for that.