the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

thirty

thirty

Michael stood in all black, watching a family of blonde cry over the son they never called. All they had to do was shoot him a quick call, "Hey, we still love you." Mike knows Luke's parents and brothers are still in love with Luke. His green eyes watched them collapse over the newly piled dirt, sobbing his name. Their baby was dead.

Mike couldn't look at them.

He sat in his car, his forehead against the steering wheel. The purple-haired boy thought about calling his own parents and informing them that his lover was dead. But, he couldn't do it. The words couldn't come out of his mouth. He was unable to accept that the beautiful blonde was six feet under the ugly world.

His car hums as he turns it on. Michael doesn't hear anything. He doesn't see anything, either. He knows he shouldn't be driving in this state, but maybe he likes the thought of death, now. He used to be so scared of dying so young. It made Luke happy, shouldn't it make him happy, too?

He pulls up to the complex parking lot that he used to be so afraid of. The poor men, women, and all don't bother him anymore. He doesn't feel anything as he mindlessly locks his car doors.

Alex is a few steps ahead of him, his faded blue hair matching Michael's faded purple hair. Their emotions were taken out on their hair color, apparently.

The older man held the door open for the eighteen-year-old without question. Michael needed comfort, and they all knew that.

Mike was sick of leaning against his shower wall, watching the dye run down his pale skin. He was sick of crying and blaming the rest of the world. He wasn't ready to accept the truth, though.

"We thought you might want to go through his stuff," the tired man spoke softly. His throat was sore from crying, too. He took a liking to the dead boy the last few months, he counted Luke as his friend.

Jack sat sat frozen on their couch, staring aimlessly at a painting on the wall. He had an empty beer bottle clutched in his hands, holding on to the glass as if his life depended on the bitter drink.

Michael made his way to the bedroom door he knew so well. It was open a crack, the bedside light on. He walked in, spotting Ashton curled in his bed. He was clutching his own pillow in his hand, his eyes dripping tears of sadness.

"Hey," Mike whispered.

"I couldn't do it," the brunette sobbed, "He's not under that gravestone, right? He's just at work."

Michael gave him a saddened smile. He wished his memory could wipe the thought of the wooden casket lowering to the earth. "I wish, Buddy."

Ashton sniffled again, curling himself into more of a fetal position. "Are you going to take his paintings?"

"Is that okay with you?"

"There's one painting of me sleeping, which is kind of weird, but I want it. Can you leave that one?" His bloodshot eyes looked at Michael's turned body. His shoulders were sloped yet broad.

"Of course. Tell me if you want anything else."

As Michael went through the paintings, ignoring the burning feeling of tears in his eyes, he started to recognize some of the artwork. It was the two sitting on the countertop at Luke's work—coffee in hands, dirty shoes hanging below. It was Mike's gallery, the only one Luke was able to go to—Michael faced the wall, Luke drew his back broad. It was their yelling match over charcoal—Michael had sweat dripping on his forehead as he leant over the easel. It was their first date—Michael mid-laugh, his head down, his fingers in the basket of garlic rolls. It was their first fuck—Luke's legs curled with Michael's as they slept, shirtless Mike laid below him. It was their short life together.

"He really loved you, Michael." Ashton pulled him out of his haze. "I know he didn't show it, he didn't show any emotion, really."

Michael picked up a few more canvases, resting them against the door frame. He looked back at Ashton, swallowing a lump in his throat. "The last thing I said to him was 'I love you'."

Ash whimpered, his bottom lip quivering. "I can't remember what I said to him last. Probably something stupid, like asking him when he did his laundry."

Michael tried to laugh, but it physically hurt. "I just don't understand, I loved him so fucking much." He sat down on Luke's bed, the scent of his lover filling his nose. He never wanted to move from his creaky, cheap bed.

"I don't think you and I will ever be able to understand what he was going through. He was in this constant warzone, him against himself."

Mike kicked off his shoes, laying in the bed, his head on the pillows. He remembers laying in this very bed only days before, he had his blonde bombshell pressed tight against him. They never really fit in Luke's twin size mattress. "I thought he was going to make it out, like, for once in his life something would actually go right."

Ashton wiped a hand over his bloodshot green eyes. "I know everyone says this after someone dies, but I truly believe Luke is in a better place. He would not have gotten better, Mike, he would have stayed miserable."

Michael felt like a child as Ashton spoke. It was like when a family pet dies and one's parents reassure them that they're happy. No, they're not, they're just gone. "I had hope." Mike was Luke's sunshine, but the rays weren't bright enough.

Ashton rolled onto his back, looking at the paper stars Luke had hung up many years ago. "Do you know he called you 'Kid'? At first, I think it was because you annoyed him, but then it became more endearing."

"He called you 'Man-Bun'."

Ash laughed, a quick, short laugh. "Of course he did. He called me that to my face, too." Ashton could still hear Luke's voice going 'I have a date with Kid today, doubt I'll be back', or 'You won't believe what Kid did today'. There is no doubt in Ashton's mind that Luke loved Michael with all the energy left in his sad body.

Michael stood up, his fingers grazing over the sheets. He knew next time he came around—if there was a next time—the sheets would be different. They wouldn't smell like Luke, they wouldn't be the comfortable mess Luke made them,

"I should get home. Thanks for being there, Ashton."

The brunette gave him a half smile. "You're welcome here whenever you need a friend," he whispered.