start a fight [muke af]

xiii

xiii

When Cal and Luke's unit broke for lunch, the two parole officer's got a chance to eat, too. Luke sat across from his work partner, picking at the sandwich his mother packed him. Another thing he will never admit.

"I can't believe they live like this," Luke said, looking at their two dozen inmates eating their lunch in the sun—they got the privilege to eating outside after not having any fights for an entire week. "Like, they're locked up forever, isn't that weird?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It messes with my head so badly, I can't imagine what it does to theirs." Calum closed the lid of his water bottle, leaning more comfortably on the outside table. "The other day, my kids were just being a nuisance, and I talked to them the same way I talk to the inmates. My wife just flipped shit and yelled at me more."

"Oh, geez. That's awful." Luke knew Calum was eyeing him, making sure he was eating the protein from his lunch. He seems to can't escape his mother.

"Do you have any kids?"

"Dude, I'm nineteen."

Cal laughed. "We had the first one at sixteen, I don't judge much anymore." He scanned the outside area, making sure no one was doing things they weren't supposed to. Calum knew they had to always be watching.

"I still live with my parents," he admitted, looking down at his food.

"Hey, no rent, you don't need to buy groceries, I'm with you. Wish I could do that, too."

"How many kids do you have?"

Calum put his head in his hands, pulling at his skin. "Five," he responded, "I have five children. I'm twenty-four."

Luke low-whistled. "Damn, you sure get to it."

Calum looked up at him, glaring at the blonde. "We're training tonight, right?"

The younger one nodded.

"I'm gonna fucking beat your ass."

Luke laughed, even though he knew he wasn't joking. As their training got further along, Calum stopped cutting him slack. He'd go as hard with every punch as he wanted to. Luke would end with bruises on the palms of his hands.

"Do you like working here?" Luke asked, changing subjects.

He shrugged. "I like this actual place, it's better than others I've worked at, but the job is hard."

Luke agreed with a nod of the head.

"You get beat up a lot, I feel like everyone targets you." Calum stood up, gathering their trash into a pile and throwing it away. He came back, ready to continue their conversation. "Like, at training and at work. Why does everyone hate you?"

"I don't know," Luke said, a pout on his lips.

"That Clifford dude definitely has it in for you," Calum tsked, "And that dude is scary."

"He's not too bad," Luke sympathized, thinking of the very few moments they had. He saw that Michael was truly a real human, too. He could see it in his eyes.

"Dude, he's in here for murder. You realize that, right? Don't mess around with those dudes."

Luke furrowed his eyebrows, not believing the dark-haired boy. "Why'd he only get ten-year, then?"

"It was declared self-defense," Cal responded. "I know my shit, don't doubt me."

Luke shook his head with a laugh, ready to end their conversation. There was something in Luke's heart that wanted to believe Michael was good, that he wouldn't ever hurt anyone. Luke knew that wasn't true, he's gotten two black eyes from the inmate.

He scanned over the courtyard, watching Michael laugh at something another man in Luke's unit said. He had a nice laugh, with his whole head going back and he grabbed his stomach from the bellowing sound.

How could someone with such a sweet face hurt anyone?

Even with the tattoos from his feet to his forehead, he seemed lovely. Luke wanted to hug him, was that unprofessional? 

(a/n) i photographed the front bottoms last night, okay and LISTEn TO ME, 

if you've never heard the front bottoms, go listen to them. now.

if you've never seen them live, go see them, now. 

their live presence was better than twenty one pilots and //that says a lot//.