remember the time spent, [we all go through changes]
like seasons i cycle right back into you.
It was not within Luke's agenda during this holiday season to run into the boy he once loved. It was not his plan to be sitting on the same bench he occupied yesterday, only with another body beside him. None of this was how he had imagined it, but then again, nothing ever turned out to be.
The weather was worse than it was the previous night, Luke couldn't bear to stay seated any longer if he had any intention of keeping his butt separate from the frosted metal of the bench. Every few minutes he'd hear the material of his jacket moving with him to assure him that he wasn't stuck in this position forever, which he was grateful for. Mostly because the man next to him is staring at him, waiting for a single sentence—even a single word—a sound—to leave him and all Luke wanted to do was run away.
Cold air touched their lips, threatening frost and easily regretted conversation. Not the slightest semblance of anything could be found, no matter how hard Luke attempted to start conversation or gather his thoughts.
The strangest feeling was, although Luke had thought that it would be uncomfortable and different, it actually felt that way. He would have loved to have been wrong about it, would have been fine if things were the same as they used to be, but that wasn't the case and won't ever be.
And why is he reminiscing, anyway? He and Michael left each other behind in college to explore their own contrasting lifestyles (the difference, now, being beyond evident). Or, rather, Michael did, but that's okay.
Luke is a big boy now; he got over it. He got over Michael.
"So, how have you been?" And then, there was another stretch of silence between the pair that Luke was eerily okay with; the sound of Michael's voice took him back to days he'd almost regrettably forgotten he'd lived.
"I've been good," he finally says, hands gripping the edge of the bench. They were freezing to the point of numbness, but Luke didn't care anymore.
Michael nods, fists shoved inside of the pockets of his too-thin-for-winter hoodie and an embarrassing shiver running through him from the breeze that flew by. He looked the same as he did when they were twenty-two. "Do you still live in Vermont?"
Luke shook his head, the breath he let out with it fogging with the wind. "I took a teaching job in Baltimore a few years ago."
"So you ended up teaching? That's great," Michael smiled genuinely at him, and for a second Luke feels kind of bad for holding such a grudge but then remembers he's an adult and can do whatever the hell he wants.
"Did you end up doing anything with that degree in Music Theory?"
The older man hesitated, "I—I mean, I'm in a band..."
And, that's not exactly what Luke would've thought that degree would've gone towards—if it had any real use in the profession at all—but Michael was always the type to surprise Luke, never really liked college and hadn't ever had a plan for when he graduated. Instead of commenting and possibly upsetting the easily-embarrassed man that Michael most likely still is, Luke smiles small and says, "Cool."
"It is. We're going on tour soon," Michael smiled gratefully to himself.
"What're you called?"
"Upon Kerosene."
Luke rolled his eyes. "Of course; you always were a closeted arsonist," he joked.
