the boy with the white eyes [muke af]

rien chérie

rien, chérie

(a/n) possible trigger warning???? maybe??

"Clémence," Michael whined at his daughter, he was not a morning person, he never had been and he never will be. Chasing a six year old around the house trying to get her into some semi-matching outfit was far too difficult for him when he's barely matching himself. He hated mornings.

Clémence Lillian Clifford, however, loved mornings. She giggled loudly, "no, Daddy!" she ran between a flustered-looking Michael's legs. "Catch me!"

"This isn't funny!" Michael warned, doing a 360 turn, and trying to figure out where the toddler has gone. "You're going to be late for school!"

"Come catch me!" Clémence repeated, running around their small living room. Michael took a deep breath. Slowly inching towards where his daughter's voice was coming from. The quick pitter-patter of tiny sock-clad feet against the hard wood stopped, so Michael knew Clémence was catching her breath.

He presses himself up against the wall right next to a corner, smirking when he hears the small child panting on the other side of the wall. Michael wasn't the smartest, but he could outsmart a six year old.

"Okay, Clémence," Michael says loudly, grinning to himself, "I guess I'll just have to call the tickle monster..."

"No!" She shrieks and, just as Michael has predicted, propels herself into the room trying to find her green-haired father. Michael takes the opportunity to grab Clémence by the waist as she tried to run through the hallway.

"Caught ya!" Michael yelled, picking up his small child, and throwing her over his shoulder. Ignoring the kicking feet and loud protests of, "no fair, Daddy!" Michael carried the blonde into his room and sets her on his bed.

"Game over, baby. Get dressed, we're already late."

Although grumbling, the child complied and went off to get dressed for school. Mike stands back in their bathroom, quickly stripping and brushing his teeth. He's sliding black jeans onto his legs when Clémence comes in, she stands next to her father, barely reaching his hips.

Michael hands her the light pink toothbrush and minty fresh toothpaste, "what's that?" She asked, pointing to a fading red bruise on his rib cage.

"Nothing, sweetie." He smiled, remembering Luke's lips on him only hours ago.

"Luke has them too," she sighed, spitting into the sink.

Mike rubbed the scruff around his chin, he was in such desperate need for a shave but had such little time. He spit into the sink as well, before shoving a clean shirt over his head, "make sure you're packed up," he ushered the girl out of the bathroom.

Michael lifted up his shirt just a bit, looking at the light bruises lining his skin. For a blind boy, Luke sure knows his way around Mike's body. He let his shirt fall back to his waist, tucking one side into his jeans.

Luke sat at the kitchen table in his apartment, Calum walking around reciting the steps to substituting multi-step systems. "You'll do fine," Luke reminded him, "if I passed, you can, too."

"You're smart," Calum moaned out, plopping his head onto the kitchen table, "I'm so screwed."
"You're so close to graduating, even failing this one exam won't make you fail the class." Luke felt for his hoodie on the back of his chair, sliding his arms though the jacket.

"Shouldn't you be finding out if you got into the PhD program soon?"
"Anytime this week," Luke beamed.

"I'm so excited for you-" Calum was interrupted by a noise outside.