muse-ic. ➵ muke ✔

the sixth day.

Not completely hungover, like the other two laying on the couch tangled up in each other, Michael walked into the kitchen and passed Luke.

"Hi Mikey," Luke murmured.

Michael didn't respond. Luke was adding dry ingredients into a bowl for what Michael could tell were going to be splendid pancakes.

"What's wrong?"

Michael, again, didn't bother.

"You'd rather be playing the piano," he mumbled.

Michael felt Luke's arms around him and a soft sigh breathed into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

Michael turned around and hugged Luke properly.

"I think we're out of brown sugar."

"I'll get it," Luke said, "since I love the brown sugar pancake thing more than you do, and you originated it."

"Give me a kiss," Michael gripped the collar of Luke's shirt with one hand and kissed him, smiling as the opposite boy kissed back.

Luke sang a cheerful goodbye and Michael watched his beautiful blonde angel skip out the door.

Quickly, he threw on some bacon in a pan over the stove and yelled at Calum and Ashton to get up.

The two slowly filtered into the kitchen, bloodshot eyes and slumped bodies filling the chairs.

Michael sat a paper towel in front of them and laid two pieces of bacon on each.

"Helps with hangover, grease does," Michael nodded.

"How the hell are you so fucking chirpy this morning?" Ashton growled, chewing slowly on the first strip of bacon.

"I didn't drink as much as you, one, and two, Luke and I are back together and there's no piano in my way."

Calum smiled the best he could, always optimistic when drunk and hungover, and thanked Michael when he served them each two more pieces of bacon.

He threw a few more into the pan and cooked them up for he and Luke, putting them on a separate paper towel and turning off the stove.

He saved the bacon grease in a way-too-cute tiny tupperware container and sat down at the four-person island next to Ashton.

"Hey, grumpy-butt, did you win last night?"

"Nah, mate. I did."

"'Course you did, Cal," Michael laughed, hearing Ashton grumbled a word resembling "cheater," and picking up his empty paper towel to throw away.

"Hey, Michael?"

Michael turned around at the sound of Ashton's voice, the most awake he'd heard it all morning.

"Hmm?" He walked and looked in the direction in which Ashton was looking and then he saw it.

Right outside their house.

Luke's truck was totalled.

It was as if Luke had just pulled out of the driveway and a car smashed in to the left side.

Maybe that was how it happened.

Michael was scrambling to the door, everything becoming a blur as he ran out to the truck and car, looking over to see an ambulance.

"Where is he? Where the fuck is Luke?"

A doctor gripped Michael's arm. "Come on, breathe."

"Where's Luke?" He screamed.

"He died on contact. The steering wheel, it shattered and he fell forward and it punctured his heart when the car was propelled forward towards the fence."

Michael sank to the asphalt.

He fell on to his side, not minding as he hit his head against the sun-warmed tar.

He wanted his Luke, tan and warm next to him in a beach somewhere far away from all of this. Michael wanted sleepy Luke, and cuddly Luke. Hell, he'd even take piano-obsessed Luke if it meant having him back.