Chapter Text
The party is too loud for grief.
Michael knew that. He’d known it for the three hours he’d been there.
He saw Luke before Luke saw him. Across the room, laughing and accepting his congratulations gracefully. He’d always done that. The Grammy is probably still warm from his touch.
He was studying the ice in his glass when he felt the eyes on him.
When he looked up, he saw Luke staring. Not smiling or frowning, there was no emotion in it.
Michael raised his glass slightly.
Luke nodded once.
Michael finished his drink.
He remembers a Tuesday and he can’t recall what year but it’s not like it matters. Luke was in the kitchen, wearing what used to be Michael’s hoodie. They shared everything, Michael just thought he looked so good in his clothes.
“We’re out of coffee,” Luke called from the kitchen and Michael could hear the frown in his voice.
“You always drink it all,” Michael responded from the couch.
He could hear the footsteps on the wood as Luke approached behind him. He flopped down next to him and stole his blanket.
They’d gone back to sleep together on the couch, Luke’s cold feet finding and pressing against Michael’s legs, causing him to yelp.
Someone laughed too loudly near Michael and he was snapped back to reality.
He blinked his eyes a few times and shook it off. He needed another drink. It gave him something to do and somewhere to go, but on the way to the bar he made the mistake of looking behind him.
Luke was talking to someone he didn’t recognize. A model in a red dress, leaning toward him, because everyone leaned toward Luke. The grin on his stupidly gorgeous face will be burned into his mind for God knows how long.
He turned to his drink.
The last tour they went on was eighteen months before the hiatus.
It had been eight months before the end. Michael didn’t know that yet.
He remembered a fight that wasn’t really a fight. That was the thing about their dynamic, nothing was ever drastic enough to warrant screaming and yelling.
Luke performed a sold-out solo show, coming home triumphant and buzzing and on top of the world. There was something there that Michael didn’t recognize, but he couldn’t reach him anymore.
Luke looked different now, after he’d dyed his hair black and wore more eyeliner than he ever had.
“You should’ve been there!”
“I know,” Michael frowned.
“The crowd, god it was—“ he stopped himself, shaking his head. He had the biggest grin on his face, nothing was going to bring him back to earth.
“I wish you wanted to be there.”
That stung deep. It nearly knocked the wind out of Michael. But he didn’t say anything, because, well, he never did. Luke’s face changed the second it was out of his mouth.
“Hey,” he spoke, taking in a breath. “I didn’t mean that.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s fine.”
Michael had almost believed him. Luke was so good at that, making him feel like the ground was steady, even when it clearly wasn’t.
“It’s not—“
“Luke.” Michael held up a hand, motioning for him to quit. That had been one of the only times that he used his name like that. Luke looked at him, and Michael could see something turning in his head. He went to bed.
Michael slept on the couch.
He sat there until the television was the only light on in the apartment.
Michael finally got his drink from the bar, though he couldn’t finish it. His stomach sloshed in weird ways that he wasn’t used to. At some point he put his coat on and checked his phone. He knew it was time for him to head out. Why was he here this long anyway?
He was right at the door when he heard it.
“Michael.”
Luke’s closer than he expected. Michael turned, looking up at him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Luke replied.
“Congratulations,” Michael murmured. “The album.” He gave him a small, clearly fake smile that showed he wanted nothing more than to be done with this conversation and on his way.
“Thanks,” Luke chuckled. “I heard your single. The one from last month.”
Michael hadn’t expected that. “Really?”
Luke nodded once. “It was great, I forgot how talented you are.”
A pit opened in Michael’s stomach.
“Thanks,” Michael said, looking away from him now. Luke was looking at him the way he used to. His eyes drifted down, as if he was trying to memorize this exact moment.
The look was gone in an instant.
“I’ll let you get out of here.”
Michael turned to the door, pushing it open. The cold air hit him and he didn’t walk very far before pausing on the sidewalk. He stood there with his hands loose at his sides, letting out a large sigh.
“I forgot how talented you are.”
He took his phone out, looking through his contacts. Luke’s name sat there, untouched. The way it always had been.
The last time he saw Luke cry was in his own kitchen.
Not their kitchen.
Luke stopped calling it that two months before. Michael hadn’t noticed until it was far too late. It was morning. There was no coffee because there never was coffee anymore, because there was nobody keeping track of the groceries anymore.
Luke was still in his clothes from the previous night. Michael was wearing Luke’s. An old tour shirt that was fraying at the collar. He didn’t recall putting it on, it just was in his laundry.
“I don’t know if this can survive,” Luke whispered.
Michael didn’t say anything, what could he say?
Luke’s eyes were wet. He didn’t look relieved or angry or certain. He was just tired in a way that sleep couldn’t help anymore.
Somewhere along the way they’d forgotten to nourish it. The relationship was something with its own fragility, its own life. It was something they’d built together, and neither of them knew how to help it anymore.
Luke picked up his keys from the counter. They shared one more sorry look before he left.
Michael stood in the kitchen for a while. Then he wasn’t standing anymore. He was on the floor, back against the cabinets, the morning light beginning to hit the floor.
He didn’t cry until he heard Luke’s car leave the street.
Michael locked his phone. Luke’s name disappeared. He put it back in his pocket and stood there for a minute. He thought about the fact that Luke was twenty feet away. He could walk back into the party, right back up to him and tell him exactly what he thought. That he never stopped thinking about him. That he constantly found himself looking at his Instagram and blinking away the tears.
He started walking.
Away.