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The rain fell cold and heavy on Luke's shoulders, almost painfully. He wore nothing but a tank top full of holes that he used to sleep in and swimming shorts. The slap from the rain was nothing compared to the slaps he received from his father minutes ago.
Aunt Anne was the only person he could trust. She, along with her wife, was the most open-minded person in the family. If Luke went to his grandparents' house and told them why he was kicked out, they wouldn't welcome him.
Anne and Joy lived in a small two-story apartment above the record and music store. Ashton and Calum, their children from a previous marriage who were probably brothers in another life, also lived there. Luke rang the doorbell, hoping they weren't sleeping. Ashton stuck his head out of the window.
“Damn, Luke, what are you doing out in the rain?” Ashton said desperately, and soon Luke heard Calum's heavy footsteps on the stairs connecting the shop and the house. He pulled him inside.
Luke was a mess. His dirty, muddy shoes completely soiled the store floor as Calum led him down the aisle. When Joy and Anne wrapped his body in towels, at least to eliminate the chance of a thermal shock when he took a bath, no one knew what was tears and what was rainwater.
He cried so much that Calum had to bring a bottle of water so Luke could replenish his body fluids. The family heard Luke crying in the shower, the water washing away his tears, and on the sofa before sleeping. When Anne woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, she saw that Luke was no longer on the sofa: he was in Ashton's room, sleeping between his two cousins, his best friends, in the double bed.
Luke explained everything that happened at breakfast, once he was calmer. He had woken up earlier than the others to clean up the mess in the shop, and bought bread with the change he found in his pocket.
Perhaps he hadn't done the right thing by coming out to his parents that day. They seemed so calm that a false sense of security washed over Luke, and he said more than he should have. He thought that, because he had a lesbian aunt, his mother would accept him more easily. Anne shook her head negatively.
“That's not how it works, Luke,” She pressed a hand to her nephew's shoulder. "She may have a lesbian sister, but it's not the same as having a gay son. You're at her house every day, she sees me once a month… The truth is, she never really accepted me. She always calls me to go to church and things like that, even knowing that we're not religious.”
This made Luke cry even more, because he was a big mama’s boy and loved his mother and didn't want to be away from her for the rest of his life. Calum needed to get more tissues while Joy explained that this also happened to her, and now she had a good relationship with her mother.
Nobody goes to school that day. Anne lets the boys take a day off after the tiring night they had the previous day, because they all have big dark circles under their eyes and look more like pandas than anything else. Anne and Joy stay in the living room watching TV after dismissing the only employee at the store, while the boys are in Calum's room playing video games. Luke, on the other hand, has his head in Calum's lap and his feet in Ashton's, and was trying to get some sleep so that his eyes don't get any redder.
When Luke met Michael, he had already been estranged from his parents for a week. Incredibly, he didn't die because of it, as he had thought would happen. It was good for him to be at his aunts' house and not have to hide who he was.
He descended the stairs with heavy steps. Besides not seeing his parents for a week, Luke was on sick leave from school – Ashton had managed to forge one – and would be working at the local store as a way to thank him. He wore ordinary clothes because it makes customers more comfortable: skinny jeans, sneakers patched with tape, and a t-shirt with star-patched sleeves.
Michael had red hair that day, spiky like a lion's mane. The tank top outlined his arms and hid his waist, but the ripped jeans accentuated his thighs in a way that made Luke drool. He was cleaning the vinyl record shelves with a duster, whistling along to the music playing on the radio because Luke's aunts were old enough to listen to radios.
Perhaps it was the saliva that dripped down Luke's chin that caused him to stumble and fall down the stairs, five steps before reaching the actual ground. He wanted to die as soon as he grabbed Michael, the only thing nearby, and also took him to the ground.
Michael groaned beneath him, having hit his back on the hard floor. Luke didn't even have a scratch, his face pressed against Clifford's chest. He rolled onto his side, his cheeks burning in embarrassment.
“Oh, for God's sake, I'm so sorry!” Luke stood up with some difficulty, stumbling over Michael's legs (but he didn't know that was his name yet). "Need some help, dude?”
Michael stood up irritably, brushing the dust off his clothes. His eyes swept over the lean figure of the boy in front of him, clearly younger, with his lip piercing and high pompadour. He ran a hand through his red hair, trying to recover from the two falls.
“No, I don't need your help.” Michael replied curtly, gripping the nearest shelf to stay upright. He had twisted his ankle.
He didn't have much of a say, because Luke ran up the stairs with his long, slender legs and quickly brought back a first-aid kit. He also brought a brace, because Calum always hurt his ankle playing soccer and needed one of those.
Sitting at the counter, Michael watched as Luke tended to his ankle as if he had years of practice, as if he had done it many times before. Perhaps he had. Michael didn't know. Michael didn't even know that Luke's name was Luke, just as Luke didn't know that Michael's name was Michael, but he took care of his ankle anyway.
Michael groaned as Luke pressed the brace harder on his ankle, partly because of the sprain and partly because of the thin, reddish lines on his shin. He saw Luke turn his head like a confused puppy, his slightly different shades of blue eyes fixed on the spot, touching some of the cuts.
“I'll put some antiseptic on here, just so it doesn't get worse... It looks like a wound only a cat could have caused.”
And Michael sighed deeply, because apparently Luke hadn't realized what it was. But he had, because he did the same thing on his lower arms.
Ashton appeared shortly after Luke placed the small box under the counter. He grinned broadly, patting his cousin and friend on the shoulder. Calum was definitely relaxing, taking advantage of the time Luke would be working in his place.
“I see you two have already met... And that's good, because I hate introducing people with too much fuss,” Ashton went behind the counter. "Michael, this is Luke. And Luke, this is Michael... Now go, get to work. Explain it to him, Mikey.”
“Why don't you explain? Your mothers are the owners…” Michael's posture changed completely, as if he could relax a little more around Ashton.
“Because I have a college assignment to do and you're not going to do it for me. Don't be a pain, Mikey. It's not like the work here is that hard, after all.”
Even though he was huffing and puffing and limping, Michael explained the basics to Luke – not that it was anything too complicated. He just needed help organizing the vinyl records into the correct genre and initial labels. Oh, and Luke should test the vinyls before the buyers take them home, in a thorough evaluation to check for scratches and unwanted jumps.
“What if I find something wrong?” Luke asked, "What do I do?”
Michael stopped polishing the shelf of newly released CDs. He himself had never gotten to that part.
“Then we hand it over to Ashton and he sees what to do... Or we watch a YouTube tutorial on how to fix it.”
The shift went well. All shifts from then on went well. Michael and Luke weren't best friends because they were embarrassed around each other, but they got along peacefully. They would stare at each other's butts when Ashton was distracted – which was always – and were never caught by the owner of the butt.
There was one shift that Michael skipped. He didn't show up, and he didn't give any explanation for why he was absent from work. He also hadn't been excused from the shift. Luke spent the day without customers, searching for Michael's social media profiles on the store's computer, but found nothing. All the collect calls he tried to make went to voicemail.
Ashton noticed how restless Luke was, and decided to get off his chair and take over the shift from there, dismissing the young man. In truth, he didn't do much more than give information to a guy who looked for a supermarket.
Luke explained the situation to Calum, because they were the same age and that prevented them from being considered idiots. They lay down side by side, facing each other. Calum's hand moved from Luke's sideburns to the top of his messy hair in a gentle caress, like one would do with a restless dog.
“He didn't leave any message? Nothing warning that he was going to be absent? Michael always does that.” Calum asked.
“Nothing... What do you mean by 'he always does that'?” That seemed to stir Luke again, and Calum needed to continue petting him.
The truth was that Michael had more problems at home than a normal teenager should have. Work was an escape for him, a place where he could feel safe. The record store was a shield, protecting him from his mother's harsh words and his father's broken bottles. No one mocked his sexuality or beat him there.
Being the gossipmonger he was, Calum wanted to tell Luke. But if Michael hadn't told him, it was because he didn't trust him enough yet. Besides, he made the whole family Hood-Irwin promise to keep it a secret. Ashton was itching to call the police on the two sons of bitches Michael called his parents, and Calum had to constantly remind him of the promise they made.
“Sometimes Michael disappears. He disappears for days and doesn't come back, doesn't come to work and doesn't show up at school. That's just how he is, bro. I guess I should have told you this before, right?” Calum finally explained.
Calum's explanation didn't calm Luke's heart like he thought it would. Every hour he poked his head near the stairs to see if he could hear Michael's voice, but everything was silent. Something in her chest screamed, practically cried, for her to find him. Only then would Luke verify that everything was okay.
Luke and Calum met Michael on their way home from school the next Monday. He was wearing the clothes he wore on his last shift at the store, completely dirty and torn. A large cut, with yellowish edges in blisters of pus, cut from the knee to the ankle of the left leg, tearing the pants. Michael was walking the streets like a wanderer.
The pain in Luke's chest became so intense that Calum had to hold his hand, an attempt to anchor him. Luke reached out with an unoccupied hand to touch Michael's shoulder and ask him to come with them. The place must have been pretty bruised too, because he screamed as soon as Luke's slender fingers brushed his shoulder.
As incredible as it may seem, Michael didn't want anyone to help him when he arrived at the townhouse. Joy and Anne were scared by the boy's condition, and Ashton dropped what he was doing to accompany them. Calum had to reassure everyone and say that they were taking care of it themselves and would find a reason, even if everyone already imagined what it was.
Luke's room was already ready. They renovated the house's old guest room because Luke was too comfortable with his new life to try to leave. They sold the iron bed in a classified ad and bought a new, suspended one, made of very dark wood. All the other furniture matched the wood tone.The wardrobe was filled with the clothes that Luke stole from his cousins and some new ones that were found. He kicked a CD out of the way so Michael could get in without tripping.
“Put the lock on the door,” The boy with now faded red hair spoke. "I'm afraid they'll get in.”
Luke didn't know who they were, but he decided not to ask anything, for fear of triggering something in Michael. He took the first aid kit, his own because he hurt himself every night. It felt right that Michael was in his bed, gripping the sheets to vent the throbbing pain in his leg.
With all the care in the world, so that Michael wouldn't feel even more pain, Luke took a look at the wound. It was almost impossible not to touch it, but he tried to keep his hands away so it wouldn't get infected. He took a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic and dabbed it on Michael's wound, his other hand holding the boy's thigh.
“No, try not to move, Mikey... It'll be worse if you do that.”
Michael ends up crying with his face resting on Luke's shoulder, who bandages and cleans the wound with all the care in the world. Sometimes they grimace, due to the pain and the state of the injury. Luke still has a gentle hand pressed against Michael's thigh to keep him there because he looks like he's about to fall over.
He cries even more when everyone gathers in the room and he tells them everything. Michael hasn't left Luke's space yet; now, he is lying on his lap, but turned so that he faces the mothers and children. Luke runs a gentle hand through his hair, unraveling the strands wet from his recent shower, and the caress seems to hurt sometimes when Michael cries.
And he tells everything. The beating he got from his father for nothing more than drunkenness, because drunks hallucinate and maybe Michael's father sees a monster in his place; maybe he's right. His mother's little helpers, and how she is so bewildered that she doesn't know him and asks her husband to remove that invader from the living room. The only safe thing in the world for him are those shelves full of vinyl and the annoying customers who bargain.
He doesn't tell her about the marks on his ankles. Luke sees them when they sleep together, because Michael is definitely not coming home after what happened.
One day Luke's mother looked for him at her sister's house. She knew it was the only place he could have gone, so she went in the rain to look for her son. He didn't want to talk to her at first, but Michael convinced him to give her just a little chance.
During all the conversation, Michael was at his side, caressing Luke's back to give him just a bit of comfort. Luke's mom apologized for all the occurrences, and even begged him to come back home, but he didn't accept it. He would visit her sometimes, when his dad wasn't at home – Luke wouldn't talk to him until he apologized for the aggressive treatment of the last month – for no more than two or three hours.
He would come back if Michael didn't live in the same house as him. Luke thought he wasn't able to sleep without Michael's arm around his body, pulling him closer. None of them had any nightmares since they started this night routine.
They knew each other's problems. Michael knew about the cuts Luke made on his wrist, and Luke knew that the bruises on Michael's legs didn't come from cats, but neither of them said anything. They knew, but they never saw themselves committing the acts, so they couldn't have a serious conversation without any proof.
Sometimes, when everyone else in the house was asleep, Luke and Michael would share kisses. Sometimes on the face, on the neck, other times close to the lips, but never on them. When Luke was sleeping, Michael would sometimes trace the scars on his wrists and kiss the new bruises, hoping it would magically heal the razor-sharp fine lines.
Luke didn't know how he ended up underneath Michael someday, with his hands pinned above his head. He didn't even know when they had taken off their shirts, if they had even put them on. The skin itched, impatiently.
The house was dark, everything was dark. Luke only knew it was Michael because he memorized his fingerprints, the way his short nails squeezed his waist with something like hunger. He fumbled for the lamp button, letting the warm yellow light paint Michael's body.
They had been close before, but not this close. Not with Michael in a push-up position over Luke, the two of them shirtless, with erections rubbing together. Michael could see the way Luke's piercing still had red edges like his pimples because it hadn't healed properly. Luke saw the stains of the lime green dye that Michael put in his hair a few days ago a little stuck to his skin; he never used oil to prevent stains.
“Damn, you're so…” Michael began. His knuckles brushed Luke's jaw in a caress. "You're even more beautiful up close, you know? I can see the different colors your eyes have.”
The youngest let out a little moan when Michael's fingers began to caress his mouth, right in the painful place of the piercing. It was a little inflamed, again, as it happened every week.
“Stop talking and kiss me, okay? I can't stand giving you just a kiss on the cheek before bed.”
With his hands running up Luke's back, Michael supported him until they were sitting, with the youngest on his lap. Their erections became even more painful in this position. Luke tried to ease the tightness in his pants by rolling around in Michael's lap, but it did little good with his hands holding him back on his lap. Clifford moaned close to his lips, hoping that the teasing would have such an effect on Luke that he would start the kiss.
And he did. Luke held the newly dyed hair on the back of Michael's neck with both hands, bringing their mouths together in what seemed more like a feast than just any kiss. When Michael's hands entered the waistband of Luke's pants, reaching what needed the most attention there, their owner let them be pushed down, without breaking the kiss.
As he recovered from his orgasm, hours later, against Luke's lips, Michael made him promise to never hurt his wrists again. He kissed the slightly blood-stained bands that covered the reddish lines. Then he licked every tear Luke shed as he made the promise. He tasted the salty taste of tears of pain and the sweet taste of tears of pleasure.
“I only do this if you stop doing it too,” Luke replied. He was a boy of trades and conditions.
But Michael had already stopped anyway. If he arrived with new bruises, they were from kittens he found on the street and stopped to pet on the way home. He only stopped so Luke could do it too, to set a good example.
Michael, whose mother always compared him to others, was now setting an example for something good. Michael, who thought he was alone. He, who wasn't even the protagonist of his own story, but who became one of the main voices on Luke's disordered album.