twenty six

Everything was quiet as we boarded our 3am flight. Everyone looked dead, hungover, or both. We were all dead, hungover, or both.

LA to New Zealand. The simple thought of that made me want to jump off of this plane at 60,000 feet. Many hours an aisle across from hungover Luke. I don't know why he was always hungover. Yesterday was an off day, I hadn't talked to him since he left me in his hotel room two days ago.

By the way he had his earbuds blaring Wild Party, I knew he didn't want to start talking now. Anyone who has their music playing that loud doesn't want to be bothered. He looked out the window in a daze as he curled up in his seat. The night was still awake, stars still out. The city veins began to become smaller and smaller as we took off.

The lights in the cabin were off as most early-morning flights.

I stared at Luke, some type of haze he put me in made it impossible to look away. He was so pretty and maybe I was kind of in love. Maybe in love is too strong of a word. I think Luke is really cool, he's an asshole, but he's really cool. I think that somewhere deep inside of him has actual emotion, I want to break some barriers and find that emotion.

It could be some cliché, I could bring the good out in him, you know? Our personalities are so different that I could be the good in him. I could help him actually feel emotion, I know it's somewhere deep inside of him.

I want to break him in the best way possible.

I've never really defined my sexuality. I don't really know my sexuality but I don't really care. Sure, I'm still a kid, but I can't imagine ever caring.

If I'm attracted to someone, then I'm attracted to them. Gender is fake, gender doesn't exist. I don't really care, in all honestly, I just don't care.

I don't know what Luke's deal is, I don't think he knows either. As far as tabloids go, they only write about him with girls. The only person I've ever seen him with is me. He supposedly has hookup buddies, but I've never seen them.

It's none of my business, though, is it? I mean, we've hooked up, we've kissed, but we aren't in a relationship and I don't think either of us are looking to be in a relationship.

Luke wants to feel and I will be there to help him until he doesn't need me anymore. I'm okay with that. I'm not sure I'm much a commitment kind of guy. Maybe I don't feel any romantic attraction to anyone. That's okay, everything is okay, everything is fake, nothing matters, we are all dying.

We were about six hours into our flight. I had come back from walking around the cabin and Luke hadn't moved. I let out a sigh and looked around first class. Just about everyone was asleep, earbuds plugged in their ears.

I picked up Luke's bag that was sitting in a spare seat, placing it on the floor and taking its place.

He looked at me from the corner of his eye then turned back towards the outside world passing below us.

"Hey," I said, loud enough so he could hear but quiet enough that I wouldn't wake anyone.

He licked over his chapped lips.

I curled up in the seat, letting him know I wasn't going to leave without a talk, or a fight. It was his choice. "Do you want to talk? I hate when you're like this."

"Just tired," Luke responded, his voice hoarse. He coughed, clearing his throat and repeating his earlier statement.

"Is it okay if I stay here?"

Luke shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you want to be alone?" I watched him intently, trying to find the slightest bit of emotion.

He didn't react for a few seconds. I was about to leave when he shook his head. "No," he said in a whisper, "I want you to stay."

"Okay." Internally, I was jumping for joy. Externally, I didn't react.

Luke turned his body, sitting straight forward. He sighed and licked over his lips once again. I stared up at him, admiring his profile.

He reached out his left hand, his palm up. I looked down at it, only inches above my lap. His fingers started to curl, signaling he wanted to feel my skin against his own.

I reached down, entwining our fingers together. I watched him smile, the smallest of a curve to the corner of his lips. He was smiling because I was holding his hand. That's amazing, this is amazing, he is amazing.

"We're going to see my parents next week," Luke said into our own silence.

"Yeah?"

"I actually don't know. We're going to Sydney, but I don't know if they're going to come. I sent them tickets and put them on the guest list and everything." Luke looked down, his eyes enchanted on our hands.

I've always been a very blunt person and it's gotten me into a lot of trouble. I wanted to tell him that they were going to be there—right there at his concert. But, from what he told me, I don't think they'll be there.

I don't want him to be mad. I can lie and say they'll be there, or I can speak the truth and face his wrath.

I chose an in-between, "I hope they're there."

He looked at me, this time smiling a real, big smile. "Do you think I've made them proud?"

If I ever had a child like Luke, I think I'd be proud of them. They're doing what they love, they're making their life a story worth telling. "They'd be stupid if they aren't."

"You aren't very good at giving me a straight answer," he smiled and laughed, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat, "I like that."

It was my turn to smile. I leant into his shoulder and rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. "If it means anything, I'm proud of you."

We stayed like that for the rest of the flight. Leaning on one another in a comfortable silence. Comfortable.

Do you think Luke's parents will be there?

Do you think there's a reason he treats Michael the way he does?

Why does Michael care so much? Is he in love?