five

Sketches. There were so many sketches. There were too many sketches. Luke pulled at his greasy blonde hair as he looked at the many pencil marks of Michael. He doesn't know if he's in love with Michael or in love with the thought of Michael. He likes drawing Michael, but Luke doesn't know if that means anything more.

He likes Michael's nose, it curves over the tip and has pale freckles over the bridge. He likes his cheekbones, they're high, close to his eyes. He likes his eyes. Hell, he could talk about Michael's eyes for hours, and hours, and hours. He likes his hair, even if it's constantly fading and being re-dyed.

Luke shifted on his wooden stool. He readjusted his body so that his back ached a little less. He could hear the television set a few feet away turning off as his many roommates started to get to bed.

The sun was long gone, the hill was already its grave. He looked out the open window, the city that never slept was still wide awake. He could see the bright hues of light on the horizon. Their light pollution was Luke's sun.

"Hey, you going to bed?" A voice asked.

Luke turned to look at one of the men. He had bright blue hair and thick eyebrows. He thought of Michael, with purple hair and dark eyebrows. "Probably in a few," he lied. He ran a hand over his tired face, pulling at the skin below his cheekbones.

"Okay, I'll tell Ashton. He's always afraid to come in here when you're in your zone." The man laughed, turning and leaving the room once more.

His roommates tried very hard to add Luke into their social groups. They invited him to bars, they invited him to parties. He never wanted to go anywhere, never wanted to do anything. he preferred to stay in his bedroom with the many half-finished canvases.

Luke didn't talk a lot, he was rather shy and socially awkward. He used his sketching pad more than his own voice. He's always been this way, he's always been the tall loser in the corner sketching cute boys.

Lots of stomping feet and bellowing laughter filled the apartment. Luke felt alone and lonely.

He closed his eyes, shutting them tight, before opening once more. He leant forward in his seat, resting an elbow on the bottom of his stretched canvas. Luke had his portrait down, he had to keep telling himself this. He's done dozens of portraits of the purple-haired, self-indulgent, wealthy boy. All of his favorites laid out on his bed to his left.

Man-bun walked in shirtless, and yeah, maybe Luke's mouth watered just a bit. It was hard to not stare at his toned torso and feathery happy trail. He looked up to see the golden-eyed boy looking at him, his mouth moving.

"What, sorry?" Luke asked, knocking himself out of his phase.

The man giggled. Giggled! "It's 1:47 a.m., right now, do you mind if I start turning off some of these lights?"

Luke nodded, "Yeah. I mean, no, I don't mind." He turned so his back was facing man-bun once more. Their bedside light turned off, leaving only the line of icicle lights around their small bedroom.

The blonde could hear the boy—whose name is Ashton—getting into bed. He heard the coils bounce a few times as he shifted into a comfortable sleeping position. Sooner than later, snores filled the lonely room.

He could hear his other two roommates doing naughty things in the room over, but he ignored it. He tried to, at least.

Luke shook his head a few times, he had to focus. He continued making out the sections and portions of Michael's posture. He was so beautiful. Even in candid shots with his mouth open as he said something crude directed to Luke.

"You sure like that dude, don't you?" Man-bun asked, suddenly awake once more.

Luke turned his head. "He comes into work a lot. I don't know, is that creepy?" He reached over to their speakers, turning down Twenty One Pilots so he could hear the response. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ashton leaning up on his elbow, his head resting on his hand. His other hand rested flat on the mattress as his violet sheets covered half his torso. (Luke's mouth was definitely watering, again).

"I think it's kind of cute. Have you talked to him?" His voice was sincere, Luke wondered if this was what having a friend felt like.

"Yeah, he's just a kid, though. He makes sex jokes like a fucking thirteen-year-old."

Ashton chuckled. "Is he an artist, too?"

Luke liked when people referred to him as an artist. He didn't always feel like one. Sometimes, he wondered if his parents were right. Maybe art was supposed to be just a hobby. "He's super famous in the art scene, but he's so modern art," Luke said it as if the words made him vomit.

"Oh no, say it ain't so. Modern art?" Ashton gasped loudly, causing even Luke to let out a short laugh.

"Exactly!" Luke spun around on the wooden stool, picking up his best sketches and showing Ashton. "I don't know how I feel about him."

Golden eyes did not skim over the lines. No, golden eyes analyzed every single pencil or pen mark drawn on the sheets of paper. "These are amazing, Luke."

Luke wondered if Ashton called him a slightly noxious names in his head like Luke did with Man-Bun. "Thank you." A crimson shade flustered his cheeks as he accepted the compliments. Luke knew he was pretty good. He knew he was really good. Even in the days of doubt, Luke knew he had something.

"You have a really cool style. Like, it's unique but really fucking good." Ashton handed over the sheets. "This kid should feel lucky to have someone like you making him into a masterpiece."

Luke looked down at his hands, not sure how to respond. "Thank you," he repeated quietly.

It was 2:01 a.m. when Luke felt like he made his first real friend in his twenty-eight years of life.

(a/n) SO, most of you have read a lot of my stories, meaning you know my writing style pretty damn well. 

who do you guess dies first? (hint: two people die)

how do they die? why do they die? (hint: bc i'm a monster)