three || write

the second he opened the notebook, he almost slammed it shut.

michael didn't write in journals. he didn't do diaries. those were for girls. girls wrote in diaries. luke wrote in diaries. not him.

still, he hadn't driven to the store and bought the small black notebook for nothing.

he held it open, his fingers shaking, and he clicked his pen.

what did he even write?

"write a diary, it'll help you rationalize your reactions."

the therapist his mom gotten him had suggested that after he refused to talk to the woman about his feelings.

the only person he wanted to talk to about her death was, well, her.

he took a shaking breath and began to write:

day forty two

he stared at the words on the first line, the ink dark and black, like a blemish against the pure white paper. he rolled his shoulders, cracked his fingers, and clicked his pen a few times to stall writing.

it's been over a month without you. i don't know what i'm doing without you. i miss you too much.

he put the pen down and almost ripped the notebook in half. this wasn't helping.

it doesn't feel like forty two days. it feels like nothing. it feels like eternity. it feels wrong without you. i still hear your laugh sometimes. your photo is still my phone background. i miss seeing your eyes. i'll never forget the little things. i love you too much to do that.

he slammed the notebook shut before he could get any stupid tears on the page and smudge his words.

he pushed the little notebook to the side of his desk and pulled out his phone, taking a minute to stare at her face, her smile, rememorizing the details of her eyes before unlocking it and writing a text message to luke.

text: are you busy?

he felt kind of bad, because he knew that luke was probably busy. he also knew that luke had to be sick of spending time with him, but he needed him.

his phone buzzed, and he checked the message.

text: no. do you need anything?

he needed her back.

but luke couldn't do anything about that. nobody could. luke probably didn't want to hear about it, either. it was strange, because there was an unspoken rule not to talk about her, but michael was dying to. but not just to anyone. if anyone, he'd talk to luke, because luke understood. his stupid therapist didn't understand. his parents didn't understand. luke did.

he glanced at the notebook, suddenly opening it and jotting down another line

you aren't really gone if we keep talking. i know you can't answer, but if you promise me that you won't stop listening, i promise not to stop writing.

if anyone read the notebook, they would think michael was crazy, writing to his dead girlfriend like she could hear.

michael looked at his lock screen again, running a finger over her cheek. he missed her like crazy.

he finally texted luke back.

text: nah. just wanted to see if you were available.

luke responded immediately.

text: i'm... i'm at the cemetary right now, actually. just, you know. saying hi, i guess.

michael always forgot that luke had loved her too. differently than michael had; she and luke had never been anything more than friends. when she died, luke had been broken too. not in the way michael had, but broken nonetheless.

michael sighed. he'd leave luke alone today.

but when he woke up sobbing at three in the morning, he immediately grabbed his phone and dialed luke.

and luke picked up immediately. because luke understood.

-

i want to give michael a big hug.

i also want a best friend like luke.

-h