"Listen to the mustn'ts child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn't, the impossible, the won't. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen child. Anything can be,"

~Shel Silverstein

When Michael wakes up it's to a loud bang as Luke falls tryin to pull on his skinny jeans at quarter to seven in the morning.

"Luke?"

"Sh*t. Sorry, Mikey. I didn't want to wake you. My mum wants you to stay home today. He exacts words were 'I'm locking him inside. He's not to so much as open a window till I get home,' so I wouldn't push her limits. She seemed pretty serious,"

Michael laughed.

"Go back to sleep, Mike,"

Michael shook his head. "I'm okay. I want to say goodbye,"

Luke sighed and finished pulling on his jeans. "Alright, love. I'll meet you downstairs,"

Michael smiled and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Once he finished he headed downstairs to see a tired Liz attempting to pour her coffee. Michael hurried over and moved the cup under where she was pouring before the burning hot liquid spilt over the counter and Liz.

"Morning, Michael," Liz chirped.

Michael smiled at her and she rubbed his arm with her hand.

"How are you?" She asked.

"I'm okay,"

Liz frowned, but she nodded and turned away from Michael when her toast popped up. Liz was going to work and Luke was going to school, which meant Michael was home alone.

The thought unsettled the boy because he knew all too well what sort of things happened when he was alone. Oh God did he know. Michael almost begged Liz to let him go to school, but something forced him to keep his mouth shut. He deserved what was coming. That's why he did it right? Because he deserved the pain.

"Mum! Did you make breakfast?" Luke called as he made his way down the stairs.

Liz's eyes widened as she looked at the coffee in her hands.

"Um..."

"It's not ready yet!" Michael responded jumping into action.

He opened the fridge and pulled out the eggs and milk asking Liz to grab him a bowl. Michael cracked three eggs into the bowl and whisked them with a fork adding in milk with no specified measurement. Liz clued in and grabbed a frying pan adding oil and turning the stove on for Michael.

"Thanks," He muttered pouring the egg and milk combination into the pan with a sizzle. Liz put down a piece of toast for both her and Luke and sighed smiling gratefully at Michael.

Luke waltzed gracefully into the kitchen as Liz buttered the toast and Michael scooped eggs onto two plates for the two of them.

"Thanks mum," Luke said as Liz handed him the plate.

"Well ac-"

"Are you sure I can't go to school?" Michael interrupted pretending as if that were the reason he was actually there.

Liz rose her eyebrows in question, but smirked at Michael's subtle wink.

"My word on the subject is final,"

Michael faked a disappointed sigh and seated himself next to Luke at the island.

"You not eating?" Luke asked.

"Still feel sick," Michael muttered.

Michael didn't look to see if Luke believed him, but he felt an arm curl around him and he was being pulled into Luke. Michael didn't think Luke believed him, but he knew Luke wasn't going to push it with Liz right there.

"Alright, Luke. Let's go," Liz said after nearly a half an hour.

Luke placed a kiss on Michael's forehead and grabbed his bag following his mum to the door.

"Bye Luke. Bye Liz," Michael said as they left.

Michael shut and locked the door behind them and didn't move. He had nothing to do, but the one thing he was trying to avoid for Luke. But Luke wasn't there and he didn't have to find out.

Michael was in the bathroom with no pants and no shirt. Just his skin and the blade in his hand. Michael began to carve.

This time was different. There were no fresh horizontal cuts being made. Michael was carving out letters, he was writing. His blade was his paintbrush and his skin was the canvas and Michael had a story to tell. His left arm said UGLY. His right arm said FAT. His left thigh said STUPID. His right thigh just barely managed to fit WORTHLESS.

But Michael was not quite done. He carved his stomach this time. Four large capital letters. This word was not harmful like the others. It was not designed to hurt, not designed to bury itself somewhere in Michael's brain where it would haunt him constantly.

Scrawled across his stomach in his own blood that seeped from cuts he had made, was the word HOPE.

And then Michael sobbed.

He dropped the blade in the toilet and flushed it. He fished out gauzed and covered his wrists, thighs and stomach. He taped thick squares of gauze and he cried.

Michael cried for hours until he finally ran out of tears and got dressed. And then Michael sat on the couch and stared at the turned off TV screen watching a slideshow of wicked words slay across the black screen.

Michael was in Luke's arms the second the blonde got home and he was crying again.

"Mikey? Baby? What's wrong?" Luke asked stroking Michael's hair and holding him tightly.

"I'm sorry," Michael gasped though his sobs.

Liz side-stepped the two and tore her pain-filled eyes away. She was not one to intrude on a private moment like this one.

"Michael, kitten I don't understand why you're sorry," Luke muttered in Michael's ear.

Michael couldn't find his words. He couldn't say it. No. Michael wouldn't. He was sure he could have if he really tried, but Michael didn't want to.

Instead he let the blonde lead him into his bedroom.

"Go on Mikey. It's okay babe,"

"You're going to be angry," Michael twisted his sweater paws nervously.

"I promise I won't be,"

"Then you'll be disappointed," Michael concluded.

"I promise I won't be angry or disappointed,"

"What would make you hate me?" Michael asked quietly. He was sure that this was one of those things. He was so very sure.

"Nothing, Mikey. Absolutely nothing. Why are you asking me this?" and now it was Michael's turn to answer questions.

"Close your eyes," Michael whispered.

Luke obliged and Michael squeezed his eyes shut slipping out of Luke's sweats and Luke's hoodie.

"Open,"

Under Luke's tortured eyes Michael felt vulnerable. His body was uncovered to Luke for the most part and it was unlike anything Michael had ever experienced even though he had done this once before. This time was different however. These were words.

"I'm not mad, Mikey. Or disappointed. Not in you at least," Luke finally said.

"They're different though. They aren't - they're not," Michael opened his eyes and pulled off the gauze on his left wrist revealing the word UGLY in large red letters against the background of horizontal scars.

"They're words," Luke filled in.

Michael moved closer to Luke and the blonde peeled off the other patches of gauze except the one on his stomach.

"You're beautiful, Michael. Beautiful, skinny, smart and worth the world. You are none of those things. Not to me," Luke told him.

Michael removed the gauze from his stomach and Luke's fingers ghosted over the word.

"Hope," he whispered.

"Yeah," Michael confirmed even though it wasn't a question. "Hope,"

The next few weeks were a blur. There were tears, and relapses. There was Ashton and Calum. There was Ryan and Kyle. There was Luke and Liz. Monday's seemed to be some of the worst. Tuesday's were okay. Wednesday's things were bad again. Thursday's were bearable. Friday's were almost normal. Weekends were suddenly all that Michael lived for. That and Luke.

October washed away and November began with a few stunning realizations. Michael learned he was in love with Luke. It wasn't the type of love like you love pizza or a brother. It was the type of love where Luke was the air that Michael breathed. Luke was the only reason Michael was still alive. It was the love where losing Luke would kill him because of the pain of losing him. It was the love where nothing else in the world mattered. It was the love where Michael would take a bullet for him. It was the love that would send Michael through years of hell just to see Luke smile. It was the type of love that scared Michael. But it was the type of love you couldn't run from. And Michael was so in love.

Michael was getting better. Or at least he pretended to be getting better for Luke and Ashton and Calum and Liz. But inside Michael felt worse than ever, because he had something now. Something he didn't deserve and something he knew he couldn't keep.

"Your next project in my class will be an essay. You will be assigned a broad topic and will have to narrow in on one specific thing. No two people will have the same topic. Make this personal, pour your heart into it," the English teacher said pacing in front of the class. "I will be calling you each up individually and giving you your broader topic. Some will be more difficult than others depending on your level of skill shown previously to this day,"

Michael fiddled with his fingers. He was getting an average of 107% in this class.

"Mr. Clifford,"

Michael walked up to the teacher and sat in front of him.

"107%. I'd say that you are a bit too advanced for this curriculum, but it is a necessary one to pass so... Your topic will be emotions. I want to know what they are what they feel like how they interact with each other,"

Michael nodded and returned to his seats his mind spinning with thoughts.

'"What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude.

It was like being exhumed, I answered, and brought to life in a flash ofbrilliance.

What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.

It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard aftera lifetime of silence.

What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow. There was a long pause before Iresponded:

It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me-said all at once."

~Lang Leav Love and Misadventure' Michael wrote.

It was fitting he thought. It spoke of the emotions, and it described them to a tee. That was how his essay would begin. And Michael began to scribble down every thought that raced through his brain in his own hand. There were single letters and symbols littering the page. In truth it looked more like a difficult algebra equation than his English work, but he preferred no one know what he was writing. He would transcribe it in private later.

When the bell went Michael gathered his notebook and stuffed it into his bag with his binders. Luke was waiting dutifully by his desk and he took Michael's hand in his own as they headed out of the class.

"What topic did he give you?" Luke asked as they walked, swinging their entwined hands.

"Emotions," Michael said toying with the word. "And you?"

"I got 'your hero'," Luke made a face and Michael stopped himself staring at the boy he was so in love with.

"Who's your hero?" Michael asked as they neared his next class.

"You, baby," Luke said kissing his nose and leaving him at his last period class.

Michael walked in feeling light. He didn't notice the insults being directed towards him. He was Luke's hero.

Michael wasn't aware of what happened and he took his time when the bell rang packing his things into his bag. When he left Luke was waiting by the door for him and Michael smiled when Luke's long fingers slipped between his shorter ones.

"So what emotions are you focusing on?" Luke asked.

"I'm not sure. I used Lang Leav's poem Three Questions, so it would be appropriate to follow along those same lines," Michael said as they walked hand in hand to his locker.

"What emotions does he use in that?"

"SHE uses gratitude, joy and sorrow,"

"Oh, it's a girl,"

Michael laughed lightly. "Yeah, Luke,"

Michael traded in certain binders for others and switched around notebooks before he concluded that he had everything he needed to complete the work for the night.

Luke rambled on about everything and nothing at the same time as they walked to his car. He complimented how Michael was such a damn good student and then proceeded to complain because it meant he never had a chance to take the smaller boy out on a date. Michael smiled and laughed at the right times, but his mind was elsewhere.

Michael wanted to be alone with a razor right then and so he began quietly snapping the elastic that Luke had given him. It didn't help. The voices in Michael's head grew stronger and the small boy tried desperately to focus on Luke. Luke, Luke, Luke. Michael didn't realize when he shut his eyes and rubbed his temple. He didn't realize that Luke had pulled over until the blonde was pulling him into his lap.

"Talk to me, Mikey,"

Michael shook his head stubbornly. This wasn't the time or place. Michael knew if he started talking everything would come out and he was doing so well. He hadn't slipped up in weeks. Luke thought he was getting better. Everyone thought he was getting better. Except for himself.

It was confusing now. There were moments with Luke, when Michael felt whole. He felt alive and free and happy and Michael wanted to live in those moments. He really truly did. But then it would fall and Michael realized that the better he felt the harder he fell. When it was daytime and there were people around it was so much easier. He could almost ignore the voices, but the night came and he lied awake on his own and he couldn't block them out. He knew he could always wake up Luke and that the blonde would be there for him, but he wanted everyone to think he was better.

If everyone thought he was better they would stop watching him so carefully and Michael knew that's when he would get his chance.

"Michael. I don't know what kind of battle is going on in that beautiful head of yours, but there's something that you need to know. You aren't perfect, Mike. Nobody is perfect," Luke started.

Michael shook his head knowing where this was going. "Luke stop. You don't really mean it,"

"Perfect doesn't even exist, but Michael. You are perfect to me. I have a word for you, baby. It's four letters,"

Michael shook his head stubbornly.

"L, four letters and it starts with L. I know you know it,"

"Live?" Michael asked hopelessly.

"No,"

"Love," Michael sighed.

"Bullseye. I am in love with you Michael Clifford. I'm in love with everything about you alright?" Luke continued.

"Luke please stop," Michael whispered.

"I fell in love with the little things. I love your sweater paws and your blush. I love your quiet little voice and your knack for anything English related. I love your obsession for words and oh God Mikey, I'm in love with you. I don't care if you hate yourself and think that you aren't worth anything, because I can't get you out of my head and you mean absolutely everything to me,"

Michael started crying and he buried his face in Luke's shirt.

"If that isn't enough then I'm sorry, it's all I have. But I'm in love with you. And there is nothing you can do to change that," Luke concluded.

"Dammit, Luke. I'm in love with you too, you f*cking idiot," Michael said through a layer of tears.

"I'm so hopelessly in love with you. You're my oxygen Luke. And your smile, the things I would do to see you smile. You're the drugs I'm addicted to. I can't get enough. God, Luke I would die for you. I'm so in love and I'm scared, Luke. I don't even know what love really is. But I can't run from this Luke. I can't run from you,"