"I will love the night for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars..."

~Johanne Tassakos

It occurs to Michael right then. Perhaps he is not bad and Luke good. Just maybe he is not darkness and Luke light. Maybe it's that Michael has only ever known darkness and bad, and that Luke has only ever known light and good. Luke had a mother to love him he had two brothers to protect him and guide him. Michael had no one but people to hurt him and put him down.

And Michael thinks on this. Maybe Luke really can save him. But then the unfortunate thought kicks in. Everyone learns it as a kid. Even Michael. But maybe always means no. Always. And it could work for Luke and the light. But Michael knows, he knows, that he is bad. He is surrounded by bad. He was raised in bad. He is made of bad. And you can't change that.

Luke's asleep. To be honest he should be and so should Michael. It's 2:36 Sunday morning. Michael was asleep but he was having a nightmare again.

And now he's lying awake huddled into Luke who has an arm wrapped protectively around the smaller boy and he can't escape the one thing he wants to escape the most. His head. He's tempted to wake Luke and ask him to talk. Just anything at all to distract Michael. That's what the blonde had told him to do, but he can't wake up the boy sleeping next to him. The boy trying to help him. And poor Luke because Michael has to be one of those tragic cases. The one where everyone drones on about how it has to be Michael who makes the choice and saves himself. And it makes it all the more tragic that Michael doesn't seem to have that choice.

Luke's arm tightens around Michael but the smaller boy realizes quickly that the blonde is still asleep and he can't decide whether he wants him to be awake or not. He wants Luke to be awake so that he can comfort him. But at the same time he doesn't want the comfort.

This is the part in books where the guy wakes up and comforts the girl crying at night or hugs her till everything is alright. Michael thinks. But this isn't a book. For starters both of us are guys, and he isn't going to wake up and save me. Michael's thoughts are bitter but they ring with a haunting truth.

Life is like a book in so many ways, but not all. And Michael knows only a Shakespearean tragedy would be a similar storyline to his life.

Michael thinks for the longest time. His brain seems to be on a continuous flow of terror. Michael keeps thinking horrifying things remembering scarring moments and in full detail. And eventually as the clock makes its way steadily towards 4:00 am Michael falls back into a restless slumber.

This time it's Luke that wakes up first. And when he does he panics because the boy lying next to him has paled immensely and is sweating, as he shakes relentlessly. Michael's skin is no longer smooth porcelain, but a ghastly almost gray colour, beads of sweat have formed along his forehead and Luke swears he feels like a phone on vibrate.

The only thing that hasn't changed drastically or even a little bit is Michael's hair. And that's the one thing assuring Luke that this is the same boy.

Luke doesn't want to wake Michael, but he needs to figure out what's wrong is it a nightmare or is the boy simply sick?

"Mike, Mikey. Babe I need you to wake up," Luke whispers into Michael's ear stroking the boy's cheeks.

Michael woke with a start. He was having a nightmare. But when he woke up he was out of the bed and down the hall in seconds heaving into the toilet.

"Sh*t," Luke breathed lowering himself next to Michael and placing a hand on the boy's back.

Michael heaved into the white basin. He emptied his stomach of the food he had eaten under Luke's watch and then proceeded to dry heave for another five to ten minutes.

Luke concluded that it was both. The way Michael woke up showed he had, had a nightmare, but the boy was evidently showing signs of being ill as well.

"C'mon, Mikey. Let's just watch films and sit on the couch today," Luke said as he helped the boy to his feet.

Michael went willingly, but he wanted to stay by the toilet and puke out his pain. He wondered if that was even possible. He wanted no matter how gross it sounded, to puke out his insides so he would die. Michael just really wanted to die. But he didn't have the energy to protest against Luke and his mind was overpowering him. Maybe Luke would watch the movies, but Michael's mind had a soundtrack already playing. And now Michael's emotional pain was being added to by the physical pain of being sick.

"Just sit here," Like hummed placing Michael down on the couch before heading to the TV.

Michael sat and then proceeded to cave in on himself. His knees were tucked under his chin and his arms were wrapped all the way around them. He hated being sick, but he supposed it had something to do with when he stood out in the rain for hours last Sunday.

Luke sighed when he turned back around and saw the small boy looking lost and helpless as he sat on the couch completely defeated.

"Mikey," he sighed as he crawled onto the couch behind the small boy and pulled him into his chest as the previews of the movie he chose at random started.

Michael can't focus on anything. His mind is in a haze and he's not aware of what's happening around him. All Michael is aware of is the voice in his head, Luke's arms around him and Luke's chest against his back. Michael can't help but think that Luke deserves the entire galaxy and that he, Michael, is only one single burnt out star. And he can't help but make the connection. Humans are like stars in the way that once a star dies it still shines brightly for a long time, much like humans; you can't always tell which ones are already dead inside.

Michael knows he's dead, but he can't figure out why his heart is still beating and his lungs still breathing. If that's really what they're doing.

Luke isn't focused either but for very different reasons. Michael's words stuttered and forced out of him from last night are echoing in the blondes head. They bounce around clashing with each other and Luke is struggling to make sense of it all, but somewhere in his mind everything is still and it all seems to make some sense the puzzle isn't finished, but there's a lot less empty spaces.

Neither boy realizes that the ending credits are rolling, or that Liz has been watching them for nearly twenty minutes now. Neither boy realizes when the movie restarts or when Liz makes her way over and stands in front of them. Until she clears her throat.

Michael's eyes lock with Liz's and his minds goes blank, she can see his bruises. Michael would typically drop his head in a situation like this but his muscles seem to be frozen in place. She would have found out eventually. He thinks.

"Michael, I think. I think that the three of us might need to talk," Liz says, fighting to keep a calm steady voice.

Michael finds himself nodding and Luke can't do anything but watch the scene unfolding in front of him. Liz against Michael. Battle of the wills. Michael knows he'll lose before they even start. He knows that he'll cave to her. Michael always caves in the end.

Liz sits on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of the two boys and Michael is already struggling to breathe. He was just made to relive everything to Luke last night, and Michael knows he's not strong enough to do it again. It's the sort of pain that kills you even though it's all in your head. It's the sort of pain you don't ever get used to. It's the pain that drives a person past the point of insanity.

And Michael's been suffering his whole life.

"Does your dad beat you?" Liz doesn't beat around the bush. She gets straight to the point and Michael feels slightly grateful for that. So he nods as reluctant as he is, so that they can move on and finish quicker. "Is he an alcoholic?"

Michael nods again.

"And he's a homophobic, yes?"

And Michael's still nodding.

"Does he beat your mum?" Liz asks.

Michael's eyes swim with tears and he shakes his head. If his dad beat his mum he would have at least had somebody.

"Does she try and stop him then?"

Michael's shaking his head again and it's so painful.

"Does your mum drink as well?" Michael shakes his head. "Does she do drugs?" bingo.

Michael nods.

"Michael, I need to understand," Liz tells him, "I need you to tell me, Michael. What goes on in your life?"

Michael shakes his head. He did it last night and once was enough for him. He's not doing it again.

"Mum stop," Luke interrupts. "He told me last night. Please don't make him say it again,"

Liz nods and Michael swells with relief, but his body deflates and he leans back into Luke, Michael's smaller body fitting easily with Luke's.

"Go on then, Luke," Liz tells her son and Michael stiffens again.

A chill runs down his spine because hearing his past come from someone as good as Luke in Luke's angelic voice would be even more of a hell.

"Mum, I think maybe. I think maybe we should do this later," Luke said hesitantly his eyes on the boy in his arms.

Liz nodded, "Boyfriends before mothers. I get it. Not like I gave birth to you or anything," Liz joked as she stood and left the room, knowing she had considerably darkened the mood with her prying questions.

Michael's eyes were wide. That word. That stupid word that always caught him off guard.

"Boyfriend?" he squeaked.

Luke blushed furiously. "Not if - not if you don't want to be. I mean we don't have to - we can like...not?"

Michael almost laughs at the awkward boy, but the mood is too somber to be laughing. Michael still cracks a smile. "I was just asking Luke. I definitely want to be,"

"Good," Luke mutters pressing his lips to the back of Michael's head.

The boys are lost in their thoughts again as the movie continues to play for the second time. They don't notice the actors pouring their hearts out on the screen or the way the story line fits so accurately with the one their lives are on. They don't notice that Liz is just around the corner and that the irony of it all has hit her full on. They remain oblivious. It's Michael and Luke and the voices in Michael's head. It's the sad boy, the angel, and the one threatening to take the sad boy out of the equation. And on the screen in front of them neither notice as the girl wakes up in the hospital, and neither see the faces of her family members. They don't recall her downing the bottle of pills.

They remain blissfully oblivious. Only it's not as blissful as they would have hoped.

The next thing Michael is consciously aware of - even though he never drifted to sleep - is the nausea hitting him out of nowhere. And suddenly he's on his hands and knees in front of the cold, white toilet dry-heaving, because his stomach is painfully empty.

Michael hates the feeling of his stomach clenching together and twisting uncomfortably. The acid inside burns his throat agonizingly as it forced up his esophagus and he empties it unwillingly into the basin of the toilet.

"Oh, Mikey," Luke sighs rubbing his back.

Michael's glad for the soft gesture. It makes the burning easier to deal with, but Michael feels sorry for Luke. He knows he weighs the boy down in every possible way, and he knows he would be disgusted having to watch someone heave for nearly twenty minutes consecutively.

Michael doesn't move after his stomach stops lurching. He leans down and rests his forehead on the cool seat of the toilet all thoughts of the germs on it void from his mind. He becomes suddenly all too aware of how hot he is and one word sticks out. Fever.

Michael hates when he gets a fever. He gets cold and clammy and gross and sweaty at the same time. The blanket is too warm, but it's too cold without it. He shivering, but he feels like he's in the desert. He gets pale and looks lifeless, and he hates every second of it.

"Luke, run a bath for Michael please," Liz says from the door way.

Michael had been too busy to notice her arrival but he smiled at her as she helped him to his feet as Luke started the bath. Michael was glad for Liz's strong hold on him as she guided him to sit on the now closed toilet seat, as his own limbs were weak and shaky. He watched as Liz fussed about in the small bathroom and added things to the filling tub. Bubbles quickly formed on the surface and began piling up causing Michael to smile fondly at them. His own mum had never run him bubble baths, but he had read enough to know it was something a mother did for her child. He wondered if that's how Liz saw him.

"Luke, go grab some clothes and a towel," Liz told her actual son and Luke nodded patting Michael's knee as he went on his way.

Liz smiled at Michael, "I'll have Luke leave them just outside of the door. Everything you need is right on the little shelf,"

Michael offered another smile and Liz left him to his own devices. He locked the door and began stripping removing his shirt and pants before stopping and looking at himself in the mirror. Standing in only his boxers Michael scrutinized every part of himself and somehow found himself rummaging through the drawers for spare razor blades.

He found them eventually and was cutting his thighs before he had a chance to think better of it. Relief spread through his veins because sick or not the voice was still present and Michael needed it to leave or even just slow down for a few minutes. He flushed the blade and took off his boxers before climbing into the tub of hot water.

The water burnt his skin and stung his fresh cuts, but Michael had always like causing himself pain so he sunk in deeper. He wasn't sure how long he stayed in the tub but it was long enough for his cuts to stop bleeding and for the water to have turned a slight shade of pink from his red blood.

The water drained in the background as Michael carefully opened the door and snatched the clothes and the towel that Luke had left for him. Michael dried himself quickly and dressed without looking in the mirror again.

He felt slightly better physically at least and he was able to make his way downstairs without tripping or falling. The sight which greeted him however stole his breath and caused him actual physical pain. All he could think was please let this be a nightmare. But God never seemed to be on Michael's side in the end.