#the scene where they flop onto Glinda’s bed together

[tickle-bugs]

I have a Glinda and Elphaba prompt idea! Feel free to change things or take anything out. My prompt is semi based on the scene in the show where Glinda tells Elphaba that they should share secrets with eachother. Glinda’s secret is that she is really ticklish so of course Elphaba has to take advantage of that. Elphaba then shares her secret which is that she has never been tickled so Glinda (with Elphaba’s permission) helps Elphaba learn what being tickled feels like.

Secrets, Secrets

“Your very first party? Your very first party ever?! How do you feel?” Glinda bounces around in front of Elphaba’s bed. 

“Different.” Elphaba crosses her legs beneath her. She tracks Glinda back and forth, back and forth. 

“Of course you do! Elphie—“ Glinda comes to a screeching halt, blinking her big, sparkly eyes— “Can I call you Elphie?” 

“It’s a bit…perky.” Elphaba grimaces as supportively as she can. 

“To christen our new friendship, we should…tell each other something we’ve never told anyone.” Glinda flops onto Elphaba’s bed and they both bounce. She grabs for Elphaba’s hands, loud and insistent. 

“I’ll go first. Fiyero and I are going to be married!” Glinda squeals. 

“He’s asked you already?” Elphaba frowns. 

“No, he doesn’t know yet.” 

“Then that’s not much of a secret, is it?” Elphaba raises her eyebrow. Glinda pouts. She hums to herself in thought as her eyes scan the room. 

“Fine…I keep a reserve of extra glitter for formal events.” She gestures to a small tub on her shelf that’s genuinely emitting a low level of light. 

“No.” 

“I’m a natural blonde?” Glinda tries. 

“Definitely not.”

“I am—“

“It’s not a secret, Galinda.” Elphaba pulls on one of her ringlets. She pouts, then gasps with an idea. 

“My entrance essay was called ‘Wands: Need They Have a Point?’” She gestures as if the title would appear in the air.

“I was there when you announced that.” Elphaba snickers. 

“You are so—“ Glinda cuts herself off with a little growly noise that makes Elphaba snicker harder— “I have nothing else to share. My life is a beautifully open book.”

“Dig deep, Galinda. Surely you’ve got something.” Elphaba pokes her stomach and Glinda jumps. She does it again, then again, and keeps going until a stream of squeaky snickers fills the air. 

“E-Elphie, that tickles! Let me think!” Glinda swats her hands away. 

“Now there’s a secret.” Elphaba grins. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Glinda narrows her eyes.

“Wouldn’t I?” Elphaba mimics the pitch of her voice. Glinda splutters in offense, and then she’s spluttering with laughter as the poking resumes. 

“I’ll turn you into a frog!” Glinda shrieks. Elphaba snorts and keeps poking at her waist. It starts to get less and less effective, especially as Elphaba’s touch gets harder. She frowns, but persists. 

“Y’know, I—eep! I expected you to be better at this.” Glinda still jumps at every poke, even as her laughter grows quiet. Elphaba recoils as if she’s been burned. 

“Oh. You don’t know how, do you?” Glinda murmurs. Elphaba turns sharply away. It’s a silly thing to cry over, but her nose stings with the promise of tears. She can’t help it. 

“Well, because I am so noble and full of dignification…I will assist.” Glinda bows. She takes Elphaba’s hands and places them gently at her waist. Elphaba considers tearing her hands away, but Glinda’s gaze is warm. 

“Now wiggle your fingers. Gently.” Glinda holds Elphaba’s wrists and nods in encouragement. Elphaba presses her lips together.

“Like this?”

Glinda collapses with a bubbly yelp. Elphaba immediately lets go. 

“Did I hurt you?” Elphaba leans over her. 

“No, no—you’re just a quick learner.” Glinda looks up with a dazzling smile, her curls fanned around her on the bed. 

“Oh.” Elphaba flushes a dark green. Glinda could be so much, sometimes. 

“Okay! Your turn!” Glinda boops Elphaba’s nose. 

“My turn?” Elphaba swats her hand away but doesn’t break focus. 

“For a secret, silly!”

“Oh, I don’t really…have one. I think.” Elphaba fiddles with her fingers. 

“Well, I’ll make this easy for you. I expect a rain check on a real secret later.” Glinda scoots so she can sit against the headboard. Her glossy smile tilts into something devious. 

“Are you ticklish, Elphie?” Glinda’s voice catches teasingly on her name. It steals the breath from her lungs. 

“Isn’t everyone?” 

“Dodging the question. Interesting.” Glinda smirks, leaning close. Her eyes rove over Elphaba’s already-warm face. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never been…people usually don’t want to be that close to me. Let alone touch me.” Elphaba sniffs bitterly, dropping her gaze. 

“That’s a shame.” Glinda says firmly. She stays close. Something in Elphaba flutters. 

“May I?” Glinda hovers her fingers over Elphaba’s stomach. Elphaba nods and exhales shakily. 

Glinda must not like that shakiness though, because she frowns deeply and takes Elphaba’s hands instead. She clutches one and spiders her fingers across the palm of the other, tracing up and down from elbow to fingertip.

“How’s that feel?” Glinda hums. 

“It’s…I…” Elphaba’s nose scrunches. Her smile breaks little by little, like the first sunbeams over the horizon. She tries to keep it together, but her lungs keep doing this indomitable shivery thing she can’t kick. Her whole body trembles with the force of restraining herself. 

“I’m barely trying to tickle you. I’m trying to take it easy on you,” Glinda snickers, her glittery nails dancing across Elphaba’s hand. 

“I-It can’t possibly get worse than this.” Elphaba peeks at her through one eye. 

“Don’t speak so soon!” Glinda says cheerfully, squeezing Elphaba’s side with a viciousness that contradicts everything ‘good’ about her. Elphaba crumples into a fit of ringing laughter. 

She wants to crawl out of her skin hearing her own laugh, the shrieky, cackly thing that it is, but every ounce of her self control has fled her. She falls backwards on the bed and Glinda crawls on top of her, tickling with reckless abandon. Elphaba tries to curl up, but she folds right into Glinda’s waiting hands. 

Elphaba throws her head back and snorts twice in a row. Glinda gasps.

“You are adorable.” She whispers gleefully. Elphaba hides behind her hands. Glinda tries to pull them away to no avail. 

“Kill me,” Elphaba groans, muffled. She resists Glinda until pointed nails poke just right into her ribs and she screeches, immediately flailing to defend herself. Glinda catches her wrists easily and pins them down to the bed.

Elphaba lets out a stream of nervous giggles, hearty and tumbling. Glinda flops on top of her with a dramatic wail. Elphaba’s hand finds her back instinctively. 

“What’s happening?” Elphaba hums, confused but not surprised. 

“You’re so cute, you don’t understand.” Glinda pops up in a distressed bounce of curls and ruffles. “I just want to tickle you for the rest of eternity.” 

And tickle she does. Elphaba squirms and giggles, tossing her head back and forth. Glinda coos at her, terrifying in her accuracy. Feeling another snort coming on, Elphaba grabs Glinda’s hands and pulls them away. 

“W-Well, if you keep doing that, you’ll kill me, and you need me for your sorcery tutorial.” Elphaba points at her, eyes wide with a giddy sort of desperation she’s never felt before. Glinda pretends to think hard, but really, she’s smiling. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Thropp. I’ll think about it.” Glinda brushes Elphaba’s hair out of her face. Elphaba deflates in relief. 

Then: a suspicious tickle at her kneecap makes her release that snort she’d been desperate to suffocate. Glinda cackles evilly. 

“W-Wait, Galinda—“

“Oh, you didn’t think I was going to think about it now, did you?” 

[clumsyclifford]

popularity, or pink flowers

well the good news is i have absolutely no excuse for this. a month ago my dear friend spidey anon send this ask about wicked!5sos and then tonight it was revived when @calumsclifford starting discussing it and now it’s 4am and muke!gelphie exists. SO.

not to pretend this is a Real Fic because it’s literally just the Popular scene but with muke as gelphie, but anyway you can read this as pre-slash or as just homies, i don’t really care. also if anyone cares, kara lindsay is my favorite glinda and this is the video i watched to get the dialogue and gist of this scene down. even if you know absolutely nothing about wicked i recommend you watch it because kara lindsay is fucking hilarious.

anyway, obvious shoutout to maggie, who’s tagged above, for being the bearer of all the great musical!sos aus. this is my humble offering to you. also to spidey anon.

(side note i changed the ending a little bit because you know me. a sucker for a hopeful ending. fuck angst 2k20 baby)

[ao3]

-

Luke is buzzing when they get back to their dormitory, just a few minutes shy of midnight, and Michael sits at the edge of his bed and pretends not to notice the way Luke is literally bouncing on his own mattress.

Finally Luke snaps. “Your very first party ever!” he cheers, as if that’s something to be celebrating, that Michael is college-age and still has never been to a party.

“Do funerals count?” he asks, because if so he’s been to quite a few.

Luke frowns for a moment and then carries on, undeterred. “Your very first party,” he says, emphasis clear, and grins. “Yay!”

Michael doesn’t think the party was as much of a smash hit as Luke seems to believe it was, but Luke’s already leaping off his bed and scurrying over towards Michael’s. It’s possible Luke has had too much to drink; Michael wishes he’d known there would be alcohol. He would have taken advantage.

That, or Luke is just naturally this bubbly, which is an even more exhausting thought.

“I know!” says Luke, clambering onto Michael’s bed, pushing right up against his side. Michael shies away, hugging tighter to the pillow across his lap, but Luke doesn’t get the message and reaches to straighten out Michael’s fringe. “Let’s tell each other secrets. Something you’ve never told anyone before.” Grinning conspiratorially at Michael, he says, “I’ll go first.” Then, in a low whisper: “Ashton and I are going to be married!”

Michael blinks. Luke and Ashton are well-suited, he reckons; both a little bit flippant, a little bit ditzy, and very popular.  “He’s asked you already?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know yet,” Luke says cheerfully. “Now you tell me a secret.”

Michael can’t think of a single secret he wants to share with any version of Luke, but especially not this version of Luke, who’s so ridiculously upbeat it makes Michael want to crawl under his bed and hermit until he becomes one with the dust bunnies.

“Like what?” he asks.

“Like,” Luke says, and then before Michael can react he’s off the bed and reaching under Michael’s other pillow, “why do you sleep with this green bottle under your bed?”

Michael jumps to his feet, cheeks hot. “Give it back!”

“Come on, what is it?” Luke screeches, holding it high up, almost out of reach. Michael grabs hold of it and they play tug of war for a moment, Luke demanding to know what it is and Michael growling for him to return it, before Michael finally wins the battle and the bottle is safely in his hands.

“It was my mum’s!” he snaps. “That’s all. Fuck.”

Luke looks deeply upset. “That’s not fair,” he accuses. “I told you a really good one.”

Michael thinks he’s going to do something violent in a few moments unless Luke does something really redeemable. And then Luke turns back to his own bed and flops face-first into his pillow, unmoving. Like he’s really, truly hurt by this betrayal of Michael’s, daring not to match Luke’s oh-so-secret secret with one of his own.

It occurs to Michael that Luke is trying to bond with him. Or at least be friendly. And to be perfectly honest, that’s not something Michael’s come by too easily at Shiz. Friends, friendly people, anyone willing to make polite conversation...they’ve all been effectively nonexistent for Michael. For Luke, who had been such an asshole to him in the beginning (though Michael had returned the favor), to try and build a bridge despite their past failings, is actually pretty admirable. And Michael’s being cagey.

He caves.

“My dad hates me,” he admits. Luke immediately springs up. “That’s not the secret.” Once again Luke flops into his pillows, disappointed. Michael sighs. “The secret is that he has a good reason to. It’s my fault.”

This time Luke stands up and turns to look at him, and Michael recognizes the faintest trace of concern in his features. Sympathy. Not something Michael expected to see on Luke.

“What?” Luke asks, brows drawn together. “What is?”

This time, when he approaches Michael’s bed, it’s tentative, and maybe that’s what makes Michael shift over so that Luke can sit himself down. Still hugging the pillow close, Michael says, “That my sister is — the way she is.” Crippled, he doesn’t say, because she hates it when people call her that, even if it’s true. Nessarose is crippled for life. 

Luke watches him, careful, and doesn’t say anything, so Michael clears his throat and starts from the beginning. “See, when our mum was carrying Nessa, our father started worrying that the new baby might come out, you know.” 

“Green,” Luke supplements, although there’s nothing mocking in his voice, surprisingly.

“Green,” Michael agrees, looking down at his hands for a moment. When he looks back, Luke’s eyes are still on him. “He was so worried that he made mum chew milk flowers all the time. Only…it made Nessa come too soon, and her legs were all tangled. And mum never woke up.” He swallows, shakes his head. “None of which would’ve happened if not for me.”

Luke is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “But that was the milk flowers’ fault. Not yours.” He grabs at Michael’s hands and Michael is too startled to pull away. “That may be your secret, Michael, but that doesn’t make it true. You’re blaming yourself for something you didn’t even do. For someone you just are.” And then, just as Michael is thinking that maybe Luke is cleverer than he lets on, Luke cuddles into his side, stroking his hair and whispering, “Shh.”

“Uh, Luke,” Michael whispers back, because this is pretty weird.

Luke ignores him. Then he catches sight of the clock on the wall and leaps away from Michael to his feet, clapping in excitement. “Hey, look, it’s tomorrow!” Turning to Michael, he adds, “Mikey — is it alright if I call you Mikey?”

Michael grimaces. “Well, it’s a little childish.”

Luke ignores him again, happy grin fixed into place. Whatever Luke was sincerely reassuring Michael that Nessa’s deformity hadn’t been his fault is gone, and this bubblegum version of him is in his place. Michael’s not sure which one is the real Luke, or if there is a real Luke. Maybe Luke is just a bunch of personalities that slot in and out of place like gobo lenses on stage lights.

“And you can call me…” Luke spreads his arms. “Luke!” Like Michael wasn’t already doing that. “See, Mikey, now that we’re friends, I’ve decided to make you my new project.”

Michael stares. “You really, really don’t have to do that.” Please don’t do that, is what he means to say. Michael can only imagine what that means, and it’s not pretty.

But Luke, once again, is steadfast. “I know! That’s what makes me so nice.”

Michael doesn’t know if nice is the word. “I don’t need to be a project,” he tries, but Luke is already talking over him.

“You see, Mikey, I’m a very fortunate person,” he chirps. “And so when I see someone less fortunate than I am — which, let’s face it, is most people —  my heart aches for them. And when someone needs a makeover — well, I’m amazing at makeovers.” He tosses a grin at Michael. “Clearly. And I know —” Michael opens his mouth to protest and Luke puts a finger over it, “I know exactly what they need. Oh!” He stalls Michael on his return from putting the green bottle back underneath his pillow and reaches for his glasses. Michael winces as Luke pulls them away from his face, examines him for a moment, and then puts them back. Awesome. Michael’s always thought he looked dorky with glasses, but somehow Luke thinks he looks worse without them, which is just great.

“Luke —” he tries again, and is once more cut off.

“No, no, no! Mikey, listen. This is going to be tough. I’m not going to lie. You’re a real fixer-upper, but don’t worry. I have a perfect track record with makeovers. When I’m done with you, I swear, you will be popular.”

Michael frowns at Luke’s winning smile. “Popular?”

“Popular!” Luke agrees brightly. “I’m an expert on being popular, Mikey. I can teach you everything you need to know.” He gasps excitedly. “I can teach you to talk to boys!”

“I’m not really planning on —”

“And we can fix your hair!” Luke continues, growing more excited by the minute. At Michael’s face, he hurriedly says, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it! Except that it’s um, bad.”

“Oh,” Michael says faintly. “Well, if that’s all.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s not!” Luke says. Michael is tempted to try sarcasm again but it obviously sails right over Luke’s head, so he keeps his mouth shut as Luke fluffs a hand through Michael’s hair. Evidently he’s trying and failing to get it to do something — maybe stick up in a quiff like Luke’s does, which Michael could have told him would be a lost cause — and eventually he rocks back on his heels and huffs. “Well. We can work on that later. You look offended.”

“Well —”

“Lighten up,” Luke insists. “Think of it as…personality dialysis!” Which is a big word that stuns Michael into silence. He hadn’t really known Luke knew any big words, much less how to use them correctly. “Don’t be worried, Mikey. I told you, I’m a pro. And now that we’re friends and I can give you advice you have nothing to worry about.”

Michael is worried, although not for the reasons Luke thinks. He can’t picture a scenario where he walks out of this engagement unscathed.

“Luke, this is nice and all, but I don’t really feel like I need…to be popular.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Luke says. “Nobody needs to be popular. Well. Except me. But I am popular, so it works out pretty well!” He giggles. Michael wonders if the alcohol has worn off yet. Part of him hopes it hasn’t; if this is how Luke normally is with his friends, Michael has reason to be concerned. “Just let me help you. Let me try. You can be someone new! Instead of your old self! Well, your current self. Well — you get it.”

Michael sighs. “Okay,” he says, because the path of least resistance also seems like the fastest way to wear Luke out. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, and when Michael gives in he immediately springs into action.

“Amazing! First of all, let me take these —” Luke lifts Michael’s glasses off his nose and folds them up, then grabs Michael’s wrists and tugs him over to Luke’s bed. Michael doesn’t really see why this pseudo-makeover can’t happen from the safety of his own twin, but whatever. “See, Mikey, you just have to think logically. I mean, think about the big-shots you know about. Heads of state, diplomats.” Still chattering away, Luke reaches for something between his pillows, and Michael barely has time to register that it’s glitter — glitter, what the fuck, why would he keep that between his pillows — before it’s being dusted over his face. “Do you think they got those positions because they were smart? Of course not! They were popular. It’s all to do with being popular, Mikey. I know you’re smart, but that’s not enough anymore! It doesn’t matter how smart you are. It matters how many friends you’ve got.”

There’s a lot going on right now, what with Luke babbling about aptitude while he applies fucking glitter to Michael’s cheekbones, so Michael almost misses the part where Luke compliments him. Almost, but not quite. It’s right there; I know you’re smart, but…Michael feels his cheeks flush with pride.

“You really think being — popular is going to help me with my studies?” Michael asks hesitantly.

Luke beams, leaning away from Michael to survey his handiwork, and claps. Glitter clouds around his hands and flutters to the carpet.

“I don’t just think so,” he says giddily. “I know so. Okay. First of all, you need to learn to flirt.” Michael doesn’t really have time to wonder how flirting is going to help him get ahead in class, because Luke’s powering forward, and Michael has no choice but to listen in helpless captivity. “This is a simple two-step move. Step one: hair.”

“Hair,” Michael repeats.

“Yes, try and keep up,” Luke says impatiently. “Step one, you run your hand through your hair. Like so.” He demonstrates, and his hair takes on a charmingly mussed-up look. “Now you try!”

Certain that his hair will either stay the same or get worse, Michael concedes, dragging his hand half-heartedly through his hair. Luke looks unmoved.

“You’ve got to do it like you mean it, Mikey. Here, pretend I’m some hot guy you’re trying to impress. Well, you won’t need to pretend I’m a hot guy, but you get it.” He giggles.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you tell me the second step I can put them together?”

“Oh! Right. Step two: bite your lip. Like so.” With a halfway smirk, Luke drags his bottom lip between his teeth, then grins at Michael. “Okay. Put it all together. Come on come on come on! You can do it!”

There’s no denying that Luke looks pretty sexy with his infallible two-step move, but equally no denying that Michael will crash and burn. Luke looks too excited not to at least give it a shot, though, so Michael bites the bullet.

He tries for a smile, which definitely looks more like a grimace, and then pulls a hand through his hair, biting his lower lip as he does. Confused by both things at once, he bites down too hard, and then winces. “Ow, fuck!”

Luke looks so overjoyed at his attempt that he wraps him up in a too-tight hug. When he pulls away he looks optimistic. “Well,” he says hopefully, “you can practice.” Michael snorts. Luke’s eyes light up like he’s struck with an idea, and he pulls Michael to his feet. “Ooh, oh! And now, I shall turn your ratty clothes into a bespoke suit!”

Ratty clothes? “I like these clothes,” Michael says defensively, as Luke grabs for his wand. Skinny jeans and t-shirts are most of his wardrobe, most if not all black. It’s part of his whole look. The emo, brooding loner look.

Luke ignores him, which is becoming a theme for the night. Morning. Whichever. Brandishing his wand in Michael’s general direction, he declares, “Suit!”

Nothing happens.

Luke frowns, taps the end of his wand, and emphatically repeats, “Suit!”

Again nothing.

“Is this thing even on?” Luke grumbles, and starts hitting the wand against his bed. 

Michael doesn’t want to be wearing a suit, but he also doesn’t want Luke to break his wand over this. “Do you want me to try?” he offers.

“No!” Luke says hotly, and throws the wand behind him, where it clatters against the wall and then to the floor. Calmly, he adds, “Just keep the, um, statement clothes. They’re cute.”

His expression says otherwise, but Michael decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“And now for the finishing touch,” Luke says, leading Michael to sit again at the foot of Luke’s bed. Michael goes willingly; hopefully this means an end to this nonsense, and Michael can get to bed, and in the morning they can be, like, awkward acquaintances at best. Michael isn’t expecting a lasting friendship out of this. It will be nice not to be constantly hostile towards his roommate, sure, but Luke’s…well, Luke is Luke, cheerful and bubblegum pink and popular, and Michael is Michael, that is, none of those things. In no universe could he and Luke remain friends, whatever Michael might want.

Patiently, Michael sits and watches as Luke reaches for the flower clipped in his hair, pulling it neatly back from his face, and slides the clip into Michael’s hair instead. It probably looks ridiculous — Michael’s all dark colors and green and grumpy, and pink shouldn’t be within a five-foot radius of his outfit, much less in the form of a hair clip flower — but as soon as it’s in, Luke gives a short gasp, and a smile spreads slowly over his face.

“Pink goes good with green,” he says happily. Michael can’t help but smile himself at the sincerity in Luke’s expression. “Michael. Look at you. You’re beautiful.”

In all his years of life, Michael has never once been called beautiful, and he jerks at the word now, sure that Luke must be having him on, that this must all be an elaborate prank. But Luke tugs him to his feet and leads him to the mirror, and the Michael in the mirror is — huh.

Pretty, actually.

Everything fades around Michael until Luke is just a blur off to the side, and Michael stares at himself until his eyes start unfocusing. He’s never been pretty before, never been anything other than an embarrassment to everyone who’d known him. But now his cheeks glimmer when they catch the light, and somehow fussing with his hair has actually made it look soft and inviting, and the flower, somehow, inexplicably, does look good.

Warmth is blossoming in Michael’s chest, and with it, panic. This isn’t — this isn’t him. This isn’t Michael Clifford. This is some bootleg version of him, some bastardized combination of himself and Luke, and Luke isn’t who he wants to be, or even who he should be. He should be Michael fucking Clifford, and that should be enough. His intelligence should be good enough to carry him through his studies; he shouldn’t need popularity, or pink flowers.

“I,” he chokes out, as the world rushes back to him. “I have to go.” Anywhere else, anywhere other than in front of this mirror. He heads for the door but Luke grabs his arm.

“Hey,” he says, pouting. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Michael says, strangled. “I mean, thanks but no thanks. This isn’t me.”

“It looks like you,” Luke points out, still holding his wrist. “Just a prettier version of you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be prettier,” Michael snarls, wrenching his hand free.

“Who wouldn’t want to be prettier?”

Michael groans. It had been too good to be true all along; Luke really is that stupid, that shallow, that daft. “I don’t! I don’t care if I’m pretty, or if I know how to flirt, or if I’m wearing a fucking suit! I want to be enough as I am. This might be hard for you to believe, but some people want to have worth outside of their looks!”

Luke stares at him as Michael cuts himself off, chest heaving from the outburst. “You think all I am is a pretty face?”

“No, Luke,” Michael says tiredly. “You think all you are is a pretty face. But I don’t want to be that. I’d rather be clever than handsome.”

“You can be both clever and handsome,” Luke argues. “You’re not stupider if you put glitter on your face, Mikey.”

“Michael.”

“Mikey. I don’t think you’re being very fair right now.”

“How am I not being fair?”

“I’m trying to help you, and you’re just — yelling and running away!” Luke says, throwing his hands up. “Maybe instead of blaming me, you should acknowledge why you’re really upset right now, huh? Admit it — you’ve never felt beautiful in your life, and now you’re upset because you didn’t realize you could have been pretty all along, and it was stupid, bubbly Luke Hemmings who taught you how to do it! You’re embarrassed that I knew something that you didn’t!”

Michael opens his mouth to retort, closes it, opens it again as the pink rises predictably in Luke’s cheeks — he’s probably not prone to violent outbursts the way Michael is, or confrontation at all, and now he looks like he might start crying — and says quietly, “Okay. Fine. You’re right.”

Luke’s eyes go wide. “I’m…right?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, though it pains him to admit it. “You’re right. I — I’m sorry, Luke. I shouldn’t have tried to run out. You were just trying to help.”

“I did help,” Luke argues weakly, bottom lip quivering. “I did.”

“You did,” Michael allows. “Thank you.”

“You look really nice, you know,” Luke whispers. “Even if pink isn’t usually your color. It suits you.”

“Yeah, well,” Michael says, casting around for something to say. “Maybe you should start wearing green.”

Luke quirks his lips in a smile. “Maybe I should.”

He won’t, and they both know it — Luke’s color is going to be pink until the end of time — but it’s an olive branch for the both of them, and as one they both grab hold of it. Michael gets the feeling that something is going to be different. Maybe Luke isn’t just going to be an awkward acquaintance. Maybe they’ll be friends.

It’s far-fetched, but stranger things have happened. After all, Michael’s wearing glitter.