good boys can't be Bad Kids [c]

First he felt Lukas' rough lips on his neck, heating up his skin even more. Things were so hot that he could barely breathe and he wanted his water so desperately. But next, through his slitted eyes, he saw that jagged edge come closer and he flinched, squeezing them shut. He was held tight by the other boy, the bulky bass hanging off his body. Pinned. And then came the pain.

It cut through him, sliced his skin so easily as that broken bottle was dragged down the left side of his face. Michael shouted in pain, scared to grab the bottle or Lukas' arm in fear of his eye being punctured. His fingers gripped the guitar instead, his tight grip warping the strings and causing an unpleasant sound from them through the speakers as his nails scratched at the neck.

Those words echoed through his mind even after the brunette had spoken them against his ear and when he roared, Michael screamed in reply. Blood rolled and poured down his face from the wound and onto his clothes, onto the floor, and when he was let go he joined those droplets. Michael held his face, down on his knees as he cried out in pain. He needed medical attention, his contacts were still in his eyes, when he tried to open them the world was a hazy blur.