Breath

Saturday (Mike McCready)

Vote and comment if you like :)

This is for @Jar0fR0ttenApples. I DEEPLY apologize if it sucks.

SMUT WARNING!

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On Saturday, you awake like you do every morning, groggily and with noise. Your poor roommate could probably hear your groans of complaint. After stumbling out of bed and nearly falling back asleep on the toilet, you manage to get dressed and make yourself breakfast.

Padding around the kitchen in a zombie-like state, you grab a bowl, a spoon, the gallon of milk that is nearly expired, and a box of sugary cereal. Breakfast of champions. 

You plop down on the couch and turn on the TV, hoping to find something mildly entertaining for your sad meal. Flipping through the channels, you become increasingly frustrated with the options. Due to your stubbornness in finding a suitable show, the bowl of cereal sits untouched and gets increasingly soggy. Right when you're about to combust, the phone rings.

You bolt up from the couch and run over to pick up the phone, not wanting to face the wrath of your roommate. She's a nursing student, and can be a real bitch when she doesn't get twelve hours of sleep on the weekends. 

"Hello?" you whisper, keeping the phone close to your ear.

"Y/N? It's me." Mike.

Your heartbeat picks up pace and you try to sound casual. "Hey, how are you? What's up?"

"Um, I'm good," he says. He sounds awkward, which puts you at ease. His unpretentious nature is one of the things you love about him. "I was wondering if you wanted to come over later? Like, around seven-ish? I know we just hung out but I wanted to ask anyway. I'm actually at work right now."

He was calling you from work? And he wanted to see you so soon?!

"Um, yeah. Yes! I would love to." You cringe. Now who sounds awkward.

"Great! Um, that's awesome. So, I'll see you later?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." There was a pause where neither of them said anything. 

"Bye, Mike," you say softly.

"Bye."

You start to get antsy around five o'clock. It's not like you don't want to see him (you really do), it's just that there's so much to think about, and sometimes you hate having to think. About what your hair looks like, how you smell, and whether or not this or that shirt better disguises the bloat from the pizza you stress-ate half an hour ago. 

This is ridiculous, you tell yourself. Half of your (admittedly sad) wardrobe is strewn about your bedroom. You glare at a pair of too-tight jeans and huff, grabbing everything and shoving it back into your closet. The only items remaining are a reliable pair of cargo pants and a long sleeve henley. 

After brushing your teeth vigorously, you put on the clothes and examine yourself in the mirror. The outfit is comfortable and you look alright. The henley even clings to your figure a bit. But anyways, why does it matter? It's freaking Mike. Your extremely non-stuck up friend. Nothing to worry about. 

Right. Here we go.

At precisely seven o'clock, you knock on the door. You had actually been standing outside his apartment for ten minutes, but had been anxious about being too early and decided to wait.

It creaks open and reveals a somewhat disheveled Mike. His shirt is twisted in an unnatural way and there are fresh paint stains on his shorts. Obviously, he looks precious to you but you're curious about his appearance anyway.