he dies at the end / l.s. + m.c.

2. don't cry over spilt tea

𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕
𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝟷𝟸:𝟻𝟾𝚊𝚖

The day had only really just begun for Michael, but he already knew it was going to be a long one. He was working the night shift, which had started a whopping four hours ago. That meant he still had eight to go, and he was already bone tired. He'd spent most of his allotted sleeping time playing video games so, really, it was no one's fault but his own, but he still allowed himself just a bit of self-pity because 'If I was born rich, I wouldn't have to put up with this shit.'

He sighed, rubbing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars, brain going numb after so many hours of staring at a security monitor. He was pretty sure he would see the ups and downs of the mansion he worked in when he slept for the rest of his miserable life. He was always here, even when he wasn't. It was inescapable. He was thankful that his job wasn't completely terrible. He enjoyed it most of the time, honestly. It was really just when he was working the monitors in the dead of night that he craved to quit - only because he was bored. Nothing exciting ever happened during the night, minus maybe his boss's kid sneaking in later than he should.

Michael heard some rustling next to him, and then smelt the joyous relief of piping hot tea. He let his eyes flutter open, finding that, sure enough, a steaming styrofoam cup of tea sat on the counter, taunting him in a way that only caffeine on a long night could. He moaned in relief, snatching the cup and taking a long, soothing sip before looking over at his savior with a weary smile.

"I love you. Do you know that? I could literally kiss you right now."

His best friend, Calum, giggled, falling into the rolling chair next to Michael's. He held his own beverage in his hand - a coffee, because he wasn't raised by Michael's mother, who would quite honestly have a heart attack if she saw her son drinking coffee - and took a sip before winking suggestively at the red-haired nineteen-year-old.

"Don't be a flirt, Mikey. I'd fuck you on the floor right now if you offered."

"Good thing I'm not offering then." Michael scrunched his nose up, but couldn't hide the amused look on his face. Calum seemed to notice, because his flirtatious grin faded into a genuine smile. He hummed, glancing at the monitors.

"All quiet, I assume?"

Michael shrugged, taking another drink of his tea and oddly loving the burning sensation as the piping liquid trickled down his throat. He set the cup on the table, knowing he would have to make a bathroom trip soon if he kept up that pace, and his superior, Zayn, would surely make fun of him for having such a small bladder - again.

"For the most part. Heathen came out of his room awhile back, but he didn't leave the property as far as I can tell. Slipped into the boss's room and hasn't been out since."

'Heathen': code for the boss's son that really wasn't that bad but often caused mild inconveniences for the staff so they weren't his biggest fans. Michael honestly didn't mind him much - he was sort of entertaining on occasion - but Calum and Zayn especially were rather unfriendly with the boy, so Michael tended to keep his thoughts on the matter to himself. He'd make a joke or two at the kid's expense if necessary, get a laugh from his coworkers and keep everyone upbeat. It wasn't like the kid minded anyway. He was a walking billboard for being unashamed. Michael was sure he wasn't capable of being embarrassed. The closest he'd ever seen the boy come to being humbled was the occasion Harry had called his mum to babysit him after a particularly rowdy night. He was sixteen at the time and the staff had bullied him mercilessly for it. Far as Michael could tell, though, he brushed it off with a goofy smile, making some comment about how 'God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.'