My Heaven

New

I open my eyes, squinting against the dim light filtering through the curtains. Is it morning already? It feels like I've only slept for five minutes. I yawn, feeling the warmth of strong arms wrapped tightly around me, the weight of a body pressed close against mine. Slowly, I look up to see Michael's face, peaceful and still as he sleeps. His brown hair is a complete mess, strands falling over his forehead, but somehow, it makes him even cuter. Ugh, shut up, I think to myself. Why him? Of all people, why am I even close to falling in love with him?

I try to reason it away—he's kind, and sure, he's kind of attractive—but still. I'm not supposed to fall in love. I'm supposed to be that bad bitch, the one who doesn't need anyone. Yet, here I am, snuggled up to him like it's the most natural thing in the world. Fuck.

A faint, earthy scent tingles my nose, and I glance down at his hands. His fingernails are almost entirely brown with dirt, and his hands look rough and calloused. Must be from all the training he does. But seriously, does he never look at his own hands? We're squeezed together in my tiny bed, barely enough space for the two of us. His arms are still holding me tight, like he's afraid that if he lets go, he'll never see me again.

I snuggle deeper into his chest, the warmth of his skin against mine. That's when I realize—he's not wearing a shirt. Didn't he have one on last night? When did he take it off? Was he awake in the middle of the night? My mind swirls with questions, but I push them aside. Why should I care?

I glance at the clock on the nightstand: 4:30 AM. Why am I awake so early? Jesus Christ. I try to close my eyes again, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep, but after about ten minutes of lying still, it's clear that sleep isn't coming. Carefully, I ease myself out of bed, pausing for a second to admire Michael's peaceful face. His closed eyes, the soft rise and fall of his chest—it almost makes it seem like there's nothing wrong with the world. His arm still lies where I was moments before, and for a brief second, I feel a pang of sadness at leaving his warmth behind.

I stand up, stretch, and wince as my joints pop with a sudden, unexpected crack. The sound echoes in the quiet room, startling me. Natural, I think, but it still feels jarring in the calm of the morning.

I head into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. God, I look like I haven't slept in a week. But oddly enough, this was one of the best nights of sleep I've had in years. No waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares, no tossing and turning. It's been so long since I've had that kind of peace. Maybe it was because of Michael, a small voice in my head whispers. I quickly push that thought away, unwilling to entertain it. I splash water on my face and dry off, shaking the lingering sleep from my body.

Today's Friday, which means a long workday and an even longer night at the club. I have a big performance tonight, and I haven't written a new song. Great, I think, running my fingers through my hair. I guess I'll have to come up with something on the fly. Maybe I should head to the club now, get a head start. I have the keys, and if I go early, I can prepare everything before the others show up. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

I quickly throw on some clothes and head for the door, pausing for just a moment to look back at Michael. He's still sound asleep, and though I don't know why, it hurts a little to leave him there. What is going on with me? I lock the door behind me and step out into the chilly morning air. The streets are quiet, almost eerily so, and there's a thin layer of fog settling over everything. It's the kind of fog that makes the world feel a little surreal, like I'm walking through a dream.

As I near the club, I notice a figure standing outside, a man I've never seen before. He looks new to town. I approach cautiously. "Excuse me, sir," I say, and he turns around.

Wow. That's all I can think for a second. He has blonde hair, neatly cut, and eyes the color of morning fog—deep, gray, and almost haunting. His face, though, is warm, like the winter sun trying to peek through cold clouds. He smiles, and for a second, I forget why I even approached him. Get it together, Ashley.