Runaways > > Mikey Clifford

//Chapter 8//

//LOTS OF F-BOMBS WHOOPS//
^^Deathly Hallows symbol pic in case you don't know what it looks like, later in the story^^
~
Michael and I stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, his lips against mine.
About half an hour had passed before we spoke again.
I pulled away slowly first; he seemed disappointed at this move.
"I- I th-think we should c-clean up a bit..."
"Y-yeah," he replied, blushing and wiping his lips on the back of his hand. "M-maybe that's a g-good idea."
My leg had fallen asleep and I had to wait for it to wake up; Michael, realizing this, gave it a nice big pat. I yelped and he just laughed and started getting his things out of his bag.
We made my pull-out mattress bed, put my clothes away (the dirty ones being thrown into the hallway to be washed later), put his stuff away, and by that time it was about 7 and time for showers. I opened the hall closet, which usually was full of towels and rags, to find three towels and three rags, with a note:
"Just in case."
Finding these notes everywhere is so eerie.
They make me shaky.
They have clearly had this planned for a long time.
I grabbed two towels and two rags and went back to my room, where Michael was sprawled out on my bed.
"Tomorrow's Tuesday," I said to him, and he looked over at me. "I have work."
I have a job at the Triple Bean Diner, which is right by my house. It's where I got the money for my phone and some new clothes and snacks. The left-over food is always mine, because my coworkers know about my parents not feeding me. Not that I've told them; they just seem to know. I usually put them in the fridge and they supply me for a few days, since I only work Tuesday through Thursday, and the occasional Friday, 4-9. It almost seems as though the regulars also know my situation, because they're always the ones who tip the most.
"Oh. Where?" Michael asked.
"Triple Bean Diner," I said.
"Nice," he said. "Think I could get a busboy job with your recommendation?"
"Hmm," I thought. "Possibly. One of our busboys quit last week. He made a scene, too. He was a bitch."
"You should definitely get me an application," he said, sounding half serious.
"Okay," I said. "I'll do that, but I need a shower, sooo..."
"Can I join?" he said, again sounding half serious, with a cheeky little smile.
"No," I said nonchalantly, and he seemed to be hurt by this, but when I shone a little smile to him, he returned it.
"I'll be back," I said, grabbing clothes and my shampoo, conditioner, and soap before walking to the bathroom and starting the shower.
The hot water on my back was always my release. My escape from tenseness and stress. I have this habit, where when I'm stressed, or happy, or a mixture of the two, I talk to myself, often in the shower. I figure Michael is in the room, so he wouldn't be able to hear me.
"Why does all this have to happen to me?"
I traced my fingers along the barely visible scars on my wrists. It's been a while. I'm about six months clean, so they're very faded, almost invisible.
"Abusive, neglecting alcoholic parents."
I took a deep breath and sighed.
"I'm up for another prohibition."
I cupped my face in my hands.
"Petitions, anyone?"
I pushed my hands back through my wet hair.
"Fuck, why me?"
I put shampoo in my hand.
"I'm no good for anyone."
I massaged the shampoo into my hair, the scent of raspberries filling my nose.
"Not my own family."
I bit my lip lightly to keep the tears back.
"Hell, not even for Michael."
I released my lip and clenched my teeth as I rinsed the shampoo, reaching for the conditioner bottle.
"This is my battle."
I applied conditioner to my hair.
"I keep dragging people into it."
I stepped back into the water to wash out the conditioner. The steam in the room was building thickly.
"They tell me to be strong."
I poured some of my cheap liquid soap onto my rag.
"But, the thing is, I don't want to be."
I moved the rag across my body, letting the lather cleanse my skin.
"All I want is a shoulder to cry on."
My shower was almost up. I tended to my underarms with the rusty can of shaving cream I always left on the shelf on the wall in the shower, along with my razor that was due for replacement as rust had taken it over, too.
"And, for the first time, it seems like I have that."
I rinsed my body with water one last time before turning the knobs to turn the shower off. I reached out and grabbed my towel off the sink and wrapped myself in it, and when I felt as though my body was dry enough that it wouldn't drip, I put the towel in my hair to keep my hair from dripping.
Steam was built on the mirror. I took my finger and wrote M&M, before putting a heart around it.
Are we a thing? Is it official? Asking myself these questions aren't going to help anything if I don't know the answer in the first place. All I know is this seems like such an unlikely thing to happen, and it all happened so quick. I pulled on my pajamas I had brought into the bathroom; a red shirt with a duck on the front and a pair of dark blue pajama pants that had gold Deathly Hallows symbols patterned on them. Yeah, I'm a Potterhead.
Once I was dressed, my teeth were brushed, and I pulled my hair into a ponytail, I grabbed my towels and opened the bathroom door, opening the hallway closet and replacing the towels. They aren't dirty; I had used them to dry something clean. I approached my bedroom door to find it shut.
I heard a sniffle and a sigh.
I knocked in the door to hear a delayed,
"Yes?"
I turned the jiggly knob and creaked the door open. Michael was on my bed, eyes pink, but other than that I'd've thought he was fine. Hell, I wouldn't have noticed it if the light was any dimmer. I didn't plan on mentioning it; if he didn't bring it up, then obviously he doesn't want to talk about it. But I suppose this isn't always the case.
I sat beside him, earring a sniffle that he obviously tried to hide. Again, I didn't mention it; however, this didn't matter, because he did.
"Mars...."
He was obviously a bit uncomfortable.
"Yes?" I said, a bit confused, but worried.
"You think you're no good for me...?"
Shit.
"You, uh... You heard me. Michael, I--"
"Mars, you are the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. Don't you ever fucking think about believing anything else. I.... I fucking love you, Mars."
I mentally gasped; However, on the outside, I could feel my cheeks taking on a hot red color. I didn't know how else to respond but with,
"I love you too, Mikey."
"Mars-- Wait... You-- You do?"
"Of fucking course," I said.
He looked at me for a second, as if processing what I'd said.
"Well... Wow, like... Wow. I think I'm going to just-- just gonna go-- shower."
He picked up his pile of clothes and his towel and rag and walked to the bathroom.
When he was out, I laughed to myself. He looked so flustered from what I said. Embarrassed guys, c'mon, they're pretty cute.
I turned on my TV and started to watch Spongebob. After one of the two episodes in one program was up, I heard the shower stop.
A few minutes later, Michael emerged from the bathroom and opened the half-shut door.
His hair was still pretty wet and it looked really cute. I don't know, maybe it's just because it's Michael. Little things about someone you love can just seem really cute sometimes, remind you they're still human.
He was wearing a, yes, dark red Harry Potter shirt with a huge silver deathly hallows symbol on the front. His pants were just plain gray sweat pants. He plopped himself beside me on my bed, noticing my pants and chuckling, saying,
"Twinsies!"
Dork.
Just then, I received a text from Ashton.
It read,
"Hey boo, what's goin on?"
Fucking hell.
"Boo?" I replied.
He responded immediately.
"Yeah, boo."
"Why are you calling me boo?" I asked.
"Cause."
"Cause why?"
"Boo don't ask questions, just go with it."
"STOP WITH THE BOO LITTLE SHIT."
"Why you mad, boo?"
Fuck, he's so annoying. I just stopped texting him.
"Who was that?" Michael asked.
"Uh-- it was-- Grace."
I don't want Michael to get a concussion from the jealous stick.
I got another text exactly seven minutes from the last one he sent me:
"Okay, okay, sorry Mars, come baaaaack."
"I thought I told you to go earlier."
"You did, but I just wanted to talk."
"About?"
He sent his answer in a series of texts.
"Well, um,"
"Ya know,"
"When the bottle,"
"Ya know,"
"And we,"
"Ya know,"
"I guess I wanna say..."
"You're fucking hot."
My face flushed and I started feeling a bit warm.
"Btfu, I told you already, I'm with Michael."
It took a few minutes for this response.
"No, you said it's complicated, you didn't say you were with that fugly ass bitch."
"Excuse me? You know he's sitting here right now, I could show him these texts, you'd be gone."
"You know how long it took them to find a drummer? You really want to put them through that again?"
Is this Ass-ton Irwin bitch fucking blackmailing me?
"Okay, well, I can block your number, you know."
"But that won't help when Michael drags you to hang out at Luke's house, and I'll be there."
"Okay, little fucker, I don't know who the fuck you think you are or what the fuck you think you're gonna accomplish from this, but you better fucking knock it off or I will fucking
tell Michael."
"Aww, how cute, run to your little Mikey, your little lover boy. You know, babe, I could give it to you real good, you'll be screaming my name to the whole neighborhood."
That was enough for me; I just stopped texting him.
"What's going on with Grace?" he asked. "You've been texting for like 20 minutes."
"Oh, her, uh-- her crush asked her out."
That's not necessarily a lie.
It did happen.
"Cute."
"Yeah," I said, and the atmosphere now became a bit awkward, especially for me since my words were the last sound ringing through the room.
"Patrick, you're genius is showing!"
"What!? Where!?"
Michael and I burst out laughing, simultaneously ending the awkward atmosphere.
I checked the clock to find it was about 8:00. I prefer to go to bed at about 9 if I don't have anything to do, but I suppose having Michael here will open the opportunity to say up longer, someone to talk to.
I stood up from my bed and walked to my closet to pick my outfit for tomorrow. It's always a hassle to do it in the morning; I'm a very indecisive person. I pulled out a pair of neon blue skinnies, and I had a perfectly matching Pierce the Veil shirt; a black tee with a picture of the band in a blue tint the exact shade of my pants. I also sat my knockoff converse in my closet so I wouldn't lose them.
After that, my dark chocolate hair was only a bit damp, so I pulled it into a ponytail and clipped my bangs back. They don't look nearly as cool without fifty cans of hairspray. At that moment, I realized Michael's eyes were not on Spongebob, but on me. Not necessarily my eyes, but... I think he was staring at my ass.
"Like what you see?" I said cheekily, giving my bum a little shake.
He realized I had noticed and flushed deep cherry, looking away.
"That was a legit question, I said, chuckling at his reaction; his eyes went from mine, to my ass, then back to my eyes before saying,
"Yes."
I plopped down beside him, but I reckon he didn't want that because he pushed me off, onto the floor, and pounced on top of me, tickling my sides, where I happen to be extremely ticklish.
"Dammit, Michael, HOLY SHIT, QUIT!" I bellowed through my laughter, and he released his grip on my sides, but was still sitting with his legs on either side of me, knees bent behind him, his bum on my belly.
"You know you like it, don't lie," he said.
"Maybe," I replied. "But I wouldn't admit it."
Michael got off me and sat on the bed, chuckling.
"I'm going to remember that."
"Remember what?" I asked.
"You're ticklish."
"So?" I said defensively, but playfully. "A lot of people are ticklish."
"Yes, but on you it's really cute."
I blushed and stood up, making sure my alarm clock was set before plopping myself beside Michael, when he proceeded to wrap his arm around me comfortably, my face buried in his warm chest.
"M'tired," he said with a yawn.
"Me too," I said, and we both fell asleep in unison, holding each other tight.
•••
//A/N//
M&M is the reason I breathe brah
HEY GUYS!!!
I KNOW I HAVENT UPDATED IN TURDY SEVEN YEARS I'M NOT DEAD I PROMISE. HERE YA GO, AND I HOPE EVERYONE HAS A MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
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FUN FACT OF THE UPDATE:
The original name of Runaways was going to be Rejects, but I thought naming it after a song would be a bit basic.
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~~ari_the_punkmaster