how to make a mixtape :: mgc (fin.)

24. confessions & probations

a/n -- guys im seriously considering discontinuing how to make a mixtape. i feel like nobody is reading this anymore, and it's like writing it is pointless. i used to feel excited and happy while writing this because i knew there would be people waiting for me to update and enjoyed reading it, but now i see no point. comment here if you dont want me to discontinue this, and if i get less than five, i'll stop writing this. there's no motivation for me to prolong this story if there's nobody who actually wants to read it. i sound so selfish, but writing is my passion, and a problem with me is i dont carry out passions unless i have an audience. i hope you all understand, delilah x

"Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

He grasps mine back, turning me around so I'm facing him. I can only see the shape of his hair in front of the moonlight pouring through the window and into his bedroom. It's silent, save from Cobain's low purrs and Michael's heavy breaths. I feel his hands gather me closer to him.

"A steady job, I guess," he says, "and a couple kids. Not to forget a beautiful lawyer wife." He says the last part with a smile.

"You'd better be referring to me, or we're breaking up."

"I swear I'm referring to you."

In the dark, I find his soft lips with my own.

"Michael?" I say, my stomach flips. "I need to tell you something."

His grip on my hand becomes tight, but his tone is leveled. "Anything."

My heart feels swollen, and I'm not sure if I've only just noticed, or if it's specifically happening now. Every time Michael's hands brush along me, or his lips shape my name, my chest contracts and radiated around my body like a heater. Even in the dark, I can feel his green eyes watching me apprehensively. I kiss the hollow in his throat, trying to cool my body temperature. It's not working.

"I kind of, sort of, may have kissed Scout," I tell him, looking up for a reaction. I can't see him, but I let a sheepish smile widen my lips. "It means nothing, of course. Except that she wears this blueberry lip balm which I'm definitely going to buy, at some point, but, you know."

I play with my fingers underneath the blanket, while he lies in silence for a while. I wait with my breath on edge for what he'll say next.

His fingers slip through the tangles in my hair, and every terse muscle relaxes. "It's alright; I kissed Ashton."

"Wait, what?"Surprise shakes me presently. "Are you - are you bi?"

"Yeah." He laughs smoothly, drawing circles into the side of my thigh.

I stop his hand with my own, forming it in a handshake. "Fellow bi trash."

He pulls a face, erupting us both into laughter. We kiss one more time, before falling asleep.

+++

Michael isn't in bed when I wake up, but judging by the rattling of plates and running water, I assume he's downstairs. I hear him playing Sore Throat by 13 Percent, and the smell of eggs and toast is prominent. I throw off the duvet, startling a slumbering Cobain, and tug on a loose pair of shorts underneath Michael's T-Shirt.

"Good morning," he says while I amble into the kitchen, not turning around from the stove. He's shirtless, but has an apron draped over him. "Eggs, bread, or pancakes?"

I walk up behind him, kissing his neck. He smells distinctly of whipped cream. I wipe a bit of flour from his cheek with the heel of my palm.

"Are you on the menu?" I ask, taking the spatula from him and separating the eggs.