serendipity » m.c

three

Greta had been distracted the whole class. Like she had figured, her thoughts hadn't wavered from Michael, even when she was dancing. Her head was in a whole other world for the three and a half hours she was at class. She sat with her back against the wall, untying her pointe shoes to give her feet some relief.

Even if her head wasn't in it, her feet still hurt more than usual. She could only blame it on herself for not paying more attention. She massaged some of the pain out before dressing and collecting her stuff.

She hoped that Michael had kept to his word and was still waiting for her to get lunch together. She didn't know why Greta let it bother her so much – maybe it was because of how Mrs. Dorothy reacted when she didn't even know Michael. Or maybe it was because he reminded her of her old best friend.

Either way, she hoped he would be outside.

She shrugged on her coat, joining the trickling stream of girls filing out of the school. She pushed out of the door, looking from side to side; her eyes finally settling on a dark figured perched beside the door. He was leaning against the wall, one foot propped up against the bricks, and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket.

When he spotted her, he peeled himself away from the wall. "Hi," he greeted with a wry smile.

"Hi," Greta replied, hiking her bag higher up on her shoulder. She tried to keep the huge smile from blooming on her lips – she was happy to see that he showed up. "Are you ready to go?"

Michael nodded and together they started to walk away from the school. "Listen," Greta started as they walked. "I wanted to apologize for what Mrs. Dorothy said earlier. She isn't exactly the most understanding person," she told Michael, glancing up at his face.

His eyes were cast forward as he listened. But once Greta finished, he shook his head. "Don't worry about it," Michael told her. "I get it all the time. Just look at me, I don't look like the friendliest guy on the block," he chuckled, raising his pierced brow at her.

Greta giggled, knocking her elbow into his as they stepped off the curb to cross the street. "For the record, though," Greta said. "I don't want you to leave me alone. I miss you," she swallowed, taking a deep breath.

Michael blinked the slight wind out of his eyes, but then smiled down at her. "I miss you, too."

-

"So you play in a band?" Greta asked, looking over the menu clutched in her hands. Her dance bag was stuffed into the space beside her in the small booth they were sat at. Michael sat across from her, eyes scanning over his own menu. They were making small talk as they waited for their waitress to return to take their order.

Michael nodded, letting the menu find the table as his eyes found hers. "Yeah, its just me and some of my friends. Do you remember Calum Hood from school?" He asked, licking his lips free of the question.

Greta thought for a moment. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place a face with the name. "Not really," she blushed, "but his name does ring a bell."

"Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, dark skin," Michael tried to paint a picture for her. But Greta just shook her head. It had been a few years since high school, and her and Michael had sort of drifted apart after Mitchell had died. They didn't belong to the same crowds. "Anyway, we practice in his garage. I play lead guitar, sing, and write some of the songs."

"You write songs?" Greta questioned, slightly surprised. The last she remembered, Michael had hated doing any kind of writing. He hated essays and he hated doing any other kind of assignment that involved writing stuff out. He changed more than she even realized.

Michael nodded. "Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "Ever since Mitchell died, writing songs just kind of makes it easier to cope with my feelings. Not just about his death, but with everything," he said, fingers tracing the corners of the menu. "It really helps."

Greta swallowed. She didn't realize she'd be touching on a sore subject. "I'm sorry," she muttered, eyes falling from his. "I didn't realize."

Michael reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "It's okay, Greta. You said it yourself, you didn't realize," he told her, squeezing her hand slightly so she would look up at him.

She met his gaze, his hair falling into his eyes again. He was back to being the boy he was when his brother was alive – a slight smile on his lips and bright eyes, like he had never been hurt before. But it was gone the moment the waitress approached the table, asking to take their orders.

Michael's hand retracted from hers, clearing his throat as he glanced back to the menu, reciting the first thing he saw. Greta told her what she wanted and handed the waitress her own menu before watching her walk off.

"So," Greta started, trying to eliminate the awkward silence the waitress left them with. "What kind of music do you play?" She asked.

Michael smiled, leaning forward onto his elbows. "We like to think it's a mix between pop, rock and punk, but really it's a bit of everything. We draw inspiration from a lot of stuff. You should come by and listen to us soon," he suggested, shrugging a shoulder.

"Yeah," Greta agreed. "Maybe I should. And I can meet your friends, too."

"I think they'd like you," Michael chuckled, leaning back in the booth again. "But when am I gonna see you dance?" He arched a brow at her, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.

Greta blushed, wishing her hair were down so she could hide behind the curtain it made. "I don't know," Greta answered. "We have a recital coming up soon. I'm up for the lead, but the other's I'm up against are just so much better than me."

"Hey," Michael said, his voice softening a bit. It almost didn't match his rough exterior. "Don't take your chance away even before you've tried. You're just as good as those girls, so don't tell me you're not."

"But you've never seen me dance, Michael," Greta argued, though she knew he was right. She knew there was a reason her name was considered for the lead role, and it wasn't out of pity.

"I don't need to," Michael countered. "I already know you're amazing."

-

Greta and Michael finished their lunch, continuing to catch up. They talked about what they had been doing in the few years they hadn't talked. Michael had offered to walk her home, which Greta gratefully accepted, but only after he covered the bill. Greta objected, saying that she should pay for what she had eaten, but Michael wouldn't allow it.

Greta watched their feet as they walked, her own clad in flats and Michael in his signature scuffed up combat boots. It was silent between them, which almost surprised her after how much they talked over lunch. But it was still comfortable between them, as if they didn't need to talk; they just needed to bear near each other.

She had only felt that way once before, and it was with his brother.

And the fact that she was now feeling it with Michael, only made her feel that much more comfortable. She glanced up from her feet, seeing her apartment become closer as they continued walking.

Michael paused in front of her steps, his hands still in his pockets. "Thanks for lunch, Michael," Greta said, stepping up onto the first step. She still wasn't taller than him even with the height advantage.

"It's no problem," Michael shrugged. "We have band practice on Saturday night if you wanted to come," Michael then said. It was only Tuesday, but Greta was sure she didn't have anything planned for the weekend. She nodded, telling him that she would be there. "Also, I was wondering if I could walk you to dance again tomorrow," he said, his eyes peeking out from behind his bangs.

"Are you sure you want to?" Greta questioned, licking her lips. "I mean, after everything that Mrs. Dorothy said."

Michael nodded, another one of his trademark smirks tugging on his lips. "I'm sure, and you won't be late this time." With that said, Michael turned on his heel, and made his way across the street to his own apartment and disappeared.