Calum:
You stare at him with a warm smile drawn on your lips; he's smiling as well, staring at you with a new sparkle on his eyes. A sparkle that shouts in silence how happy he is to be home, to be in your bedroom, to be next to you. He can't take being apart from you for so long. He needs you, as he needs the voice to sing and the bass to strum; he doesn't care if he won't sleep in 24hrs, or if the flight is long as hell and the boys were snoring as loud as ever; because he knows he's finally with you. So his smile can't be wider neither bigger. And he's stunned for a couple of seconds, staring at you as he tries to tell himself that he's not dreaming, that you're right there. And only when he had pinched his arms for like the fifth time, he wraps you by the waist and pulls you into a hug, leaving soft pecks on your neck and to the back of your ear, where he whispers, "I missed you so fucking much".
Michael:
A pair of strong and pale arms sneaks around your waistline, as a short kiss is pressed on your shoulders. You don't move, it's normal to Michael to wake up a bit clingy -after had spent months waking up to the same three lads he loved but whom he couldn't kiss- so you were used to it. Until his hands travel down your belly, creeping under the pink fabric of your pajama. "Michael I'm making breakfast!" You scold him, slightly turning your head in his direction so your noses are brushing and you can look at him in the eyes. "And?" He inquires, moving his eyebrows up and down in the Michael Clifford's cheeky way. "Aren't you hungry?" "Not of food", he states as his hands fly to your hips and forces you to turn on your heels and face him properly, his lips immediately attached to the exposed skin of your neck, "Let me enjoy my few weeks at home".
