Your bestfriend!michael was throwing his annual Christmas party this weekend and you had no clue what to wear or who was going to be there.
"Michael please come over and help?" You plead on the phone.
"Fine," he huffs. "Under one condition."
"Okay, what?"
"I'm not telling you, you'll see- bye." Michael hangs up so fast you don't even have time to reply.
You and Michael had been friends since childhood. Sounds cliche, but hey you can't help being born.
You have lived in the same small town of Camden, Maine all your life. And Michael has been right there with you.
Living eighteen years by a northern coastline isn't as fun as you think. It's been the same thing for years. Hot summer, cold winter; hot summer, cold winter and on and on and on.
You and Michael have spent your guys' years building snowmen and swimming in the waters nearby. Yes, a snowman is always built. This year his name is Peter. Don't know why, just is.
Michael has always been there for you despite the three year age difference. He has been like a body guard, even though he had no one to guard you from. Even when he graduated high school and you were still going, he seemed to find ways to protect you. Whether it was going out to lunch twice a week or picking you up during study hall, he always found a way to make sure you were okay during the day.
Michael is doing online college courses for his first two years, he is almost done with his second year. He wants to major in the arts, music to be exact. He's always had a musical nature. No one has ever seen him not humming a tune, bet. This has always interested you. You have always liked listening to music, so you admired how he got so into it.
It's amazing to think, now here you are. Michael is twenty one and you are eighteen. He is coming over right now to help you play for the last Christmas party, of his, that you'll be attending while in high school.
A knock on the door stops your thoughts.
"Come in!" You shout towards the door.
"Y/n!" Mikey yells and he runs up to you and gives you a hug. "Guess what I have!"
"What?" You chuckle and roll your eyes.
Michael whips out a box of red haired dye from behind his back.
"We are dying it. I was thinking about red and green, but then figured that might be too much. Would it? If you don't think so we should go buy it. Because I would totally do that-" Michael rambles.
"Red is cool." You stop Mikey from talking. "Let's do this."
Michael forgot to bring bleach, good thing you always have spare under your sink in the bathroom.
You sit Michael on the edge of your bathtub while you stand in it and massage his head with the bleach.
"It stings!" Michael pretends to cry.
"Aren't you used to this by now, Mikey?"
"Yeah, but I can still feel it."
A few minutes later, the bleach is finally ready to be rinsed out. You lean Michael's head back and use your disconnecting shower head to rinse it out.
"There we go." You rustle Michael's now bleached hair. "All blonde."
"I can't wait to dye it back to red. The red looked wicked." Michael jokingly makes the punk rock sign with his hand.
"Let's just get this over with you goof."
You mix the dye and then put your plastic gloves on. You rest a towel around Mikey's neck so his shirt doesn't get ruined. Then, you proceed to paint the dye on his head.
A couple minutes later you are done painting the dye on.
"You know the routine. Twenty five minutes, then you rinse it out." You inform him.
"I know." He plasters a devious smile on his face.
"What's that for?" You raise an eyebrow.
"Lets play 'how long will it take Michael before he is able to get dye on y/n's face.'"
"No!"
Michael doesn't listen and begins to chase you around your house.
"Michael, I swear to god!" You shout while he chases you.
"I'm going to get you!"
Michael chases you for a few laps around the house before he catches you.
"Please, have mercy!" You laugh.
"Fine," he smirks. "I'll just tickle you."
Anything but tickling.
Michael starts to tickle your sides, causing you to twitch and jump around.
"Cut iT oUt!" You choppily yell.
You punch Michael in the arm and break free.
"Hah, beat that."
*
You have to drag Michael to the bathroom in order to wash out his hair.
"I don't want you to wash my hair. You know how good I am at sitting still." He whines.
"Sit." You demand. Michael sits down by the edge of the tub. "Good boy." You laugh.
"I'm not a dog," he pouts.
You just laugh and turn on the shower. You wait for it to heat up before leaning Michael's head back and wetting it. You then lather his head up with shampoo.
"Don't get it in my eyes!"
"Don't worry, Mikey,"
You rinse his hair out and scrub his head to make sure all of the leftover dye rinses out. You don't want it staining any part of your house. You smile to yourself when you see Mikey grinning as you scrub his head.
Once all of the shampoo is out, you put some conditioner on the ends of his fringe.
"No, y/n, what are you doing?" Michael panics.
"Your hair is getting dry. I'm only doing the ends. I don't want your hair to break." You gather his ends and slip them through your conditioner-coated hands.
"Let that sit."
Mikey is finally all finished. He uses and towel to dry his hair. When he pulls the towel off his hair is a mess. You can't help but laugh.
"Okay, now for the really reason you came here," you exclaim. "Help me pick out clothes."
-
I didn't want to make this blurb a whole friggin book so hopefully by tomorrow part two will be up :-) I'm so glad to be back. I love writing and I love you guys. I'm so amazed that this book went up 3 thousand reads while I was inactive. That made me so so happy. Thank you thank you.
until next time, if you wouldn't mind, check out my other books :-)
-morgan
p.s - merry christmas eve if you celebrate :-)
