Luke
You’re one of those girls who appreciates a nice day, who takes advantage of it, and doesn’t let it go to waste. And today is categorized as one of those nice days. It’s one of the few days that Luke has alone with you, so you drag him along with you to the local park. The spot you pick is quiet and secluded, with the exception of the distant giggles of small children and the chirps of a few songbirds. You’ve packed a picnic and a couple of books to pass the time in the soft sunshine. Luke, meanwhile, has brought his guitar and his worn notebook full of lyrics and ideas. You smile as he starts to gently strum the strings, creating a beautiful melody. Soon, you are drawn into your book, occasionally stopping to listen to Luke’s hypnotizing voice. So absorbed in your story, you don’t notice when the music beside you stops. Suddenly, you feel a weight on your lower back and realize that Luke is sitting on you. You try to turn your head to look at him, but he prevents you from doing so. “Stop moving,” he instructs. You frown in confusion and close your book. “Luke, what are you doing?” You feel him shift and take hold of your hair. “Luke—-.” He interrupts you. “Shh. Read your book.” You shake your head in amusement (which he scolds you for) and return to your book. You realize somewhere along the way that he’s trying to braid your hair. He is very gentle, being careful not to tug on the strands too hard. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” you ask. “Um…no,” he confesses and you giggle. “I just thought it would be cute to do your hair, but it’s not going too well.” You smile. “I think it’s cute that you’re trying”. You return to your book and soon after, you feel him lean back to survey his masterpiece. “There,” he says. “I’m finished. But hold still, I have to take a picture.” He takes a picture and hands you his phone. You’re actually surprised; somehow he’s managed a half decent braid and embellished it with daisies. “That actually looks really good, babe. Where’d you learn how to braid?” you ask him. He shrugs and takes the phone from you. “I don’t actually know… I think a girl taught me in first grade or something. I must have been really bored.” You giggle as he flips you over and leans down to kiss you, first on the nose, then on both cheeks, and finally on your lips. You spend the rest of the day in your messy braid kissing, reading, singing, and running after the ice cream trolley (you share a triple scoop Neapolitan with him). You’ve definitely made the most of the day.
Michael
The slits in the blinds let rays of sun into the room where you’re snuggled beside Michael, who is, unlike you, asleep. You look over at him and gently run your hand through his hair. He wrinkles his nose and you know you’re successful in your goal of waking him up. He groans and opens his eyes to look at you. “Hey you,” he says in a deep, raspy voice. You smile. “Hey yourself.” You spend most of the morning tangled in each other’s arms and the sheets, talking, and kissing (how could you resist?). It’s noon by the time you decide to get out of the warm covers. He sits at the table, tweeting the fans, while you make a large brunch of eggs, hash-browns, pancakes, and cinnamon-sugar toast. Absorbed with flipping the pancakes, you jump when a pair of arms slide around your waist and a head rests itself on your shoulder. “This looks delicious,” he whispers in your ear, kissing down your neck. You giggle and turn. “Unless you want burnt pancakes, I suggest you stop Mr. Clifford.” He smiles and removes himself. “As you wish, Mrs. Clifford.” Though you’re not married, he still likes to call you that, and you have to admit that you like it too. It fits. After you’ve eaten brunch, you both settle on the couch with gaming controllers and play Xbox for hours. At the beginning, he lets you win, but then becomes competitive and doesn’t let you win again. After the sun sets, it’s movie time. You make popcorn, defrost some deep dish pizza, and settle in front of the TV. He sits on the couch and you sit in between his legs, on the floor. Halfway through the second movie, you feel his hands combing through your hair. Luckily you’re not tender-headed, or it would have hurt. “What are you doing Mikey?” you ask. “Trying to braid your—- Shit, sorry!” he exclaims when he yanks a hair out. You giggle, hearing how focused he is on his task. “You don’t know how, do you?” He lets out a sigh of indignation and lets go of your hair. “No! I didn’t mean to offend you, babe. It feels good when you play with my hair,” you say, leaning your head back to look up at him. “As you wish, Mrs. Clifford,” he says, leaning down to kiss you. You end up watching three more movies, until the early hours of the morning. All the while, Michael plays with your hair, even when you’re curled into his arms on the couch, too tired to keep your eyes open. He turns off the TV, kisses you on the forehead, and you both fall asleep.
Ashton
It’s 7 AM and you’re lying on the pavement in front of the house, your head resting on Ashton’s chest, and a cup of tea just inches from your fingertips. The steam has long since ceased to billow from the rim of the cup, indicating that it’s too cold to drink, at least for you. The sun is inching over the horizon, casting long shadows over the street. A light breeze brushes your hair back, and you shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around his torso. You lay there for what seems like hours. No cars pass by, no one walks out of their door to collect the morning newspaper, no one opens their window. You like mornings like this, when you feel like you’re the only people alive. Mornings when you don’t have to think about your plans for the day, because you don’t have any. At some point, when the sun manages to pull itself above the tree line, you mention something about a tire swing that Ashton promised he would make you. Then he mentions something about never making a promise like that. But he gets up anyways and drags the spare tire he got from the dump a few days ago out of the garage, along with a sturdy rope. In no time, he has it strung from the tree in the front yard. You feel like a child again as he pushes you in circles. You throw your head back and let out a contented laugh; he can’t help but laugh along with you. You start to get frustrated when your long hair gets tangled in front of your eyes, and you almost lose your balance as you try to sweep the strands out of your line of sight. Ashton pulls the swing to a stop and steps behind you. He pushes your hands away from your face and gently combs his fingers through your hair, separating all the tangles. You start to turn to ask what he’s doing, but he scolds you and tells you to stay still. You stop moving and close your eyes as he tugs on your hair. Minutes pass by and he finally lets go. You pull your hair around your shoulder so that you can see what he did. “I learned how to fish…. fish braid for you. Impressive huh?” You giggle. “It’s called a fishtail, babe. And yes, I am very, very impressed,” you say, looking up at him from the swing. You hook your arms around his neck and pull him down for an upside down kiss. He smiles and kisses you on the nose before straightening up again. “Say, why don’t we visit those little girls around the corner and grab some lemonade?” he asks. You nod and take his hand to go buy some ridiculously expensive squeezed lemon pulp. But it was worth it.
Calum
It’s Calum’s day off and you two have spent most of the day watching TV and cuddling (what else is there?). 2:16 PM. At the moment, you’re curled against him, your ear against his chest, as he watches the Big Bang Theory. You’re mesmerized by the steady beat of his heart and the low vibrations that make your ear tickle every time he laughs. One of his hands is wrapped around your waist, keeping you from rolling off the couch, and the other his gently stroking your hair. You end up falling asleep against his warm body, forgetting that you have somewhere to be in two hours. 3:39 PM. You slowly open your eyes, feeling fulfilled from your short power nap. The couch beside you is warm, but no one is there. You realize that Calum is standing above you, shaking you awake. “Babe, get up, your interview is in 30 minutes.” Shit. So it wasn’t exactly a short power nap. It was more like a good night’s sleep. You had planned to have an hour to get ready, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. “Calum,” you whine. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” He pulls you up off the couch and pushes you into the bedroom. “Sorry babe. I fell asleep too,” he apologizes. You quickly change into your dress and sit in front of your mirror to do your makeup. Ten minutes? You could work with that, but you’re extremely incompetent with makeup, since you never put it on. Then you realize that you have to do your hair. “Shit!” you yell, grabbing concealer and dabbing it on. You feel two hands on your shoulders, giving you a massage. “Calm down, babe. Give me your brush.” You don’t have a clue what he’s going to do, but you hand him the brush and continue struggling with your makeup. You feel him gently comb through your tangles until your hair is silky and soft. He starts to pull your hair back and you can see him biting his lip in concentration. Just as you finish your makeup, he steps back and smiles. “You look gorgeous.” You smile back at him and turn around to see your hair in the mirror. Your jaw drops when you see a beautiful french braid down your back. Before you can ask for an explanation, he simply says, “My sister taught me when we were younger.” You stand up and press a kiss to his lips, before slipping on your shoes and grabbing your purse. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He smiles and gives you one last kiss before you run out the door. “No problem, babe. Good luck!” he yells after you. You get the job.
