"Pizzas here!" We both flipped shit when the doorbell rang. I hopped up from the couch and ran toward the door.
"Where'd you put the money?!" My eyes scanned the room, searching for the cash.
"It's right there, stupid." Sam pointed back, not even looking in that direction.
"Oh," the cash was sitting on the kitchen island. I grabbed it and headed toward the front door, leafing through it.
"There's no tip," I paused and turned toward him. Sam looked over his shoulder at me.
"They don't need a tip. They're literally two minutes away from here." He rolled his eyes and turned back to the television. He was too sassy. I shook my head and continued to the door. I picked my purse up off the floor and simultaneously opened the door.
"Hi," I said, as I dug through to find some money for a tip. There was no reply. My eyes flashed up to the figure in front of me. My heart stopped. To my complete and utter surprise, there stood the last person I expected to see. A familiar face. Actually, the most familiar face of all. I knew this person better than anyone else. I'd spent days and nights, just admiring him. Admiring his brilliant green eyes, the way they'd shine as he'd talk passionately about his dreams, hopes, his reality. I would get lost, just watching him speak. His lips were absolutely perfect, a light shade of pink, and plump. His crooked smile, his naturally perfect eyebrows, the ways his eyes would crinkle up when he'd smile. I could go on for hours, talking about his face alone. I blinked and studied him. It was him, but not at all as how I'd described. He was pale, paler than usual, his eyes were sunken in and a dull green. It looked like he hadn't shaved in days. His shoulders were slumped and his hands were shoved deep into his sweater pockets. His hair was now a solid brown, which didn't surprise me at all. He looked so scared. It seemed we were standing like that for minutes. Our eyes finally met, I could see a deep sadness in them. One I'd seen in his eyes only once before.
"Kai," he said softly.
I finally took a breath, I hadn't even realized I was holding it. "Michael, what are you doing here..?" I asked hesitantly.
"Can we talk?" His eyes drifted momentarily. He could never make eye contact when he was scared or nervous. It reminded me a lot of when we first met. I didn't reply. I couldn't.
"I wanted to-"
"Come in," I cut him off.
I knew why he was here. I knew exactly why. Despite what we'd been through, despite our major differences, despite the fact that he sometimes terrified me, I knew that Michael Clifford loved me. He loved me unconditionally, and I loved him unconditionally.
