As usual, our kiss was left undefined, just like our relationship. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Yes, I really liked kissing Michael. A lot. But I also really liked being with him, and I wasn't sure if I'd be okay if we something happened and we weren't close anymore. Because honestly? I needed Michael.
That night, we didn't do much. We spent all day walking around the city, visiting record stores and art places. It was fun. A good distraction from everything else. So by the time we got back to his place, we ended up just watching old reruns of television shows on his bed and eating popcorn.
Because throwing popcorn at each other counted as eating, right?
Yeah, why not.
After we cleaned up the popcorn that was scattered around the room, we collapsed back on the bed, completely exhausted from the whole day. Well, at least I was. I was curled up by the headboard, trying to make a new character design in my sketchbook. But of course, nothing was working out like I wanted it to.
"Damn it," I hissed, tearing out a page, crumpling up the page and tossing it into Michael's wastebin.
Michael glanced over at me from where he lay at the foot of the bed. "Hey, when did you do your nails?"
"What?" I scrunched my eyebrows at him, peering up through my lashes as he pointed to my fingers.
"Your nails."
"Oh!" I looked down at them. They were matte brown, except for my ring finger which was smooth and shiny. "Yeah, I did them the other day while you were at practice. I hadn't gotten the chance to paint them yet."
"Why brown?"
"Because your hair is brown." I answered, turning my attention back to my sketch book, letting my hand move the pencil half-heartedly across the page."You dye your hair, I paint my nails."
"Oh," Michael slowly nodded. He bit his lip and I could see his eyes light up and the corners of his mouth lift. "I like it."
"Good." I gave him a half smile and going back to my character designs. I hardly drew a few stokes before I groaned in displeasure and tossed my book to the side and fell back against the pillows. I pulled Michael's sweater over my hands and ran them over my face and through my hair. "Fuck this."
"Hey, don't swear." Michael laughed, sitting up and tossing the black notebook I hadn't noticed he had to the side.
"You're not Ashton Irwin." I rolled my eyes at him and crossed my arms.
"No, this is Patrick." Michael crawled over and sat next to me. He poked my cheek, right where my dimples would show if I smiled. "C'mon, cheer up, Lanie."
"Michael..." I sighed, not in the mood for his antics. "I can't do the one thing I'm supposed to do."
Michael pursed his lips, glancing to the side. He furrowed his eyebows and I couldn't help but think he looked absolutely adorable. His brown hair was all mussed up, he also had sweaterpaws, and his expression wasn't as serious as it was but was much more relaxed. I couldn't help but notice how it made Michael look younger. Lately, it'd been hard to believe he was my age, not years older.
Michael snapped his attention back to me, his eyes becoming excited. He quickly patted my knee and then rolled off the bed and to his feet. He held up a finger at me and then scurried over to where his guitar sat in the corner of the bedroom. He quickly picked it up and almost skipped back over to me, plopping himself at the corner of the bed and facing me.
Michael took a short moment to tune his guitar and gave me a thumbs up when he was finished. "Ready?"
"Sure." I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and squeezing my hands between my thighs. I loved when Michael sang. "What song are you gonna play?"
