Damn, You're Cute (Michael Clifford)

Chapter 28

The sunlight outside my window beamed through my eyelids, waking me up. I began to stretch out my arms, but found them restricted. Michael's arms were locked around my body, his head buried in my hair. Our bodies were molded perfectly, both of us facing the sunlight through my window. I didn't know how to feel about how close he was to me. It was slightly reassuring and comforable but something about it was odd and completely foreign.

With his light breaths hitting the back of my neck, I shifted slightly, covering his hands with mine. I linked my fingers through his. Something about waking up next to him gave me a burst of confidence.

I turned in his arms, my chest now against his, but I removed his iron hold around me so that I could still grasp his hands. I clutched his to my chest, playing with his long fingers.He moved slightly beside me.

"Michael?" I whispered, squeezing his hand gently. His eyes fluttered open slowly and a smile immediately formed on his lips.

"Hi," he said softly, making me giggle.

"Hi," I repeated. Michael glanced sleepily down at our hands and my cheeks flushed. I quickly dropped his hands, placing my arms at my sides. I was more bold when he was asleep, I guess. "Did you sleep well?" I asked, afraid that maybe his night wasn't as great as mine.

"Perfectly," he promised. "What time is it?"

"Ten, I think," I murmured, thoughts of how weird and stupid he probably thought I was to hold his hand while he slept. Freak, I chastised myself, rolling out of bed. I quickly remembered that Michael couldn't be rude enough to think of me like that, which calmed me. "C'mon, it's saturday. That means we can do whatever we want,"

A smile found its way onto my lips as I watched Michael groan and climb off my bed.

"And what were you thinking?" he asked, glancing at himself in my bedroom mirror. His fingers picked at his hair, trying to make it perfect piece by piece. After awhile, he gave up, running his palms over the top in a whirl, leaving it messier than before.

"I don't know," I shurgged. "You don't have to do anything today, do you?"

"No," he shook his head, wandering into my bathroom. "I'm using your toothbrush," Michael called out and I squeaked.

"Ew, no!" I shouted, rushing over and prying it from his hands. "I think I have an extra one somewhere,"

An amused Michael watched me as I searched through drawers and cabinets for a toothbrush.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal," he sighed. "I mean, my tongue was in your mouth soo.."

"Michael!" I swatted his arm with a scowl, finally finding what I was looking for. "Shut up! I found your fucking toothbrush anyway,"

"I'm just saying..." he grumbled, taking it from me. "Thanks,"

I leaned against the counter as he carefully examined my toothpaste, squeezing it out on the brush. He poked it in his mouth, scrubbing his teeth.

"So, when are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?" I said after a moment, mostly because he had something in his mouth to keep him from talking. Michael paused, putting up his pointer finger so I'd wait. He crouched over my sink, which only went up to his lower waist due to his height, spitting out the toothpaste.

"I told you. People don't talk about it," he rolled his eyes, putting the toothbrush back down on the counter. He crossed his arms, looking down at me. "I kissed you. You kissed me. Why the fuck do we have to talk about it?"

"Because....because this is new to me," I whined, my lips turned down in a frown. Why couldn't he just humour me and tell me what he thought was going on between us. "And who says we can't be different? Let's talk about it. You're good at talking," I pointed out.