Trigger warning: Anxiety, panic attacks, blaming yourself, Rich setting a fire and burning down the house (WHOAAA)
Y/n's POV
Michael and I feel asleep in my bed together. Calm down, nothing happened. When I woke up, it was actually a little relaxing having him there. His chin was rested on top of my head and I was curled in a ball with Michael's arms wrapped around me. I held still for a moment, enjoying the moment. That's when I heard Emma.
"Y/n! Time to get up!"
"Crap," I whispered. "Michael, Michael, wake up."
He opens his eyes slowly. "What?"
I sat up, a pounding in my head. Oof. I drank way too much. "Shh, my foster mom will hear you."
"Your foster mom?" he asked sleepily. Then his eyes widened. "Your foster mom!"
I nodded. "We gotta get you out of here. She's gonna skin you alive if you finds you in here. She'll assume the worst, of course."
"Well, at least, I feel asleep in my clothes," Michael whispered as he put on his glasses. "Where are my shoes?
I heard Emma knocking on the door. "Y/n? Did you bring a friend over? I thought I heard voices."
"Crap," I whispered to Michael before calling to Emma, "No, no friend. Just me."
"Oh, okay, I'm coming in then, sweetie."
Michael and I exchanged worried glances as the door opened, revealing my foster mom holding a basket of laundry. "Oh, hello, dear," she said to Michael before addressing me. "I thought you said that you didn't have any friends over."
"Um, yeah, well, I kinda thought you'd freak out."
"Of course not, Y/n. I was just about your age when I started have sex--"
Both Michael and I blushed a deep red color. "Emma, we didn't have sex. We just lived closer to Jake's house."
"Of course not, dear," she said, giving me a wink. "Well, are you gonna introduce me or what?"
"Um, Emma, this is Michael Mell. My friend. And only my friend. Because we didn't have sex."
"Nice to meet you, Michael," she said.
"Michael, this is my foster mom, Emma Robertson."
"Ms. Robertson, it's lovely to meet you. I've heard so much about you. And I assure you, Y/n and I did not have sex. She likes Ri--"
I threw a pillow at his face before he could finish his sentence.
Emma smiled at me. "I like him."
I rolled my eyes. "You would."
"I'm making pancakes for breakfast, is that okay?"
I nodded. "Thanks, Emma."
"That okay, Michael?"
"Um, I don't think I'll stay for breakfast," he said quickly.
"Nonsense," Emma said. "Y/n, wash that make-up and fake blood off your face. You'll get zits."
"Yes, Emma," I said.
"Also, Max and Callie will be up soon, so Michael will get to meet them, too."
I groaned. Emma had recently taken two new foster kids: Max and Callie, nine-year-old twins. They were loud and annoying. Definitely not what my hangover headache needed.
Emma left my room with a smile to the both of us. "Michael, do you have--"
"Here," he said, handing me Ibuprofen without even letting me finish my sentence.
