I have barely moved an inch from the time I fell asleep to the time I wake up. I am warm, with the comforter pulled up to my waist and Michael's heavy arm resting across my stomach. He breathes deeply in his sleep, and I am desperate to see his face. I am worried, in the morning light, that Michael will not feel the same. The dark of the night brings with it the comfort of divulging the darkness within, but when the sun rises, even inner darkness can be banished.
Slowly, so as not to wake him, I turn around in Michael's arm. His face is relaxed into a frown, not the usual passive expression that people wear while they sleep. It bothers me that whatever monsters plague Michael in his life seem to follow him into his dreams.
Without thinking, I reach my hand up and run in through his hair. It is so soft, but oddly textured from the coloring. I repeat the action, lightly running my hand through the lilac-colored strands.
"It's going to fall out if you keep doing that," Michael says. I jerk my hand away in surprise, but relax as soon as I see his hooded green eyes watching me. He woke without a single movement; for all I know he has been watching me for minutes. He grabs my hand and places it against his cheek, a tired smile on his face.
"Good morning," I whisper. Michael just sighs in content, his eyes closing again. I relax a little; he is clearly in a decent mood, despite the heaviness of our conversation last night.
"How are you?" Michael asks, his eyes still closed.
"Good," I whisper. I can't keep the caution out of my voice.
"What are you worrying about?" Michael asks.
"Everything," I laugh a little. "You, mostly."
"What about me?" He asks, opening his eyes and turning to face me. I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to invite that conversation into our peaceful bubble just yet. I can tell that Michael is about to press the issue, so I cut him off with another question that is weighing heavily on my mind.
"Who was that girl?" I blurt.
"What girl?" Michael seems genuinely confused and I roll my eyes.
"That girl from last night with the ugly tattoo," I scoff.
"Kacey?" Michael asks with a smirk. I groan. "Are you jealous, Katherine?"
"Yes," I groan again, shoving his shoulder. "She was all over you!"
"Luke was all over you, so I guess we're even," he laughs.
"Luke was not all over me, we were ballroom dancing," I laugh.
"You were waltzing, actually," Michael points out. "And Kacey's tattoo is actually very cool."
"Kacey," I scoff again, twisting her name to make her sound evil.
"She's just a friend," he shrugs.
"Yeah, does she know that?" I ask.
"Katherine, I like you when you're jealous."
"Well I don't. I'm a raging bitch when I'm jealous and I would appreciate it if you would not do things that bring out that side of me."
"I'll try," Michael smirks. "But you have to stay-"
"I'm not staying away from Luke," I cut him off. Michael huffs in frustration and falls back against the pillows.
"Why do you even like him?" Michael groans dramatically.
"Why don't you?" I counter, raising an eyebrow. Michael chooses not to answer, and I wonder if he even has a valid reason. "Last night you said he wasn't so bad." Michael opens his eyes just to roll them before closing them again. "Luke is on your side," I whisper gently. Michael opens his eyes again and rolls over, looking into my eyes.
