"Kate," Michael murmurs in my ear, resting his face against my neck. I groan and roll over into his arms, opening my eyes blearily. "Wake up, babe. Work."
I sit as best I can with his arms still around me. "We can't keep sleeping on the couch," I groan, running my hand through his hair absentmindedly. Michael keeps his arms tightly around me and lays his head in my lap.
"I like it," he says, rolling over to look up at me.
"Oh my God, Michael!" From this angle, I can see a dark purple bruise blooming over his jaw. My fingers find his chin and tilt his head away from me so that I can see the bruise clearer.
"I told you he hit me first," he says with a grin.
"You think this is funny?" I ask.
Michael shrugs. "It's not the first time Luke and I have bruised each other."
"Why did he hit you?" I ask Michael quietly.
"Because I pissed him off."
"What did you do to piss him off?" I ask. "You both told me he was helping you."
"He is helping me, he's just doing a shit job of it."
"Michael," I say with a warning tone.
"What?" He huffs. It's a testament to his personality that he can be so irritated and still keep his arms wrapped around me.
"It drives me crazy when you do that."
"Do what?"
"I don't know... that. Whatever you're doing. Your attitude."
"It drives you crazy when I'm myself?" I can hear the smirk in his voice.
"Yes." I crack a smile. Michael turns his face and nuzzles into my stomach. "Please be nice to Luke," I whisper. "I don't like the thought of you two hurting each other."
Michael heaves a deep sigh. "I will try, Katherine."
"Good. Now get off of me, I have to get ready for work." Michael groans but finally releases me, the cold air of the living room rushing in to replace the warmth of his body. I shiver. Michael pulls the blanket back over himself and stretches out on the couch. I look down at him, his eyes closed, and shake my head. He really does make me crazy, but in the best way.
The shower water takes too long to heat up, and there must be a problem with the building's water heater because the hot water only lasts for about 8 minutes. I am fairly certain that my lips are blue when I step out.
Steam rushes out of the bathroom behind me when I step out, wrapped in a towel. Michael is sitting up on the couch, his nose in the same book as yesterday. He does a double take when he sees me, his eyes lingering too long on my towel-clad body.
He clears his throat. "I'm staying here more often," he mumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the book with a smile on his face. I flush and make my way to my room, quickly changing into my work clothes. I run the towel over my wet hair and walk back to the living room.
"I'm going to dry my hair," I tell Michael, gesturing to the bathroom. He stands up, still holding the book close to his face, and walks towards me. Confused, I let him follow me into the bathroom. I have to suppress my smile when he sits down on the edge of the bathtub and returns to reading his book.
I switch on the hairdryer and set to the task; how to dry my hair properly is a skill that I learned long ago. It takes a lot of lifting and brushing and flipping to get it to lay just right. The warm air feels amazing in my hair and along the skin of my neck.
