Damn, You're Cute (Michael Clifford)

Chapter 40

I changed in Michael's bathroom after we returned to his house, slipping on one of his shirts I stole from the floor. I hoped he wouldn't mind because I just couldn't resist. It smelled like him.

Since I had no shorts I kept on my jeans for now, trying to stay comfy in his over-sized shirt.

"Can I come in?" Michael asked, knocking on the door as I brushed my hair in front of his mirror.

"Yeah," I said as I wrestled with the knots in the blonde mess on my head. Eventually they came undone, smoothly running from my scalp to just above my waist.

He opened the door, peeking in.

"You're wearing my shirt," he noticed, leaning against his bathroom's door frame as I worked. He watched carefully as I began to remove my make up with a tissue and warm water. I figured he'd rather see me ugly and without make up than as a raccoon in the morning with my mascara smudged all around my eyes.

"I am," I smiled at him in the reflection of the mirror and mindlessly tugged at the hem of his shirt. "That doesn't bother you, right?"

"No," Michael shook his head quickly, making me me giggle.

"Good."

I finished removing my make up and Michael stepped toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His feet were each placed on the outside of mine and his hands held my hips. I blushed at him through the mirror, seeing him rest his chin on top of my head instead of my shoulder because he was so tall.

"You're really pretty," he said out of nowhere, sounding like a little boy crushing on his young elementary school teacher. He sounded so casual, so Michael, that his simple words made me feel all warm inside.

I felt him watching me in the mirror so I teased him, "Don't worry, you're pretty too."

He rolled his eyes before becoming more serious.

"I can tell you don't see yourself like I do," he murmured, his jaw lightly pushing down on my head every time he spoke.

"Michael..." I breathed out, not wanting to go into this topic. Whenever he compliments me, I can only blush because I can't form words as perfect and sweet as his.

"I'm serious," his green eyes held mine as he slid his hands from my hips to my stomach, hugging me from behind. "I hate when you get insecure."

"Why?" I asked quietly, brushing my fingers along his hands on my front.

"Because I don't get it. You have no need to be insecure about anything," he explained softly and my knees felt weak. Michael has always been kind, but whenever he gets sweet and romantic, my legs turn to jello.

"Maybe in your mind," I reminded him that most people's insecurities were things that they see, not their friends and the people around them.

"Then tell me," he spoke as we stared at each other in the mirror. "What are your insecurities?"

I couldn't help but give him a faint smile. The fact that Michael wanted to confront my issues with myself meant a lot.

"There are a lot of them," I told him. "But starting with the little ones, I guess, my skin first. I feel like it's never clear. There's always a red spot here or there."

Michael furrowed his eyebrows obviously not seeing what I did. He examined my face carefully in the reflection, raking over my facial features.

"The only red I see is that adorable blush you get whenever I say something remotely romantic or nice," he said seriously which made me blush even more. My heart melted knowing he found it adorable when I saw it as highly annoying that my face gets as red as a tomato around him. "What else?"

"My legs," I said honestly. I felt like I could tell him everything I was feeling. Other guys might see it as dramatic but Michael didn't. Never once did he think I was being overdramatic or annoying.

"What's wrong with your legs?" he asked, and his voice was rather high pitched as if he were actually offended that I could ever say such a thing.

I cracked a smile.

"They're just too big," I said, pursing my lips as we both looked down at my legs which were covered with my jeans. I took notice to my thighs, which were far larger than I wanted. "Which I guess leads to the real insecurity that tops them all."

Michael waited patiently, moving one hand from my stomach to my thigh to wordlessly tell me that my legs were fine.

"My weight," I cringed just thinking about it. I saw Michael frown in the mirror.

"Why?" he murmured and I could sense his disapproval. We've been over this before, but every time he seems a little bit more upset about it.

"Because I weigh more than other girls and have to eat less than them," I sighed. "Like, I have to exercise and do other stuff too but I'm never getting skinnier."

"Leah," Michael's eyes pleaded mine to look at him. "You act like you're overweight or unhealthy!"

"Because in my mind, I am," I told him. I was being completely truthful. This was how I felt. I knew I wasn't heavy but I also knew I wasn't a stick.

"But you're not," he pointed out, moving his hands under my shirt to press against my stomach. I involuntarily sucked in but after a moment, I breathed out. Michael wouldn't judge me. He didn't care what I looked like.

These thoughts made my inside bubble with happiness.

"You may not like your curves," he said, his mouth near my ear as he whispered and ran his hands up and down my sides. "But I do. And you may not like your hips," he squeezed my waist lightly. "But trust me, Princess, I do," he smirked.

Michael was intoxicating me with his nicknames, minty breath, endearing words, and charming looks.

"So, can you just believe me when I tell you that you're beautiful?" he finished and I couldn't fight the grin that was spreading across my lips. It wouldn't go away, not even when I tried to fight it off.

"Okay," I said in a hushed tone because I couldn't process that Michael had actually said those amazing things. It felt like he had known me forever and knew just how to make me feel good about myself. No one had that control over my feelings but him, and I was perfectly okay with that.

"I'm glad we agree," he gave me a goofy grin and I reached back over my shoulder, delicately knotting my fingers in his new red hair.

"Can we talk about you now?" I asked him and he shrugged.

"If you want to,"

I nodded, not removing my hand from his hair. We gazed at each other in the mirror for a second before I spoke.

"I really like your new hair," I said for the millionth time. He laughed and put my hands back at my sides. "And your tattoos and piercings."

"You don't have to lie if you don't," he told me and I scowled at him.

"You got to tell me what you thought, so now I get to tell you and I actually really do like this new look." I explained, seeing him blink at me in the reflection. "But what I like the most is how sweet you are,"

For the first time in awhile, Michael's cheeks went red before mine.

"You always know what to say and just now, all that...that meant so much to me," I said, afraid to embarrass myself if I said anymore. "So thank you."

He just grinned at me.

I yawned after I finished talking, leaning my head back on his shoulder. "Can we go to bed now? I'm tired."

Michael nodded, capturing my eyes one last time in the mirror before we settled in under his blue duvet on his bed.