Don't Stop | Michael Clifford

Chapter 45

The next day, I wake up with me laying on top of Michael, like, literally on top of him, my chest against his as my head is resting right under his chin. His arms are wrapped tightly around my waist, and he doesn't even seem to mind the extra weight on him. I smile, the sound and feeling of his heart beating against my chest, his breathing, calming me. It's in the middle of the night, although it's starting to get lighter again. I still have a hard time believing it's winter, well, in New York. That it was Christmas just a few days ago. That it's almost a new year.

My bladder is pressed against his lower stomach, around his hips, pressing on it, so I have to crawl out of his arms. I never thought it would be that comfortable to lay on someone like that, but I've come to realize a lot of things while being with Michael. Mostly, that love is a great thing, things like that.

When I return from the bathroom, Michael is sitting up on the bed, he'd thrown off the blanket so it was on the floor now as he's scanning through Facebook by the looks of it. "Hey," I say, walking over to sit in front of him. He smiles, turning off his phone, dropping it onto the madres, before he crawls over to press his lips to mine. I smile, literally attacking him onto the bed. He laughs a bit, his back hitting the bed, making it hit the wall. Both of us stop our movements, starting to laugh.

"At least my parents' room isn't in there," he laughs, me nodding, as I let my hand go through his damaged hair that I've come to love. It wasn't even soft, yet it was one of the greatest feelings in the world. Michael smiles, playing with the tips of my hair, where the color had almost vanished now. "What color were you thinking would be good for you?" he asks, looking up in my eyes again. I shrug, resting my head on his chest again, letting my fingers go up and down his bare torso. Even though he wasn't the fittest, I still loved every bit of him. He wasn't perfect, for a lot of people. But he was perfectly imperfect for me.

"Michael?" My voice is small, and he slightly moves as I realize that he was dozing off.

"Yeah?" His hoarse voice confirms it, since it was fuller of sleep than before. I look up at him, to see him blinking to wake himself up more. His fingers were drawing circles on my waist and I smile at the contact.

"If I hadn't, you know, looked the way I look when we met, do you still think that you would be interested?" I'm trying to make my voice bigger than it is, but I fail. Michael is obviously more awake by my question, and he sits up, me straddling his waist, his hands on my waist.

"I would be stupid not to," he says, trying to lighten my mood. It didn't really answer my question. "Eleanor, I don't love you because you're a model and because you're as beautiful as you are. Although it's a bit plus." That makes me crack a smile as he takes his head closer so our noses are touching.

"A lot of people starts their interest with the person being physically attractive and goes from there," I say, slightly mumbling.

"Honestly, Eleanor, the fact that you were so sassy and snappy made me want to get to know you. Yeah, my first look at you had me mesmerized, but after I left I couldn't help but to smile at how you were towards me. It reminded me that I'm just a normal guy." I smile, pressing my forehead to his, smiling widely. "I would bother you anyways." I laugh, pressing my lips to his, our lips moving in sync for a little while before we pull away.

"In the time we've been together, how much time do you think we've used on making out?" I ask him, playing with his hair. He shrugs, smirking at me.

"Does that include during sex?" I laugh, shrugging.

"Well, before we started having sex, we made out a lot," I say, looking down at his bare chest. "Thanks for being so patient with me, Mikey. I don't think I've thanked you for that. That, and not trying to get further than making out until I said so." He smiles, just nodding.