#stiles24

It is Thursday night which you and Michael have designated for movie night. The two of you are laid back on the couch, sharing an extra-large blanket and a bowl of Cheetos placed between you. The cheddar snack quickly disappears bite by bite as Lex Luthor goes on and on about his plan to blow up the west coast of California. A large portion of the Cheetos is chowed down within the time Lex starts his speech to the time he finishes, a solid two minutes of jabbering. Stupid Luthor hands all the information over to Superman.

“See, the problem is that the villain always talks too much shit,” you say. “They would actually have a chance at world domination if they just shut up.”

Michael chuckles, amused at how you get so riled up over a movie you didn’t even want to watch in the first place. You wanted to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But of course, Michael had attacked you with his classic combo of begging and threats of sitting on you, until you finally consented to marathon a bunch of cheesy old superhero movies. Now the two of you are discussing the incompetency of the so-called ‘villains.’

“Leave them alone,” Michael defends.  “They worked hard to craft their brilliant plot of destruction. They just want to gloat and enjoy the satisfaction of seeing their enemies suffer.”

“But they get all cocky, talk too much, and blab their whole plan. That’s how all villains fuck up in the end.”

Michael shifts in his seat, trying to get in another comfortable position. He never could sit still for long. Amused, you watch as he wiggles around like a restless child before finally settling back down and pulling the blanket up higher to his chest. Michael is utterly oblivious that the smallest things about him- his weird habits and quirks and flaws- make him so perfect to you.

“If you were in their shoes,” Michael protests, “you can’t honestly tell me that you wouldn’t give a monologue too. That’s so lame.”

You stick up your nose at your best friend.

“I don’t need a monologue to be a kickass super villain. Lay low, stay hidden, then sneak attack and mow over the whole earth. The less others know, the more powerful you are.”

Michael shakes his head, clearing disagreeing with your strategy. It doesn’t surprise you though. He always was the risk-taker, the one who lived by mottos like ‘hakuna matata’ and ‘take life by the balls.’

“Power comes from fear,” Michael corrects you. “Y/N, you have to make them fear you. Let them know you intend to wreak havoc. Make them cower at your evil mastermind.”

“Please. You couldn’t hurt a fly if you tried.” You nudge him with your elbow in his soft stomach, soft like his whole personality. You can’t help but chuckle knowing just how sensitive Michael really is. “I’ve seen you cry at Bambi.”

Michael knows you’re right but he hates admitting it. That’s what makes it fun to hold the Bambi sob fest incident over his head for as long as you can. It’s your go-to ammo for teasing him. Michael just flips you off while wearing his classic smirk and then returns his eyes to the screen.

You sigh to yourself, wondering if Michael realizes how easy and natural you two are together—if he is experiencing the same unadulterated happiness that you are in this moment.

Saturday morning you get your answer. You roll out of bed just the same as any other day. Your usual breakfast of toast and some fruit awaits your consumption in your kitchen like it does every morning. The floor is cold against your feet as you shuffle down the hall towards the kitchen. But when you turn the corner, you bump into an unknown guest. The collision causes you to stumble back a few steps and nearly piss your pants from the scare.

The stranger mutters an apology that you can barely process, because of both the early hour and initial shock of an intruder.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Y/N. I live here. Who are you?”          

“Oh.” The stranger pauses to think before introducing herself. “Hi. I’m Morgan, Michael’s date from last night?”

She grins as though she’s timid, but you don’t see how she could possibly be embarrassed about anything. There’s nothing she could possibly be insecure about. The walk of shame looks good on her. Messy strands of hair covering her face, skin aglow with warmth, and Michael’s large wrinkled sweater hanging off her body—the sweater you had bought for him. The sweater has her scent on it now and that fact stings like an absolute bitch. It cuts deep. And god she’s gorgeous. She has the things you want most in life but can never seem to get: confidence and Michael.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Morgan apologizes. “But Michael didn’t mention he had a roommate.”

Not only did Michael let this girl wear his special sweater, but he never mentioned you to her. He didn’t even tell you he had a date. It’s a sobering slap to the face. At least you have a clear message now. No need to wonder anymore. He doesn’t like you and he never did. You feel like a complete idiot for believing he might actually have feelings for you.

“I hope we didn’t make too much noise last night,” Morgan says.

You want to hurl at the thought of hearing them. A real guttural nausea settles deep inside your stomach.

“No, I went to bed early. Didn’t hear anything,” you tell her. The only tiny smidgen of relief you have is knowing they couldn’t have had too much fun in the sack if they were so quiet. Their hook up couldn’t have been anything spectacular.

“So how do you know Michael?”

“We’re just friends.” You try to mask the pain in your tone but you don’t know if you’re fooling Morgan. Hell, you’re not even fooling yourself.

Morgan opens her mouth to speak again, appearing as if she has another question. But she stops herself from asking when Michael steps into the room. Again, he’s forgotten to put on pants or chosen not to wear them. Either way, you’re displeased with him for parading his nakedness around. Michael greets his lady friend with a morning kiss, his hands resting on her waist longer than your liking. They exchange cheeky smiles and for that moment, your entire existence ceases to be and you feel the sheer pain of being chosen over.

Run-ins with Morgan become a regular occurrence over the next few days. She attaches herself to Michael’s hip. You find it odd and uncomfortable that she was so quick to worm her way into his life. And he doesn’t even seem to mind it. She is there in the mornings, taking up the hot water. She is there during the day, eating food from your fridge. Worst of all, she is there at night, staying behind Michael’s door. From the very beginning, you knew Michael was the type to fall easily. One of the things you admired most about him was also his greatest weakness– he was too trusting, too eager for love to come his way.

One rare afternoon, you get a moment alone with Michael. You have no clue where Morgan went but you don’t question it. You’re at your limit.

“How are the repairs to your apartment coming along?” you ask him.

“Slow but steady. Should be done in another week and a half. Why ask?”

“Just curious.” Fuck. You can’t handle a whole other week of this torture. “Do you think you’d want to stay with Luke for a few days? I heard he’s got a spare room at his new place and the new FIFA game.”

“No because Luke makes a goddamn mess in the shower and eats all my snacks,” Michael moans. Then he studies you with a puzzled look. It’s not like you to ask such insinuating questions, let alone insinuate he should leave. “You want me to go. Why?”

“No it’s not that-”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“I swear, I was just curious” you say.

“You can’t lie to me.” He rolls his eyes, not buying it.

“Forget it Michael. It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit Y/N. Tell me,” he orders.

“Fine! Because I love you,” you break down. The words slip out your mouth so fast and hot that you don’t realize you’ve actually said them aloud until your confession sits simmering on your lips. It’s the first time you’ve finally allowed yourself to unleash what you’ve bottled up for so long. The sensation is scary and unfamiliar and sends a wild rush of blood coursing within your veins. Now that you’ve said it, everything else you’ve hidden can come rushing out. “Because I’m in love with you, Michael, and I need it to stop. The only way that’s going to happen is if we go back to the way it was, where you have your space and I have mine and I don’t have to fall harder for you day after day.”

“Y-you…you love me? In love with me?”

You can’t even lift your head to look him in the eyes. Sinking into a puddle and living the rest of your days in underground sewers sounds like a more preferable option right now. But God doesn’t let you escape without facing your emanate and dreadfully awkward situation. Michael is still standing here with a blank stare, awaiting you to say something- to say anything at all.

“Yeah, maybe. I guess so,” you mumble.

Michael wipes his face with his hand as if trying to sober up to this sudden dose of reality. A truth so large is not easy to wrap his head around. He must have questions, and his questions must have questions. Even so, there’s no way to understand a revelation like this, especially when he’s still in a state of shock.

“Since when?” he asks.

You only offer him half a shoulder shrug.

“Y/N, since when?” Michael raises his voice. “Answer me.”

“Since forever.”

“What the actual fuck!” he shouts.

You take a step back to give Michael some space to breathe. He would never hurt you. You are one hundred percent sure of that. Getting loud and swearing is just his way of processing things, how he always works through his thoughts. You’ve seen him like this before, just not directed at you. In a lame attempt to divert the conversation, you try to downplay the importance of your dumb feelings.

“Please, just forget it. It doesn’t matter, okay? You already made your choice.”

“What choice? I didn’t even know I had a fucking choice,” Michael yells. “How is that fair, Y/N? All this time and you couldn’t bother to tell me you liked me? You didn’t tell me shit.”

“Because I didn’t know how,” you snap.

You’re on the edge of spilling into tears now. Not because of Michael, but because of yourself. You had been so worried about messing things up that your own precautions and secrecy became the cause of downfall. How ironic. This was all on you.

“How hard is it to tell someone you love them?” he accuses. “Just tell them. That’s your problem, Y/N. You never say what you want.”

“Well I’m not you, Michael! I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve like you do.”

Michael isn’t fairing much better compared to you. He’s everything from confused to shaken to angry. You can tell he wants to take a break from this long overdue talk, but he’s too revved up now. His hunger for some type of explanation is too strong. In fact, Michael is desperate. He takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes, searching for answers that you might be too afraid to tell him aloud.

“But it’s me, Y/N,” Michael says. “We’ve always told each other everything.”

The thing about your best friend is that he’s a stubborn ass when he wants to be. Clearly, Michael is unwilling to do anything except point out how wrong you were to not speak up. If he’s so adamant, then you’ll just have to follow him down that dark and windy road.  

“Fine, say I had told you sooner. Would that even have made a difference?”

One question is all it takes to make the tables turn. One little question and his entire position falls apart, his whole line of logic derailed like a tragic train accident. He blinks at you, unable to think of any reasonable response that could keep him afloat. You’re throwing him in the water to sink or swim. You’re asking him to ponder the possibility of you and him together, something he’s never thought about before, at least not to your knowledge. It’s a foreign idea. It’s strange and scary. Now he has to think about it.

Michael’s silence speaks volumes. He’s never considered you two a possibility.

“See? Face it, Michael.” You swallow hard, willing the shake in your voice to go away. “It wouldn’t have matter if I had told you because you don’t look at me that way. Not like I blame you. I know I can’t make you feel the same. It’s my own fucking fault for falling for you. But I’ll be fine. Just give me some time.”

“Y/N,” he starts, without the words to finish. He doesn’t know what to say to make you feel any better.

You wipe the tears from your face as swiftly as you can, hoping Michael doesn’t see how pathetic this ordeal has made you. Taking in a deep breath, you muster up a measly scrap of dignity to excuse yourself.

“On second thought, you can stay here Michael,” you give in. “It’s my problem, not yours, so I’ll go to Luke’s.”

You walk away. Michael calls after you but you don’t have it in you to face him anymore. Instead you just close the door behind you.

You roll your eyes at him. You haven’t even found any luggage to start officially packing yet, and he’s already calling it quits. The only thing you’ve accomplished was getting Michael’s documents straightened out. His itinerary, passport, and ticket are all set in proper order so he can get through the airport as painlessly and effortlessly as possible. He had denied that it was even necessary, but he’ll just have to thank you later. Still, he is resisting all other efforts to prepare for his travels.

“You have to pack,” you remind him for the umpteenth time.

“But I’d rather make out right now.”

He gives you that look—those big pleading eyes, the charming slight upturn of those berry red lips. For a second, you almost give in, but manage to hold your resolve.

“No, Michael. None of your stuff is even ready to go and you leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Which is exactly why we should make the most of the time we have left,” he reasons.

Without warning, he leaps towards you, snaking his arms around your waist. He makes quick work of dragging you to the bed with him, all the while giggling into your neck. Michael playfully pushes you down onto the mattress, his soft body falling on top of yours. Then he begins peppering kisses everywhere his lips can reach. You can feel his warm hands slowly tracing up and down your thighs before he grabs your legs, wrapping them around his waist. Any other day, you would have caved in to his affections and eagerly returned your own affections back tenfold, but there’s too much on your mind. You can’t bring yourself to put your worries aside.

Michael easily senses your mental absence and pulls back to scan you over with worried eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brushing the hair from your face.

“Nothing, just tired.”

“You’re such a liar,” he accuses.

“Am not.”

“I call bullshit.” He gives your hips a tight squeeze and pecks your lips once more, trying to coax the answer out of you. “Come on. Tell me.”

You wrestle your way out of Michael’s embrace, refusing to say anything more. He watches you turn away from him, his room suddenly filled with a deadly silence. He certainly knows it’s not nothing. Michael might not be organized, but he’s no idiot. You feel the mattress shift beneath you as Michael scoots closer, grabbing your hand and kissing it.

“Are you going to miss me?” he probes gently. “Is that why you’re like this?”

You shake your head no.

“You sure? Because it’s okay if you’ll miss me.”

“M’sure. It’s nothing,” you say, trying to sound convincing. “Now go get your damn luggage.”

Michael doesn’t push any further. He knows better than to taunt a snarling wolf, let alone prod when you’re clearly not ready to talk. Complying with your wish, he goes away in search of something to pack, leaving you to sulk in soundless solitude-- but only for a moment. You don’t let yourself sulk for too long because there’s one thing you swore you wouldn’t do. You swore you wouldn’t cry.

Putting on a brave face, you follow after your boyfriend, hoping he’ll find a suitcase big enough so maybe, just maybe, you can stow away and go with him.

The inevitable arrives. Michael’s flight is just over an hour away. Apart from the normal noise and chaos of the airport, Michael’s staff was able to grant you a surprisingly decent amount of privacy. Thanks to your boyfriend’s persistent pestering, security found a more secluded area to say goodbyes. His staff was contractually obligated to stand close-by, but they turned their backs, not bothered enough to eavesdrop on your quaint moment. The other band mates have already gone ahead to the TSA checkpoint.

“Michael, promise you won’t lose anything. Don’t lose your passport. Don’t lose yourself. And-”

“Don’t lose your heart,” he finishes for you. “I promise.”

“Good.” You muster up the tiniest of smiles. “Well, you have everything so--”

Michael cuts you off by tugging you close and letting his lips fall on yours. He collects the one last thing he needs from you—a goodbye kiss. It’s gentle but greedy, taking every ounce of your breath. Your hands find his, despite knowing full well you’ll have to let go in a matter of minutes, but you can’t resist. You need his touch one last time. Michael takes his sweet time, drawing out goodbye as long as he possibly can. He is feverish for you, never ceasing to break apart until the announcement interrupts.

Flight 1210, now boarding. All passengers please report to Gate 8.

Michael stares at you with wide eyes as he slings the duffel bag over his shoulder. His hand slips from your grasp and you watch him turn around, slowly slinking away. His tall figure grows smaller as he fades into the distance, and his fluffy blonde head completely vanishes from sight when he turns the corner.

The cry you’ve been swallowing down finally comes back to bite you in the ass. Tears slide down your cheek in hot, salty streaks. The sympathetic glances from on-looking passersby’s only makes the tears fall faster. Even with your eyes shut tight, the tears still manage to break free. Your entire body is shaking. Hastily tugging at the sleeves of your sweater, you try to wipe the evidence of heartbreak away when two firm hands grab hold of your wrists.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it,” Michael says, bringing you into his secure hold. “Why couldn’t you just admit it earlier so we could’ve talked about it, huh? Why’d you lie when I asked if you were going to miss me?”

You collapse into his chest, spilling your heart out into his now wet shirt.

“Because I’m not gonna miss you. I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.”

Michael strokes your hair, rocking you gently.

“Me too, me too,” he hushes. “But what’s wrong with that, huh? Why couldn’t you tell me earlier?”

You hesitate to share. Your reasons seem so stupid now and they don’t even matter anymore. With Michael, you realize you don’t have to hide anything. There’s no use trying. You can’t hide anything from him. He gets you and there’s no turning back from that.

“I didn’t want to be clingy,” you admit. “I wanted to be brave for you.”

Michael kisses your forehead, and then cups your face in his hands. Through his red glassy eyes, you still see his winning smile.