Band tees and Hair dye. (Michael Clifford)

Band tees and Hair dye. (Michael Clifford) Chapter four.

"If it wasn't for the stunning outfit choice I would've doubted it was really you." He added. I don't think anything could have prepared me for what I was about to see. I turned quickly and I think my eyes may have actually popped out of my skull.

For a start I had to crane my neck to make eye contact with him, and when I did I had to search through the mess of hair that was strewn across the left of his face.  Not only was his hair an utter mess, maybe due to the long drive or maybe it was intentional, but it was the most alarming shade of pink I'd ever laid eyes upon. The type of pink 7 year old girls wear to school disco's.

"You know you're hair is pink right?" I asked and stared at him in disbelief. His arms folded over the black shirt he was wearing, partially covering the logo I could recognise from a mile away. He leant against the van and one leg hooked over the other, a leather boot clad foot scraping against the gravel as he peered down at me.

"Yeah. I do." He let out what I assume was an amused chuckle, his tongue clicking against his teeth before wetting his lips. I didn't realise I was staring at him until a hand was waved in my face. "Sorry, what? Did you say something?" I mumbled and looked up at him. He rolled his eyes but a smiled tugged at his lips as he ran his tongue over them again. "No. You were just staring at me."

  My desire to constrict him in one of the tightest hugs ever known to mankind and to demand every miniscule detail of life in Australia was rapidly disappearing as I stood infront of him in my Disney pajamas. Of course I'd expected Michael to change but the pink hair, torn shirt, leather boots, and what I'm almost certain was a thin ring of eyeliner, was more than a shock to the system. He looked like something from a poster in my bedroom two years ago when nothing but pop punk band members lined the walls.

"Uh, do you want to help bring stuff in or something?" He asked, snapping my out of my thoughts. My jaw snapped shut from its previous position of hanging open, lost in thought, and I nodded. He smiled and disappeared into the van before dumping a box in my arms. "Door at the top of the stairs." He informed me and I nodded, walking into the house quickly without looking back.

    We didn't speak much for the next few hours. More simple instructions were directed at me and I would simply nod or mumble a one word response. It wasn't uncomfortable though. It was like we were just getting used to being in eachothers company again. It was nice. Nice is a naff word but that was really how it was between us for the first few days. Nice.

   They moved in on Tuesday. On Wednesday a piece of paper was dropped through the letter box and the silhouette of a lanky kid, topped with pink fluff, retreated down the garden path.

'text me :)

Michael'

The note was scrawled in pink pen and a phone number was written on the back.

I texted him Thursday and for a few hours we talked about pointless crap before he had to go.

  Friday he called me, at about 10:00 AM.

"Ebony, hi! Are you busy today?" He mumbled around what sounded like a mouthful of food. "Hm, it depends.." I replied, sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cheerios and a glass of milk. "On what?" He scoffed and from the sound of his voice I assumed he'd just woken up. "Well, what are you offering?" I smiled. And that's how we ended up sat in a crappy cafe, trapped by a thunderstorm.