𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

"Certainly. I'll let him know as soon as he comes downstairs."

"Oh, thank you, (Y/N). You're a real help."

"It's nothing, really. See you later tonight."

The phone went dead in your hands and you sighed, letting it slip out of your fingers and clatter to the floor. Pretending to be wide-awake ate up just about all the energy you conserved from those whopping two hours of sleep.

You couldn't remember much of whatever transpired the night before, besides the fact that you almost died. You could remember hands, warm hands. The beach that had somehow morphed into a cave. You remembered David and the green bottle he offered you to drink from. But it was all blurry—like you were picturing everything through a veil.

Shuddering, you tried to wrap Micheal's jacket tighter around your middle. It was cold in his bedroom despite the blinding sun that penetrated the murky glass windows in a direct attack on your eyes. Still weighed down with grogginess, Michael mumbled something into his pillow and threw his arm over your waist, hauling you closer to his chest where it was the warmest.

Tugging up the sleeve of the jacket, you peered down to see that your injury had been neatly bandaged. You figured your knee had also been taken care of, but you didn't really have any motivation to move and check.

"You're babysitting tonight," you said, voice much softer than it had been on the phone talking to his mother.

"I have plans."

"Tell your mother that."

Finally unlatching himself from your side, he rolled over and ran both hands across his face. "Can't you watch Sam?"

"Can't you not go off and join that terrifying biker gang?"

Michael chuckled with his eyes closed, lips parting in a lazy smile. "You didn't seem to think they were terrifying last night."

The longer you spent with your eyes open, the more you recalled from the night before. There were the boys...four of them. David, Dwayne, Paul, and Marko. They'd been so affectionate with you like you'd been meeting again instead of for the first time. And somehow you understood that. Somehow it felt like you'd known them your entire life.

Just when you were considering laying back down, the bedroom door burst inward and Sam waltzed in with a cocky smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He looked like he was about to say something before he paused, realizing that his brother wasn't entirely alone. "You guys having a party in here?" He joked.

Michael sat up, glaring at his younger brother. He looked pale in the dim light. Sickly. "What the fuck, dude?" He barked, reaching down for a crew neck to pull on over his white t-shirt. "Why are you so jumpy this morning?"

"Morning?" Sam scoffed, kicking the corner of the bed frame. "It's like three o'clock, dude."

All of a sudden, you felt the last drop of tiredness leave your body. You sprang up on the mattress, watching both boys' eyes widen in surprise. "In the afternoon?" you pressed, eyebrows raised disbelievingly. There was no way you slept in until three in the goddamn afternoon. It was unheard of. Impossible.

"Uh, yeah?" Sam replied, looking between you and his brother as if to say 'is she ok?' (which you absolutely weren't, by the way).

"Fuck!" you cried out, scrambling to your feet and quickly shrugging off the leather jacket before tossing it back onto the bed, where it smacked Michael right in the chest. 

"I have to feed my dog! Shit, fuck, sorry Sam!" You paused your string of curses to apologize to the younger boy, momentarily forgetting that he was significantly younger than you and not as accustomed to your constant cussing habits. 

Before sprinting out the door, you even halted to ruffle his short blonde hair, ignoring his playful protests in order to continue your adrenaline-fueled rampage through the rest of the house.

 He laughed, not bothering to straighten it back out as he watched you leave, listening to you tearing down the stairs. It wasn't until the screen door slammed shut in your wake that either of the boys said anything.

Sam, being the scheming little shit that he was, swaggered across the room and threw open the thin curtains, bathing the previously darkened room in natural light. Michael hissed and turned away, wincing. "What's your damage?" He nearly growled. He hadn't felt like himself since coming home that night. 

He barely remembered the commute home on his bike, going slower than he'd ever gone before just in case you decided to slip off the back. You'd fallen asleep at one point, but he didn't know exactly when. He remembered carrying you up the stairs as quietly as he could and passing out beside you on his bed. 

But everything before that—the cave and that weird wine that David made him drink? That had yet to come back to him.

"What's your damage?" Sam countered, leaning his elbow against the nightstand. His playful, boyish smile melted into a more serious look — much like the one their dad used to give them before the divorce was finalized in Phoenix. "Where'd you take (Y/N) last night?"

"None of your business," Michael said, digging around on his messy floor for the pair of sunglasses he could have sworn he left lying around. On top of the migraine he was having, the sun staring him right in the face was the last thing he needed.

"Yeah, you're right," Sam shrugged with an offputting air of calm. "It's none of my business if you and your psycho friends want to go freebase in a cave somewhere. But you don't have to drag her into your shit."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Michael deflected his brother's statement. Finally finding his shades, he slid them on over his eyes just in time to catch Sam shaking his head as he walked back through the door and into his own room across the hall. 

He could still feel the spot beside him where you'd been laying beside him for the last few hours. Your warmth lingered there, reminding him of how alone he was just then. If he listened close enough, he could hear you talking to Cujo outside. 

Well, he thought, stifling a yawn but flopping back down across the matters nonetheless. He wasn't entirely alone. He still had that splitting headache to keep him company. 

(A/N: Just a casual update. I thought this was like 900 words but it ended up summing to around 1700. There's a startling lack of Michael content and I will not stand for it. He is too gorgeous. Also, I hope this isn't unclear, but he's a half-vampire at this point and since you didn't drink the blood, you're safe. This is severely unedited so if you catch any mistakes, just comment and I can come back and fix later).