When you rolled over, you felt the unusual emptiness in the spot next to you. Michael was usually curled up next to you, but when you moved your hand around, his side of the bed was empty.
"Hmm?" You mumbled and sat up.
You looked around the room. The sunlight was just beginning to shine through the window. It made the room warm.
A note on the nightstand caught your attention. You scooted to the edge of the bed and picked it up. The handwriting was rushed, but still managed to be neat. You could mentally hear his voice as you read it.
Y/N,
I was called into the studio for an early session. I didn't have the heart to wake you up. If you wake up before I'm there, go back to sleep. Hopefully I'll be there before you wake up.
All My Love,
Michael
You smiled.
"He knows me well enough to know that I won't go back to sleep."
You put the note back and stood up.
After slipping on your house shoes, you walked from the bedroom into the kitchen. The counter was spotless and you wanted to resist cooking anything. Yet, you were really hungry.
You sighed, knowing you had to cook something.
When you opened the fridge, a package of chicken caught your eye. You decided to cook that for breakfast.
As the chicken sizzled in the pot, the smell caused your hunger to increase. You started eating it while it was cooking. The knowledge of it being only half-done was in the back of your mind.
Once it finally finished cooking, you put the leftover wings on a plate and sat on a stool. In the beginning, the taste was too satisfying for you to pay attention to anything else. You'd gobbled half the plate before you started feeling a little nauseous.
Your eyes widened and you darted to the bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet in time before your breakfast came back up. The task of holding your own hair and regurgitating was difficult. You didn't have the strength to do both.
"Y/N?" A sweet voice called.
You groaned in response. Michael was home and he'd see you in your worst state.
"Baby!" He gasped, seeing your position.
You gingerly put the toilet lid down, stood up, and washed your mouth out.
"Are you sick?" He asked.
"I think I got food poisoning," you responded weakly.
"How?"
"I was eating chicken before it was fully cooked."
"Oh Y/N."
He shook his head.
"Here, let's get you back to bed."
He grabbed your waist and began guiding you out the door. Your eyes fell on your pads on the shelf.
"Wait," you mumbled.
