When I wake up, he's there, right beside me on my bed, and snoring softly.
His face is half-hidden in one of my pillows - hopefully, M's having sweet dreams. That's the least he deserves.
I've been thinking a lot about what happened last night, deeming it 'The shower incident' in my head. Not only that but the aftermath as well. How I let my mouth get the best of me.
Last night is something different. The old me might call it 'a momentary display of weakness.' But now, I believe there's more to it.
I've known M for a day. One day. Hell, I don't even know his name yet, still, and somehow, I, laughably enough, trust him. I trust that he's not evil. And that he won't hurt me. Or Lucy.
And no, it's not just because of his handsome face, nor is it because of his 'right in-your-face six-pack,' although that's a bonus. I'm not that desperate, although it seems like it sometimes.
I like M.
I guess I'm, generally speaking, a bit too uptight about meeting new people. M proved that. Not that I don't have my reasons for being on guard when he makes an entrance like that into my life.
I decide not to wake him up. He needs all the sleep he can get.
Instead, I let myself walk the familiar path down the hall, over to my parent's deserted room.
There's a door in there, and it leads to a small storage room. A place where we keep all our useless stuff. Well, one thing is proving to be handy after all.
I stumble over boxes.
I might even have accidentally stomped on one of our Christmas boxes because suddenly, something starts playing Christmas carols. In a weird, broken robotic kind of way. Creepy.
I don't remember the last time I've been in here. Or anyone, for that matter. I guess it explains the cobweb that just went into my mouth. I squeal like a little girl and spit it out.
It causes me to land on my ass. Taking a few boxes with me in my downfall.
And there I see it, unpractically put right over in the furthest corner of the room.
A whiteboard.
Call me a detective because I'm about to make my own crazy wall full of evidence. It might lack in the evidence apartment. For now, at least.
The whiteboard is large, and the foldable metal legs are difficult to hold down.
Getting it down the stairs and into the living room might be more trouble than I initially thought.
I still try.
When I reach the top of the stairs. I trip on the first step.
My heart stops. I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare for the impact.
Somehow I know that my clumsiness is gonna be the death of me someday. But I didn't expect it to be so soon.
After what feels like minutes, nothing has happened.
And that's when I see him.
"I really need to stop doing that, don't I?" It's more a statement than a question.
"Stop doing what?" He still asks.
"Falling to my death at every opportunity and you catching me."
"Would you rather I let you fall?"
He's joking. A sly smile on his face.
It brings out my own. Seeing that there's a little bit more life in him. His presence, more confident. Or maybe that's just how he looks in the morning.
He places me back on my feet again. At the top of the stairs. The stupid whiteboard, intact and right next to me.
He helps me get it down.
"What is this?" He points to it with a face.
"A whiteboard - we use it to write things on it, with these," I hold up a red marker.
"And why do we need it?" He asks the million-dollar question. Making himself comfy on the still gross couch.
"Everything we know so far goes up here." I point to the board. Over in the top left corner, I write, 'what we know,' In bold letters.
"Okay," I start. "We know that someone or something is the reason you're like this. And that it's also the reason your home was destroyed." I put it in points.
M bops his head slowly. Eyes cast downward.
I go over to the right corner and write 'What we don't know.'
"We don't know, who or what it is, neither do we know why it was after you in the first place," I say.
"-What are you guys doing?" Lucy greets us with a lazy smile and a big yawn.
"Trying to understand," I tell her scratching my head. A curl falls down in my face, and I blow it away.
She hums. Her eyes grace over the whiteboard and my clumsy writing.
"Do we know if the bad guy is still after M?" She asks, flopping down on the couch right next to M. Resting her head on his shoulder.
I look over at M.
He shrugs.
"It's possible." He says, licking his lips.
"Then we need a disguise," Lucy steers. "I think we need to hide his wings also."
"And how do we do that?" M asks, raising one of his brows. His wings bounce to life at the mention.
Lucy jumps up from the couch. "You just put on a huge jacket, and then we're going shopping, obviously."
"But what about the bad guy," I stop her. "He might be looking for M right as we speak."
Lucy visibly deflates. "Yeah."
I sigh.
"You might be right. It might just work. And if we need M to remember, then I don't think holding him up here is gonna do much good." I say. "Besides, there's no food left in the fridge, so we might as well take him with us."
What is the worst that can happen?
Lucy claps. "I've always wanted to go shopping with an angel."
I roll my eyes.
Sure she has.
She speeds up the stairs, yelling about how she's gonna prepare. Leaving with me a questioning M.
"What's shopping?" He asks.