Part 4/4
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Requested by:
@SkySlays
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Next chapter is: "He Takes Care Of You While You're On Your Period"
Michael:
The social groups of schools, kids stuck with kids like them, and that naturally made cliques of like minded individuals. Everyone knew the groups, the jocks, the nerds, the theater geeks, the artists, the stoners, the loners, the emos, and of course, the rebels. You were the rebel of the school. The cliché kind of leather jacket and rock music rebel who never did what they were told and was more often than not, kicked out of class.
Everyone knew you, and recognized your position as the most badass rebel of the school. You were famous for your constant skirmishes with the administration and other students. They respected you for fighting your way up the food chain.
Michael on the other hand, did not like your fights, or your 'position'. He thought that you were constantly in dangerous situations, which wasn't completely untrue. But rebellion was a lifestyle, not a career, so you just kinda ignored his babying as well.
The good news is, that as much as he didn't like what you did at school, he didn't to a lot to prevent it. After all, he was punk rock, and suppressing others punk-rock was would be sacrilege. So what he usually did, was fuss over your post-fight injuries, and ask about what the current social climate of the school was.
So when you walked into the house with a busted lip, he was especially unhappy.
"Hey Mikey," you shoved the door open, and immoderately ripped your backpack from your shoulders and tossed it off onto the floor.
"Hey Y-" he walked into the hallway, carrying an entire package of double-stuff Oreos. When he saw your torn up face however, the open package fell from his grip, and the floor became a crumbly mess.
"NOOOOO!" You dropped to your knees, ignoring the slight irritation of the carpet against the scrape you managed to get through one of the holes. There was a definite disadvantage to buying pre-ripped jeans. Your exposed knees were scraped as you tackled an especially rude girl to the ground.
"What was that?" You cried, trying to pick up the Oreo's from the ground, only to get a handful of sticky, dirty, mess.
"They're gone... all gone!" You were being especially dramatic as you let your head fall forward and your shoulders slump. "They were so young..."
"Y/N!" He snapped, "Forget the cookies! What happened to your face?"
"Woooooow," you dusted the remains of the cookies off your shins as you stood, "that's not very nice you know."
He just rolled his eyes at you, and tilted your chin up so that he could see.
"Who did you fight this time? They really got your lip," he frowned, moving your head side to side so that he could see the injury better.
"I don't know her name, don't care, that was her one and only offensive move," you giggled.
Michael rolled his eyes and squeezed your face in his hand before letting it go.
"Come on then, let's wash it out," he shook his head and motioned for you to walk up the stairs.
"Why? Do you think I'm going to get a lip infection?" You hummed, thinking as you lazily waltzed down the hallway to the bathroom.
"God I hope not, what if they had to cut your lips off?" He sounded rather horrified at the prospect, but you thought that the image of you lipless was rather amusing.
"OH MY GOD!" You cackled, throwing your head back, "that'd be so bad."
"Yeah it would, then you couldn't close your mouth when eating," you could just hear the disgust in his voice, "or you'd at least do it less than you do now."
"It was ONE TIME AND I WAS HUNGRY!" You spun around on your heel so that you could poke him in the chest. He always brought up one of your lesser moments.
Essentially, you had just been coerced into running a 5k, after which you were not only exhausted from, but famished and parched. You basically forced Michael to pull over and get you a McDonalds meal. You ate like an animal, and you will never forget the horrified look on your brother's face when you ate a large fry two minutes flat. You basically had poured the entire thing into your mouth and swallowed it whole, not a pretty picture, but very satisfying at the time.
"Mhmmm, well then if you really want to prevent it from happening again, you should really let me clean out that lip," he said, shrugging.
"Fine, just let me change, I'm pretty sure I'm covered in bloodstains," you huffed, walking into your empty bedroom and slamming the door shut.
"Great, just what I wanted to hear," you could hear him complaining through the door.
"IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, IT'S MOSTLY NOT MY BLOOD!" You yelled as you squirmed out of the tight pants.
"That's mildly reassuring I suppose," he mused, "but I would really feel better if you weren't covered in blood at all."
"Fair enough," you pulled your shirt up from the bottom and over your head. Michael did have a point, it was rather unsanitary to have others blood on you, unfortunately, you often found yourself in this exact position. You got into a loooot of fights, it was a part of your personality.
"But if you wear black, the blood stains aren't really noticeable," you chuckled, pulling on some running shorts and a muscle-tee.
"Again, or you could not get covered in blood, then you could be bright and happy colored," he offered.
"Psh," you scoffed as you pulled the door open, "black is the color of my soul, I'd wear it all day any day."
"I guess that's true, it runs in the family," he nodded.
"We're cool like that, black is sooooo punk rock," you smiled lazily.
"Yeah well lets go Little Miss Punk Rock," he pulled you by the arm again leading you toward the bathroom.
"I am not a 'Little Miss'," you huffed, tugging your arm back and walking ahead of him straight into the bathroom.
"Just sit down on the counter, let's get this over with," he went started digging through the cabinet.
"I'm working on it," you grumbled, boosting yourself up, and sitting down on the crowded couch. You had to basically shove all of the stuff on the counter into the sink. Then you made yourself comfortable as he stood back up, arms full of medical supplies.
"Nice," he rolled his eyes at your mess in the sink.
"I was just moving the stuff over, I needed room," you said innocently.
"A lot of room, the entire counter apparently," he looked at all of the wasted space, and the full sink, in distaste. He sighed and put all of the medical supplies down on the space next to you, and then stepped back.
"What is this?" He yanked your leg up, now able to better see the scrapes that were still bloodied and bruised.
"That, is an abrasion of the kneecap," you said, holding your knee up and looking at it yourself.
"Yes Y/N, I realize that," he snapped, pulling your knee back toward him, almost succeeding in pulling your right off the counter with it.
"Don't ask if you don't want an answer," you shrugged.
"Okay and well why don't you tell me why you scraped your knees and bust your lip in the first place," he sighed, turning the shower on.
"Uhhh," you were distracted for a moment, confused as to why the shower was necessary, until you saw him wetting a washcloth with it. Right, you had filled the sink with counter junk.
"Y/N?" He asked, wringing the excess water out.
"What? Oh yeah, so it all began at lunch right, I was just sitting there, minding my own business with Y/BFF/N," you started to talk. But when Michael's wash cloth came in contact with your torn flesh, you sucked in a breath and gritted your teeth.
"Sorry, I have to get the dirt out," he apologized.
"Yeah, well do you have to rub it?" You whined as he continued to clean your wound.
"I'm not even rubbing it, I'm dabbing it," he chuckled, "see? Dab, dab, dab," he said as he carefully tried to remove the dirt from your knee.
"I'm trying to to watch actually," you complained, putting your arm over your eyes so that you wouldn't have to look.
"For someone who is constantly in fights, you really are a baby, you know that?" He chuckled, moving from one knee to the other.
"The adrenaline rush, from fighting and you know all of the emotions and me wanting to really beat them makes it not as bad," you sighed, "plus I don't mind getting hurt as much as you shoving a washcloth in it afterwards."
"Whatever Y/N, just continue the story," he said, moving back from your knees and grabbing the antibacterial spray of death.
"Fine," you whined and flinched as he sprayed your knees down, "so we were sitting there, eating our lunches, when I heard some girl talking crap about me, and you, and-"
He cut you off, "you can't just start fights because someone talks bad about you, or me, you're bigger than that and I really don't care about what some random girl thinks."
"You didn't let me finish," you whined as he started to bandage your cleaned and disinfected legs with gauze.
"This better be good," he warned you, pulling it tight.
"She called Luke an untalented, tone-deaf-" you stopped talking when Michael's fingers dug into your flesh, it was rather painful, and you squirmed out of his grip. "Michaeeeeeeel," you winced.
"Sorry, sorry, just please tell me that you let her have it," he suddenly didn't seem so upset about you getting in a fight.
"Oh yeah, I pulled out her nasty hair extensions," you giggled, "her look was priceless."
"Good," he stood back up to his full height, "nobody messes with Luke but me."
"I knew you'd get it," you grinned, which tugged at your large lip-cut painfully. "Ow."
"Just hold still, I'm not done yet," he rolled his eyes and grabbed the washcloth.
"Noooo," you flinched away, "that's covered in knee-blood, don't wipe it on my faaaaace." You swatted his hands away.
"Look, this corner is clean," he held up one portion of the cloth that wasn't yet covered in dirt and blood.
"Michael that's gross," you shook your head, "I'm fine."
"Fine, but if your lip gets infected and they have to cut it off then it's not my fault," he threw his arms up in the air, that caused the washcloth to go flying, and hit the white wall with a loud splat. You both watched as it peeled off the wall, leaving a large patch of watery gore where it had been.
"On the bright side, me chewing with my mouth open can't be any grosser than that," you said cheerfully, smiling less than before so that you wouldn't tear open your split lip.
"Oh joy, that's just what I wanted to hear," he shook his head and glared at you tiredly.
"You're welcome," you didn't let the smile fall from your face.
"I don't remember saying thank you," he mused.
"Well I read between the lines," you countered.
"Or," he walked over and retrieved his washcloth, "you heard me wrong."
You gaped at him, well, that was uncalled for. You were offended, even if you kind of deserved it for snapping at him. You tried to make your dramatic exit, but your brother's voice stopped you.
"Y/N, I think you have a counter to re-setup."
"Oh joy."
Happy Birthday SLSP! Three years go by so fast 😂 SLSP is near and dear to me, that's when I joined the 5sosfam.
(You don't choose the 5sosfam, the 5sosfam chooses you)
*If you want a complete list of the upcoming topics, please check My Everything I'm Working On book as it's too long to put here (through 92)*
Thanks for reading, commenting, and voting!