𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

Brrrring!

A phone rings loudly in your ear, pulling you from your fitful sleep with a quiet yawn. Waking up was a slow process for you on a good day and you let the phone blear loudly twice before you even bothered to acknowledge the fact that you were awake.

"I'm comin," you mumbled, rolling over to blindly grab for the landline that you knew was somewhere on your bedside. It wasn't until your hand came in contact with something other than the landline that you even bothered to crack one of your eyes open. A low groan sounded against your back and you shot up into a sitting position, whipping your head around to see Michael draped over the majority of the bare mattress you'd been laying on.

You were both still completely clothed—thank god—and it seemed like you hadn't even bothered to remove your sneakers before throwing yourself into bed the night before. Michael's leather jacket was the only foreign article of clothing on your body, aside from your necklace which had pressed a painful red imprint into your collarbone. The phone rang again and the boy stirred beside you.

"Get the phone, Mikey," you groaned, shielding your eyes from the sunlight that filtered through the window. Christ, it was bright out.

"You get it," he said, voice thick and muffled with sleepiness. His hair was even messier after your night out—whipped out of place by the wind. You didn't suppose you looked any better, though. Note to self: take a shower as soon as possible.

Brrrring!

Whining softly, you spotted the offending device on Michael's poor excuse of a nightstand. Unlike Sam, he hadn't made a dent in unpacking his things. His blankets were probably still in a cardboard box somewhere and you had a feeling he wouldn't get them out until someone forced him to. 

Without any regard for the boy resting beside you, you reached over his torso and plucked the phone right from the hook. You nearly slipped off of the bed trying to hold it against your ear, but Michael was quick to latch his hands around your waist, holding you in place with your elbows digging into the edge of the mattress with his eyes still closed.

"Hello?"

"Hello (Y/N), dear!"

You shook your head, getting rid of the lingering thoughts of sleep. "Hi, Mrs. Emerson."

Michael hummed underneath you. You hadn't had much time to become acquainted with Mrs. Emerson, but you knew that she was a lovely person. She even bought you coffee on her run to the grocery store earlier that week and anyone who restocked you with coffee was a good person in your book.

"Is Michael there or did I ring the guest house by mistake?"

"Michael's here," you smiled wickedly, knowing she couldn't see you and bopped your foot against the side of his head. "I think he might still be sleeping. You want me to go up and wake up for you?"

A sleepy groan left Michael's lips and he shook his head, burying his face in the surrounding pillows while kicking your shoe away.

"That's alright, dear. Can you give him a message for me?"

"Of course."

"Can you just tell him that Max has asked me to dinner tonight and that he'll need to watch Sam for a couple of hours?"

Max. You've been hearing that name around the house recently. He was Mrs. Emerson's boss down at the video store that nearly bordered the Frog brothers' comic book shop. You've been meaning to check that place out for some time now, but Mr. E didn't have a TV so renting movies was virtually pointless.