𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊

The ranch was comfortably quiet that morning. It was one of the very few times lately that you could force yourself to wake yourself up before midday. It wasn't laziness that was holding you back—your chores were still done by the time the sun set below the trees. It was something bigger than that. Something more imposing.

You sat in the large wicker rocking chair on the covered porch. There was a book open in your lap, an old Latin tome that Mr. E gave you to decipher a few weeks ago. You never understood why he was so adamant about you learning Latin when he couldn't understand a lick of it himself. Old hypocrite.

Across from you, Lucy sat in one of the velvet loveseats that somehow hadn't been destroyed from being left out on the porch. She sipped on the mug of tea that she made for herself, looking out the window behind you that offered a beautiful view of the front yard. She made you a cup as well, but you didn't have the heart to tell her that you couldn't drink tea without at least half a cup of sugar mixed in with it.

You fiddled with your new earring as she told you about her latest date with the mystery man, Max, from down at the video store. You've been meaning to go see him for yourself, maybe embarrass her a little bit, but the boys kept you plenty occupied during your visits.

Lucy giggled to herself when you asked her all of the necessary questions—was he cute, was he charming, did he hold her hand or kiss her goodnight after their dates?

She delighted in telling you that she hadn't had this much fun with a guy—any guy—since she was your age.

"You know," she sighed, giving you an inquisitive look. "He sort of reminds me of you, in a way. Maybe it's the hair."

The conversation evolved and Lucy began asking about your recent endeavors. It seemed that you weren't as subtle about it as you first thought. "I made friends," you shrugged, looking down at your book to avoid her knowing smile.

"Boys?" She pressed. Not in the way that you assumed a mother would press. More so like a friend. You opened your mouth and closed it without saying anything. Yes boys, you thought. Lots of boys.

But before you could trip and fall into that rabbit hole, you heard the familiar sputter of Michael's motorcycle climbing up the dusty hillside. You looked up at the grandfather clock perched near the wall. It was nearing ten in the morning. Had David really kept him out this late again?

You waited for him to step up onto the porch before saying anything—even though it was clear that both you and Lucy wanted to address the fact that he was coming home almost twenty-four hours after he left the previous day.

He was still wearing his black leather jacket. Its newness had worn off some and it no longer sparkled in the sun. But his shades still reflected beams of light across the floor when he turned to look at you briefly.

You closed your book with a warm smile. "Mikey," you greeted, rising from your seat to join him by the front door. His hand was already tugging on the handle and you could have sworn he was rolling his eyes behind his glasses when you called out his name.

Jerk.

"Mikey, what's wrong?" you asked. His skin was sickly pale up close. You could nearly see the blue and red veins crisscrossing on his forehead. A single bead of sweat ran along the curve of his nose. He looked ill. Even worse than he was the last time you saw him. 

"Nothing," he croaked, teeth clenched tightly together as he spoke. His voice was hoarse. A long night of howling at the moon and drowning himself in liquids of questionable alcohol content levels. You'd been trying to ignore it, but maybe you should put your foot down to David and the others and stop them before they killed someone. Namely Michael.

"Mikey," you sighed, reaching up to pull off his sunglasses. You wanted to see his eyes. Otherwise, it felt like you were just talking to a brick wall. A brick wall with awesome hair.

He veered his head back and slapped your hand away so quickly that you almost yelped in pain. "My name is Michael," he seethed bitterly. "Not Mikey."

You gawked at him—which was kind of pathetic because of how short you were in comparison. "Fine, Michael," you hissed. "I don't know why you're being such a dick lately, but you're scaring your brother and everyone else in this house. You sleep all day and at night you just leave without telling anyone," you lower your voice so there's no way Lucy can hear what you say next.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were turning into a vampire!"

In one quick motion, Michael whipped off his sunglasses and lowered his gaze until he was staring directly into your eyes. His pupils were dilated, jaw clenching tightly when you gulped in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something but forced his jaw to snap back shut. It was terrifying to watch him fight for control against his own body.

"Stay the hell...away from...me," he gritted finally. But he was no longer looking you in the eye. "And...tell Sam too."

You were still absorbing his words when he brushed past you and slammed the front door shut in his wake. 

(A/N: This is so effing short I'm sorry. Like its not even a thousand words. Mini chapter I guess. Pop off. Uhm so Michael is a dick. But this segues into a really sexy moment later so it's worth it, I promise. Mad struggling with my Halloween fic so I appreciate everyone's patience. 3 days until October AKA the best month on the calendar!!)