"Get up, get up, get up!"
I groaned and stuck my arm up, waving off whoever it was that thought it was a good idea to wake me up this early. "Go away."
"Ha not happening." Someone grabbed my hand and pulled me up and out of bed.
"Alright, alright!" I grumbled, yanking my hand away and getting to my feet. "I'm moving."
"Good," Michael's grinning face came into view as he shoved a cup of hot chocolate into my hands. "Because I was about to get the water."
"Where's the whip cream?" I joked, taking a sip of my hot chocolate.
"Do you want some?" Michael hopped off my bed and started off towards the door. "Because I have some in my room if you want - "
"Michael!" I called and he stopped, raising his eyebrows. "Michael no, it's okay. I was joking, Mikey."
"Oh," he blinked. "No, I knew that."
"Gosh, what is with you today?" I chuckled as he climbed back onto the bed and stretched out next to me. Michael's arms wrapped around my pillow and he snuggled his face into it.
"I'm just excited!" he said cheerfully, his voice muffled. I let out another laugh, loving the way Michael could be so contagiously happy and carefree, even early in the morning.
"Excited?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "For what?"
Michael jerked away, an incredulous look on his face. "You're joking right?"
"Um, no?" I frowned, trying to remember.
"Lana," Michael gave me a dead look. "Scott's reopening is today."
I looked at him blankly at first, but then realization slowly began to dawn on me.
"There we go," Michael smirked as I jumped up out of bed and set my cup of chowder on my nightstand.
"What time is?" I shouted over my shoulder, running to my closet and trying to figure out what to wear.
How could I forget about this? I had only been working night and day for the past week to finish up the painting in Scott's and on the day everyone can see it, I forget about it?
"Lana," Michael called behind as I kept going through my closet in a frenzy. "Lana!"
"What?" I groaned and turned around.
Michael had a black garment bag in his hands that he held up to me. "Relax, it's only like nine. You don't have to be there until eleven."
"It's nine?" I blinked at him.
"Half past nine, actually," Michael shrugged. "But you'll be fine. What time did you go to bed?"
"Um, four?" I said quietly, hoping he wouldn't hear or mistake it for another number.
"Four?" he scowled at me and I shrugged sheepishly. Michael hated it when I stayed out past twelve without him, which I practically did every night since I was needed every minute to work and I didn't allow Michael to see the painting.
"I told you not to go out that late with out me." he frowned.
"Michael, you aren't my mother," I rolled my eyes at him.
"No, I know," he said softly, looking down at the black bag inhis hands. "But I still worry, you know?"
I sighed and walked over to sit next to him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and resting my head against him. "I know, Michael. I worry too. Every time you guys go out to play a gig across the city."
