𝗧𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸

𝗦𝗶𝘅𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 | 𝗔 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗺

𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 for the emotion that twisted inside Mallorie's chest over and over as she watched Michael's interview. It was piercing and agitating like lighthearted excitement but burrowing and heavy like bearing a dark secret. Though it was no secret—not to the likes of herself anyway. She loved Michael, and that was that. Acknowledging it was freeing. She didn't feel it necessary to make excuses for the way she spent long nights worrying about him, or the hours she spent in the morning simply studying every beautiful line and shape of his face, nor the seconds she would count down until she could kiss and hold him again. She moved past repressing it to accept it, and she now embraced it. What was left was figuring out how it would coexist with her work's unremitting sense of responsibility and discovering how Michael would react to having both.

She couldn't imagine the reaction would be anything aside from compassionate. All the night prior and into the early hours of dawn, his reassuring words replayed in her head. I'm all yours. I need you. They instilled her with a confidence that she wouldn't have known otherwise after managing their push-and-pull. Not to mention, he was incredibly patient.

Even as he carried out the aspect of his job that he stated he disliked the most, Michael remained poised and polite. As expected, he retreated to being soft-spoken, his voice sounding all the more sweet and mellow against the grating accent of the Australian interviewer, but his answers were no less succinct and thoughtful.

For the duration of pretending to study earlier in the morning, Mallorie had watched him move sleepily about their suite to shower then dress himself in a red button-down and pair of black trousers with a red stripe down the seam to match. It was a simple arrangement of clothing, but it appeared particularly stylish on him. He looked even more dashing as he intermittingly flashed his flawless smile and let out a few chuckles, successfully flustering the male interviewer a few times. She giggled to herself when she caught onto the fact; it seemed no one could resist Michael's darling allure. She knew the journalist would have been a goner if Michael had done without his sunglasses and treated the man to the full effect of his enchanting, expressive eyes.

A piddling worry nagged Mallorie at the notion. Wearing sunglasses indoors and during an interview was not a new habit of his, and seeing as he had become somewhat notorious for doing so, she supposed it shouldn't have alarmed her. He had told her that he did it because he felt his eyes gave too much away, and he didn't want to give the world anything more to be in a frenzy over. She understood and agreed with his reasoning. But the longer she watched him speak with his shades blocking out any semblance of his true emotions, the more he appeared stoic and veritably restive.

She heaved a sigh, presuming the nearly imperceptible difference in Michael's demeanor only existed in her overly anxious mind, then she turned away from the interview taking place a few feet away to set her attention on Karen Faye. The interview had been set up in a small spare hotel room, and Karen became unaccountably diligent with cleaning her makeup brushes in the bathroom sink as soon as Michael left her presence. Of course, Mallorie was able to put two and two together and decided that it was the makeup artist's attempt at avoiding conversation. What she couldn't figure out was why.

Although Michael provided ample companionship, she missed Karen. Since the tour's resumption, she had speciously tried to replace their invaluable female friendship by getting acquainted with Sheryl, one of its backup singers. However, the endeavor fell apart as soon as it had begun once Mallorie caught wind of the less-than-appropriate things Sheryl said about Michael upon rehearsing their sultry duet.

Mallorie wrapped her arms around her middle, summoning up the courage to dismantle the wall of tension that mysteriously constructed itself between them. When she could think of nothing more to say, she offered a soft, "Hey." Then a minute passed and she wasn't even certain if the blonde heard her as she carried on without eye contact, rashly swishing a handful of brushes in a bowl of soapy water. Mallorie swallowed and listened to the plopping splashes of water before trying again. "Is it me or does Michael seem kind of tired? Like, do you think he's been sleeping?"