𝗧𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸

𝗡𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 | 𝗔 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲

𝘼 𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙮 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 danced in the peripheral of Michael's sight as he focused on his fingertips swirling lazy patterns into the concave of Mallorie's abdomen. The honeyed undertones of her luxurious brown skin were complemented by the flickers of yellow emitting from the lit candle at their bedside, and he couldn't repel the vestige of envy that would come from admiring it. Her skin was uniformly rich, full-toned and smooth. His skin hadn't looked that quality of color since he was an awkward teenager and hardly able to stomach being conscious of his appearance. And even then, he'd been covered in unsightly blemishes and strange textures before the gradual appearance of unpigmented spots came along.

Whether he looked less homely now was up for debate, but Mallorie's beauty was undeniable. It was so beyond question that, as he laid beside her with nothing more than the delicate mounds and lines of her body compelling him, he wondered if he truly deserved her.

Ever since she'd confessed her love for him a few nights ago, he'd spent an unnumbered amount of hours trying to make sense of it. It was hard to fathom when he'd grown up on stages and learned to equate the admiration of his exceptional talents and stage presence to love, and he was more dumbfounded when he considered his looks. Michael knew he was a plastic surgery mishap by much of the media's estimation. And he knew he was green, but he wasn't a fool. When a woman couldn't fawn over a man's attractiveness, his status and money were the next best thing. But that wasn't the case for Mallorie.

She had tried to take him away from that. In the heat of the moment, it was jarring to learn she wanted to remove him from the places and the life he'd become so comfortable with. Now, he felt he had experienced an enlightenment; it had never been a betrayal, but rather a desperate act of love.

"...I need you around, too."  Michael bit back his grin at the memory, choosing to affectionately squeeze her hip instead of using it to pull her on top of him like he really wanted to.

She told him she needed him, just the way he'd discovered he needed her. It wasn't a groveling, romantic-film-worthy avowal, but the development of their relationship gave the words a unique sincerity that still touched his heart. After learning she had sacrificed her job for him more than once and how difficult it was for her to lose her father, it meant everything.

With that, Michael was comfortable enough to live with the conclusion that he would never truly understand why Mallorie loved him. He would only be certain that she did, and for him, that was enough.

His roaming touch soon proved to be disruptive when Mallorie suddenly slapped her study guide onto her lap and cut him a scolding look. "I thought you said you wouldn't distract me anymore," she pouted.

A deliciously sweet pout. He eyed her lips, biting his own as he fought a sinful temptation then snapped to focus when they pulled into a deeper frown. "What did I do?"

"You're tickling me," she muttered, pointedly sliding his hand away from where it was resting over her stomach.

"I'm sorry." Only, he wasn't. Reuniting after their brief time apart left him feeling like a greedy child getting his first taste of a candy bar after a diet. He'd never regret any second he spent touching her, marveling over her existence and the fact that she slept beside him each night. Michael shifted himself to sit up against the pillows and the headboard, mimicking her position. "You've been studying since we woke up this morning, pretty girl. You're not tired?"

"A little, but it's not that late."

"It's 11:45 PM."

"It's almost 7 AM back home. Some kids are getting up for school right now."

"But you're not a kid, and even kids need rest."

He could nearly see the words floating into one of her ears then out the other, her eyes still moving rapidly over the page in her study guide. "Michael, my exam is next week. If I don't study now, I'll fall behind because I'll be too tired to do it when we get back home."