Imagine Michael frantically looking through his things to find his favorite shirt only for you to walk in the room with that very shirt on, the hem barely brushing your thighs, your lacy bra visible from the slits where he cut the sleeves off, and he'd just smile, red cheeked, with his gaze shifting from your figure to your cheeky smile (because you knew he was looking for that shirt for ages) and with a laugh, he'd tell you to keep it
