This Year's Love // Michael Clifford

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Brittany Dawson

"Someone call the ambulance because I just had a heart attack," Luke claims.

I furrow my eyebrows at him after accepting Michael's greeting hug. "Why?" I ask.

"You look so fucki-"

Michael punches him in the shoulder before he could finish the sentence. I roll my eyes at Luke, knowing precisely what he was about to say.

"You ready?" Michael asks me, lacing our fingers (and, okay, a huge grin plastered on my face after that).

"Yeah." I nod. "I'm really nervous."

"Don't be." He squeezes my hand. "I'll be beside you the whole time."

"And I'll be on the other side!" Luke exclaims.

"Oh, goody." I roll my eyes.

After going through security and all that good stuff, we were instructed over a PA system to board our plane (Flight 407). I was extremely nervous, but Michael assured me the entire time I had no reason to be. Obviously he's never seen the first Final Destination or, even worse, Snakes on a Plane.

"Oh my gosh, we're flying," I say, squeezing my eyes shut as the plane ascended into the sky.

"Don't forget to breathe, baby," Michael says.

And, by God, if I wasn't breathing before, I sure as hell wasn't now! He can't just call me things like baby when we're ascending into the sky. Not acceptable.

After a good (and by good I mean miserable) amount of time we were finally on a steady incline. I let go of Michael's hand only for him to grab it again.

"See, it wasn't that bad," he says.

"It was awful," I reply. "And to think, I have to do this again in three days."

"You'll be fine," Michael chuckles. "I'd never let anything harm you."

My cheeks turn red, to which Luke points out, causing the red to turn even more crimson.

This is going to be a long flight.

//////

"Finally," I groan, falling onto the hotel bed with a thump.

"Did you want to do anything?" he asks me, laying down beside me, but perched on his elbow so he can face me.

"I'm tired," I answer. "I just want to get some sleep really."

"Okay."

I sit up, walking over to my black suitcase. I kneel down and open it up, finding a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt with my high school's name and graduating class printed on it.

After changing and brushing my teeth, I exit the bathroom to find Michael scrolling aimlessly on his iPhone. I climb into the bed beside him, slipping my body under the covers.

"What ya doin'?" I ask, resting my head on his shoulder so I could snoop on his phone.

"Twitter," he replies, but closes the app shortly after and opens his camera instead. "Let's take a selfie."

"It's not a selfie if there's other people in it technically speaking," I preach to him.

"Whatever."

I smile at the camera, watching Michael through the screen as he did the same. He captured the image, then went to take another. I bury my face in his neck, not really feeling up for a photo shoot (A/N: KIM K HOLLYWOOD GAME). I hear the sound of the camera, though, despite my lack of photo taking skills.

"Putting that one on Twitter and Instagram," Michael declares.

I watch him as he adds the caption (@BrittanyDaws0n stop being so shy and take a selfie with me dammit) with the second photo he took. I roll my eyes, turning my body to face away from him.

"I'm going to sleep," I say. "Turn off the light please."

"Yes, darling," Michael sarcastically responds, getting up to switch off the light.

Moments later, I feel him slide back into the queen sized bed with me. Soon enough, we fall asleep on our respective sides of the bed.