TOUGH LOVE • MICHAEL GRAY FANFIC

8

He gently moves me to the dining table once all of the windows are open and the smoke brings to pool it's way out of my flat. I sit down on a chair he's pulled out, Michael looks at me with those big curious eyes. "This'll hurt." His voice is low, like he's about to attack.

"You're not supposed to say that!" I wish I was strong, but I can already feel my throat closing up and my eyes stinging. "Maybe I should go to the hospital..." I sound like a wimp.

"You're fine, June," He chuckles, getting down on his knee before taking a wet cloth and putting it over my red palm. I smile, feeling suddenly shy and oddly nostalgic.

He focuses on wrapping my palm up, cautiously looking at me now and then. But I keep my cool, remembering the times when I would fall and scrape my knee and Michael would be the one to tend to my wounds.

I also tended to his, I recall having to cater to his sprained ankle, getting him food because he was immobile. It was weird that we did that for each other, almost like he needed me. And I needed him.

"You know what I remember?" He asks, a smile across his face. He's glowing.

"What?" I wince when he grazes my palm too hard.

His face scrunches up. "When we had that stupid Valentine's secret admirer day at school," That goofy grin I adore is on his face. "I remember you got what-twenty roses and I only got three. I was ready to fight someone."

Hah! I was nearly certain he had been the one to order me that many roses, but as he talks my eyes go wide, wait a second. "You weren't the one who-"

"No, I mean, sure I sent you one rose." He huffs. "You thought I paid for that many roses?"

"Of course!" I almost shout, "Christ, it I wasn't you. I wonder who it was." Pressure is brought to my palm, and I suck in a deep breath and push it out.

"It was probably fucking Hughes, is who it was." He says, lost in his thoughts. "He loved you the most."

Hughes had the potential of being a good person in my life. A mentor, a friend, but instead he took advantage of a lost girl who had just had her parents die in a tragic house fire. I was the first child to enter his headquarters and behave well, most kids are troubled and bad mannered. I was a shy, innocent pup who only wanted her mum and dad back. I didn't speak much. I had burns all over my shoulder, back and chest. He took care of me for almost five months before I started healing.

He got me to start speaking again. I fondly remember him bringing me mints from the garden. Someone had told him I loved gardening. That was how we bonded, over plants and flowers. We would go down to the garden every morning and water the plants , checking on them.

I was a young and vulnerable. I latched onto the first person who showed me love, and that was unfortunately Hughes.

"What are you doing to do to him?" I whisper, staring at my newly wrapped hand. Nice and tight. I feel kind of sick asking such a question, especially because my voice sounds as if I'm scared of him hurting Hughes.

Michael sits there for a while, looking up at me like a child would to his parent. "I don't know yet, June."

I nod, letting out the biggest sigh known to man. I roll my neck before looking down at him to smile, "Isn't it mad to think if my parents hadn't died and your mum hadn't done whatever she did, we'd never have met."

I run my good hand through his hair which gets him blushing. "Yeah." He pushes himself up and takes me with him. "And if I hadn't gotten shot we wouldn't have seen each other."

I look up at him, pushing my hair out of my face.

"I think we were meant to find each other." Michael adds, "And I'll find you again, but after the Italians are gone."

I wonder what he's talking about before remembering he needs to get off the map for a while. Something about the Italians targeting him. The Italians? I can't wrap my head around why they're feuding with them, but then again, I don't know anything about the Shelby's. Regardless, I nod, sensing a goodbye coming along sooner rather than later.

"That's for wrapping my hand." I mumble, "And for distracting me." My lips miss him.

I get up to stand when he steps back, I move to the windows and shut it, feeling a cold breeze coming in. Rain hits the window ledge, tapping against the balcony.

Michael pockets my morphine, and I really don't want him to but I guess if I protest, he'll only take wrong.

I hold down on that, mentally preparing myself for a sleepless night.

"Do you know where you're going?"

"No." He puts his hand into his pockets, "But I wish you'd come."

"I have-"

"Work," He smiles. "I know."

We walk towards each other, shy like the school kids we once were. He takes my hand before snaking his hand around my waist and pulling me in. The record player has gone on to say the last three words of the song I love the most.

You are enough.

I can hear the violins playing, the piano slowly finishing off the song. The sound of the woman's voice who sings it, almost too angelic. Over and over again: you are enough, you are enough, you are enough.

"What a fitting song," Michael sways me back and forth, his fingers spanning out across the small of my back. I look up at him and blush, unable to help myself. He's absolutely mine, and I couldn't be more happier.

The thought never crossed my mind until now. "Am I enough for you, Michael Gray?"

He brushes his nose against mine, and I grin from ear to ear as my eyes shut. His eyelashes flutter against my eyebrows, making me giggle.

You are enough.

"Yeah." He gushes. "You're more than enough." Getting a strand of black hair off of my face, he tucks it behind his ear. "Your eyes alone are enough for me. But to know I'm lucky enough to have you in my arms right now makes me so happy, June, you don't even know."

You are enough.

I duck my head down and listen to his heart beat as the music consumes us. My body urns for him. The smell of smoke in my nostrils is overpowered by the delightful scent of him. I listen to his beating chest, a rhythm I could listen to all day. My eyes close, as I feel nothing but contentment.

You are enough.

"I don't want to be with anyone else," He says, grabbing my arms to pull me off of him.

My eyes lock with his, and the moment freezes in time.

You are enough.

"I love you," He hums, his voice a low purr. "I love you." He whispers, kissing my lips. "I love you."

I lean into his lips, opening my mouth. "Again." I ask him. "Please."

My hands desperately snake around his neck, out eyes meeting. His eyes glow as the rain pitter-patters outside. He licks his lips, his gaze never leaving mine.

"I love you, June. I always have and I always will."

Holy shit. I feverishly caress his body, as he lifts me I wrap my legs around his torso. I'm given the upper hand, and lower my head to meet his. We don't ever disconnect before a heat is brought to my pelvis and I moan into his mouth. His hands touch me, squeezing me, making me feel things I've never felt before him.

"Michael," I say quietly, "Michael."

"Okay. Sorry, we'll stop." He pulls away, scared that he might have triggered something, but instead, I protest and kiss his lips more. My heart hurts, he is just so cute.

"Make love to me, Michael." Desperation and fear of the known creep up, but I can't continue to let Hughes or any of those bastards win. "Michael, I need you Before you go, please."

He runs his hand through his hair, a look of exasperation on his face. "June, we don't have to."

"I want to." I shake my head. Leaning in, "I need this," Taking his hand, I pull lightly, "Please..."