Damn, You're Cute (Michael Clifford)

Chapter 22

"Leah, wake up,"  I felt hands shake me softly, a frown forming on my face. A small chuckle could be heard from Michael. "You've got to get up now. It's six fifteen, just like you said."

"Five more minutes," I begged with a sleepy voice, my fingers balling the bottom his shirt in my hand. I lifted my chin so that it rested on his chest. He exhaled slowly, my head lowering as his chest did.

"You have to get ready for school though," he reminded me, playing with a piece of my long hair that I'm sure was a mess. Did he take it out of the bun?

"But I'm tired," I added with a yawn.

"So am I." Michael remarked, but continued to run his fingers through my hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, an alarm was going off. We were being way too friendly, but I let it go because the feeling of his fingers wandering aimlessly along my scalp felt amazing. 

"Michael, please?" I insisted, nudging my head into his chest.

"Three more minutes," he gave in, tugging the duvet up so it covered my shoulders. His hand which was once lightly on my hip was now secured around my waist, pulling me further into him.

"Yay," I cheered with little energy, letting my mouth fall open as I rested for three more minutes. His hand never stopped exploring my hair, lulling me even further into a deep sleep. 

"Leah, it's time now." he said earlier than I wanted. I whimpered, holding on to the sheets for dear life.

"Can't I just stay here?" I said. Michael laughed, his chest vibrating beneath my head. 

"No, you have to go get ready. You'll need time for your ridiculously knotted hair." he teased, working a knot out of it as he spoke. I punched his arm before rolling off of him. I stretched my arms out, accidently hitting him in the process. 

"You're mean," I said childishly, swinging my legs over my bed. I landed on my feet, shuffling to my bathroom where I brushed my teeth. I was aware of Michael still in my bed, watching me. "Are you just wearing that to school?" I asked while brushing out my hair.

"Yeah, does it look bad?" he frowned, glancing down at himself.

"No, no! I was just curious," I said, deciding to leave my hopeless hair down. Wandering back to my room where my closet was, I threw open the doors. "What do you think? Is it a jeans and t-shirt day?"

Michael scoffed, hopping out of my bed. "You think I know?"

"I guess it is," I mumbled, grabbing a pair of skinny jeans. Michael took them from my grasp, putting them back.

"Let me pick it out," he requested. I took a step back with a smile, giving him space to work. He fumbled with my clothes, finally pulling out black jeans similar to his and old shirt I haven't worn in years. "Here" he shoved the clothes in my hands.

"Michael, I haven't worn this shirt in forever. There's a reason for that," I giggled, handing the hidious shirt back to him. He placed a hand over his heart in mock pain.

"If you don't like my choices just say so," he joked.

"I hate your choices." I said bluntly, making Michael laugh. I noticed his hair was the messiest I've ever seen, part of it pressed flat against his head on the side and the rest sticking out everywhere.

"What about this one?" he asked, holding up a hanger with a simple blue and white designed shirt. 

"Simple, yet cute. Why aren't you a fashion designer?" I teased him, arching an eyebrow as I took the clothes from him.

"Shut up and get dressed. Maybe I can do your make-up too," he cheered.

"Oh my god, the day I let you do my make-up is the day I die." I declared, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door to change. I quickly did my make-up so Michael wouldn't and brushed through my hair once more. I found getting ready in the morning when Michael was there wasn't so bad. Normally, I'd stare at myself in the mirror, dreading everything in the next seven hours of my day.