One.

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4am. Another round of chimes bellowing from a Grandfather clock. They fueled my inability to sleep next to him again.

I turned my head to the left, finding Michael in the same position he was an hour ago; sleeping soundly on his stomach. His hand would softly brush my shoulder every so often. I sighed at the touch, looking back up to the dark ceiling. I gripped tighter onto the white sheets that wrapped around my bare body.

Tonight, I had seen Michael for the first time in 8 months at my mother's wedding. After my constant attempts to ignore his deep stare drilling into my back, I eventually gave into those emerald eyes. We slowed dance to "Goodnight Moon", tearily confessing to each other during the second chorus that we in fact had not lost feelings for one another. We left the wedding together, meeting at his new home. It took only an hour for his lips to find their way back onto me.

I sat up in his bed, peering around and taking in the unfamiliar bedroom. Michael had finally found his own place and was an hour away from his grandmother. I had unfortunately lived with my parents during our long break, as I was constantly jumping from job to job and couldn't get settled. The constant failure of house hunting was a heavy weight to carry, but luckily I had finally signed a contract for my own home on the other side of town. I was moving in next week.

I pulled the sheets gently from under Michael. I froze as he began to stir around. All night I had anxiously awaited that conversation, since it had barely came up. We skipped over what happened, how we coped, and skipped right to the part of confessing our love as I mentioned. We left it at that after we finished that dance on the beach. I knew that I didn't have the right words to say to him.

I searched around his floor, using the moon through his blinds as my light. I tip-toed to the side next to his bed, picking up the button up shirt he had worn tonight. I slipped in on as I dropped the sheet, buttoning it up halfway. I exited his cold and quiet room and headed towards his bathroom.

I tiptoed down the stretched hallway in his home, worrying that I would wake him. I grabbed the cold silver handle and pushed the door open slowly. I cringed at the high pitched squeaks from the hinges, slowly making my way in. I flipped on the light, instinctively rubbing my eyes from the sudden brightness. Or even possibly from my lack of sleep. 

I studied my reflection as my eyes adjusted, noting my messy state. My makeup was beginning to smear and my hair was beyond a fixable state. I shook my head and turned from my reflection. I huffed my fallen bangs from my eyes, leaving over to turn on the faucet. I grabbed my hair once I made my way back to meet my reflection, shaking it out and wrapping it in a bun. 

Steam crept onto the large mirror. Even though the haze began to blur my view, I could still see the door next to me gently being pushed open. I pulled pieces down as Michael's reflection appeared behind me. He leaned in the doorway frame and studied me, arms crossed over one another.

"Morning," he mumbled, giving me a faint smile. I noticed his droopy eyes, it was evident that he had just woken up. That had been the first word to come out of his mouth.

"Morning?" I repeated questionably. I let my arms fall to my side after the knot on my head was done. "It's barely 4 o'clock." I quietly laughed, watching him through the mirror. He looked down, his smile growing once his eyes reached the ground.

He took a step towards me, his arms now loosely draped around my waist. His chin settled on top of my head. My smile fell at the memory of how easy this all used to be, him and I. Now it seemed different. 

"You only take showers in the morning, so technically it is." He explained, his voice still hoarse. I glanced down at his interlocked fingers resting on my stomach. I had yearned for this touch for 8 long months. Now that it was here, I became greedy and only wanted more.

I turned around in his grip, resting my arms around his neck. I switched between his two tired eyes. It came to mind how much I loved them. How well they contrasted against his dark eyelashes and pale skin.  

"Good observation." I giggled.

He peered over to the running water behind me, a smirk tugging at the end of his lips. I knew what he had in mind. The second I thought about it, the more noticeable the steam in the small bathroom became.

"How about I hop in there with you?" He suggested, pulling me in even closer to his chest. I rolled my eyes even though I wanted to oblige, I would feel a lot better if I hadn't. "And I like that shirt on you, I've missed seeing you in my clothes," he added. My cheeks warmed up slightly from a mix of his comment and the thickening air.

He sighed lightly, "I haven't seen or talked to you in over eight months and now I want to be with you every single second." He began playfully swaying side to side. I forcefully placed my hands on his shoulders to stop him. I gripped them lightly.

"We can talk when I'm done," I whispered. I stared up at his blank face, which soon turned upright.He paused, blinking once at me. 

"Okay," he muttered through his lips that were now pressed to my forehead. I nervously swallowed as he lingered for a mere second, pulling back and letting me go completely. He stepped back out of the door and shut it. I listened as his feet padded further and further away from the bathroom.

I blinked a few times at the closed door, not exactly knowing what to think. I unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off and laying it on the counter by the sink. I sighed as I got into the shower. The hot water made my skin feel breathable once again.

Lavender soap lathering on my goosebump filled skin could not soothe my mind. I was in Michael's home. Michael's. He was 20 feet away on the bed we had been in all night. I was breathing, existing in his presence. I struggled  to comprehend the idea as it had been so perplex over these aching months. 

I got out after a few minutes, grabbing a towel from off the wall rack. I wrapped it around my steaming body, realizing the only clothing options I had were Michael's shirt and the dress I arrived here in. I opened the door, peering outside to see if he was anywhere in earshot.

"Michael?" I called out. His name didn't roll off my tongue as easy as it used to. His head quickly popped out from his bedroom door. I stifled my laugh that came from his childish looks. "Do you have any clothes I can wear?" I asked, slightly embarrassed.

"Why not wear the shirt you have on?" He replied. I looked down at the white shirt, a wine stain loudly announcing itself on the shoulder. 

"Because it's not comfortable. Plus, I don't have pants."

"I'm fine with that." He stepped of of his room, now leaning on the wall. I pursed my lips together tightly. In that moment he reminded me that he had become much more blunt over the near 3 years we were together. It had caused him more trouble than anything else, but that was on my part since I can recall telling him that he shouldn't be so scared of what others thought.

"Michael," I whined. He threw his hands up in defense and slipped back inside his room without a word.

I kept uncomfortably switching my weight on my feet as my arms wrapped tighter around my cold body. I glanced down the hallway, taking notice in at the few pictures he had up. All of them except one were recognizable as his family, while the other one was a small canvas of a beach. It had a focal point of a lighthouse. June gloom waves crashed around the tower. The sand was slightly out of focus and littered in shells. I couldn't help but glance down at my exposed thigh and wonder if my lighthouse tattoo and the photo shared a similar background story.

I left my daydream as I heard the sound of something dropping with a gentle thud near me. I looked down at the pile of thick cloth at my feet then caught a glance of Michael before he headed back inside his room. I carefully bent down to pick up the sweatshirt he had thrown at me. Soon followed a pair of sweatpants that landed on my head before quickly falling to the floor.

"Hey!" I yelled, brushing my now messy hair back from my face to see him with his hands behind his back and a pure look of mischief on his face. I stood up slowly, gathering his clothes under one arm. "What?" I raised an eyebrow at him and he took a step forward.

He reached his arm out, dangling something around his finger. I narrowed my eyes, struggling to make out the object in the dark. I instantly regretting leaving my clothes on his floor once I made out my bra hanging loosely off his pointer finger.

"You might be missing something." He flashed his sweet smile at me. I trudged towards him, snatching my bra from his hands and glaring at him.

"How old are you again?" I harshly asked. A simple game of annoyance was his tactic. It was easy, comical, innocent. 

"How old do you want me to be?" His head tilted to the side as I walked back into the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt as the door grew closer.

"Legal. So then if I beat you up I can claim it as self defense in court," I called through the fabric I slipped over my head. I pulled up his sweatpants up to my hips, tying them tight. I left the steamy bathroom once again, bumping right into him less than a foot outside of the doorway. "I swear you're still a 14 year old boy," I said over my shoulder to him as I walked to his kitchen.

"I can't fight you on that," he agreed.

I sat down, snatching an apple from the fruit bowl that sat in the center of the glass table. I had to tip my hat to Michael on his home. It was very minimalistic, but it all came together so well. If he hadn't been so busy with his job like he was telling me earlier in the night, he could definitely kick start a career doing interior decorating in Malibu.

I pulled my knees into my chest as Michael sat down right next to me. We faced each other and sat in a brief moment of silence before he spoke up. We both knew I wouldn't be saying anything first.

"How are you?" He questioned. I gazed up at him for a second, seeing that his face had fallen from his previous chipper demeanor. He looked soft and content now. 

"You've asked me that about five times now," I pointed out. My arms pulled my legs closer to my cold chest.

"I just want to make sure you're alright." His hand fell from the side of his face and rested on my hand that laid flat on the cool glass. For a second I had jerked back, not used to the feeling. Especially not from him. It was almost as if I had forgotten the way his hand felt around mine. Something that I swore to my 17 year old self I could never forget. 

"I'm alright," I plainly responded, taking a bite from my apple. The tension was only rising at this point. "How are you?" I asked back for the sixth time this night.

"I'm good, I'm okay," he spoke quietly, as if his words were going to shatter if spoken any louder. He sighed once, looking to the side then right back at me. "Listen, Maddie, I understand if you hate me, but-"

"I don't hate you," I interrupted. If any feeling I could ever feel for Michael that could ever reach how strong hate was, it was love. And that kept growing. The eight months apart made me realize that space would never make me love him less. 

"That's nice to hear," he quickly said. "Um-" He peered around, clearing his throat. "I just want to clarify a few things." He leaned in towards me, the same way he had done when he would lean in to kiss me, which only made my beating heart pound more than it was. Instead of kissing me though, he had placed his elbows on his knees and locked his fingers together. He looked down as I did too, watching him twiddle his thumbs.

"I just think-I still-I want-" He stammered, unbeknownst of where his sentence needed to begin. He let out a gentle laugh, shaking his head like he was mocking himself. He picked his head back up, staring right into my tired eyes. "You know, the first thing I thought was 'What am I supposed to do about this damn tattoo?'"

I snickered, although my chest ached at the remembrance of our break up. No matter what mood I was in, the thought of it had pulled me straight to one feeling and that feeling was regret. Maybe if I didn't fight back, or if I just let things go, or maybe if I had actually done something then we wouldn't be in this situation. I felt lucky at the same time since I could actually sit down with him and talk without it feeling like two strangers meeting for the first time.

"That's the first thing you thought?" I let out the same breathy laugh he did. He peered up at me through his eyelashes, nodding his head a few times as his smile grew. I knew he was trying to keep the mood light, but nothing about us falling apart could be so sweetly sugar coated.

"Yeah." He sat back up, this time leaning into the back of his chair, placing his ankle over his knee. "I mean, I wasn't going to get it removed or anything." His hand fell to my top of my thigh, the exact placement of my own tattoo.

"I always forget it's there," I told him. My finger traced over his fingers that rested gently on me. "It's been so arduous, dealing with this, that is." I rested a soft stare on him. "Me, my emotions," I clarified.

He smiled kindly. "Have you been reading more?" He questioned. I leaned forward in my chair, letting my feet drop and land on the floor. I slowly nodded as I looked out the window into the darkness of this early morning.

I sighed, "More than ever."

"I can tell," he said. I raised my hand up under my chin, rubbing my finger across my bottom lip, a habit that I picked up from Michael himself.

"How so?"

"You're using words I don't understand," he matter of factly said. His hair fell softly in front of his face, framing his matured features. He flipped his palm up on my leg so he could lock our fingers together.

"It's just been hard to deal with," I simply explained, watching closely as we slowly yet surely intertwined our fingers. He intently watched our interlocked fingers. I kept my eyes on him, drowning in my own thoughts and memories.

"I'm sorry. It's just so genuine and real-"

"What's genuine and real?" My voice was soft and quiet even though I had interrupted him. I becoming more aware that this dream I felt like I was existing in was in fact reality. His smile was so sure and confident. His chest rose as he took a long breath.

"Us."

-

A/N:

GUESS WHO'S BAAAAAACKKKK