I woke up to the sound of loud, obnoxious snoring.
Back again were my fantastic wake up calls. Note the sarcasm.
I opened my eyes gingerly, afraid to get blinded with sunlight and vaporize or something.
I blinked a couple of times before my vision cleared completely. Sure enough, sunlight was streaming through the overhead window and shone on a body that was tangled with mine.
I smiled, remembering that I didn't have a single nightmare last night. It was by far the most peaceful sleep I had ever had my whole life, and just because I had a wonderful, thoughtful, and selfless friend to cuddle with me.
My legs were entwined between his, and his arms were still in the same position from last night. My hands were resting on his broad chest, and a tiny but true smile was plastered on his face.
The sunlight made his hair look a ripe bronze color, and it looked so soft I couldn't help but run my fingers through it over and over again.
I giggled. He was slightly mumbling in his slumber, but I started getting bored of playing with his locks.
I didn't have a watch, so I had to wait until he woke up just so I could ask him about the time. So, to pass the time, I started to trace his facial features.
I started with his sharp and jagged jawline, to his curved pointed chin; from his slightly bent long nose, to his blood-red perfect lips; from his defined cheekbones, to his sweet smile lines; from his bushy eyebrows, and finally to his delicate eyelids and curled long eyelashes. I was mesmerized by the way I could memorize his face just by running my fingers along his curves and edges, savoring it, burning it in my memory.
I was so hooked up with my practice that I didn't notice that his snores had come to a stop, and his body shifted slightly, so he pulled me even closer, nose to nose we lay.
I felt unavoidably safe. Like I was sheltered and warm just with a simple presence.
His eyes fluttered open, and I gasped lightly at the sight.
No matter how I could describe it, I would never do the view justice.
After he shifted and opened his eyes, the sunlight slammed in his eyes, making them seem golden in the bright shine, sparkling with an emotion I could easily distinguish as happiness. The brightest gold flecks swam around his eyes, like a mirror shifting places, and they looked so captivating I just widened my eyes to take in the sight wholly and never forget it.
"I could get used to waking up like this everyday," he chuckled in his deep morning voice, before snuggling into me, his large body compensating for any loss of heat I had in the early hours of morning.
I squeezed him back, smiling gently up at him.
"Wake up, Mike, I was getting really bored," I huffed.
"Mike, if you don't wake up right now, I will scour the house for an ice bucket like my Dad once did long ago, so God help me-"
"I'm up!" he shot up, with a bad case of morning hair.
I laughed, seeing as it looked like a rat's nest, but it looked sort of nice. Fitting, even.
"Any reason why you woke me up at-" he checked his wristwatch, "-11:30 AM on a Sunday?"
I shook my head no.
He sighed before getting up from the bed, and I followed in suit.
"I'll make the bed, you can go freshen up at the meantime," he offered, shooting me a crooked smile.
I mouthed a thank you, picked up fresh underwear, a navy hoodie, black Nike leggings, and blue Vans from the wardrobe, and quickly made it to my bathroom.
I showered quickly, slipped on my outfit, sprayed deodorant, and made it out, all in a matter of less than 10 minutes. I walked into my bedroom again to find Michael on the bed, waiting patiently. I combed through my hair hastily, pulled it up in a ponytail, and sprayed a little perfume. I hesitated before making it to the makeup section on the dresser, deciding on a little fine tuning.
However, a firm hand stopped me from reaching out to the eyeliner.
I scowled up to see Michael with a calm expeession on his face.
"What?" I snapped. Yeah, I know, schizophrenic much?
"As long as I live, you don't need that stuff. You're pretty without makeup," and so he hugged me from behind.
I was swallowed in his embrace, and his body heat was easily transferred into mine.
I didn't think that it was possible for a person to be so sweet, but here I am, standing in front of the gentlest and most thoughtful human being I have ever seen.
But that person left the room, leaving no trace behind.
Despite believing that I looked like a crow, I decided to appease him and not wear makeup. Besides, I heard that putting on too much makeup makes you get wrinkles early. Yuck.
Michael had made the bed perfectly, appealing to my OCD.
I went to the kitchen, and walked in to see him shirtless in front of the stove. A wonderful smell wafted through my nose, waking up my body completely.
I looked over his shoulder (amd mind you, with extreme difficulty; I had to stand up on my tiptoes and lean on the countertop) and saw him frying 5 eggs and about a dozen strips of bacon.
"This looks nice," I mumbled into his muscled shoulder.
"Bet you that five minutes later you'll be saying that it tastes nice too," he smirked confidently.
I snorted in a very unladylike way, "Yeah well I'll be the judge of that, Chef Phelps."
He gave me a determined look, and grabbed two plates from the counter that I was leaning on, and filled them with the -I have to admit- glorious looking food.
"Can you please grab the toast from the wicker basket on the counter beside the fridge?"
I nodded, before grabbing the much needed food as my stomach growled.
I followed him into the dining room, and decided today to sit beside him. He had a very comforting aura around him, a sense of tranquility and peace, that grabbed a hold of you as soon as you sense it with him. You just needed that sort of comfort, unable to deny your needs. Yeah, I wanted to feel at ease.
I sat down, and started to eat with him staring at me, waiting for my judgment.
As soon as I popped a little eggs and bacon on my fork, my taste buds sparked with delight. This was something I could never understand, but the food was so good, I hummed out in satisfaction as I downed everything down with a couple of slices of toast.
He smirked cockily, and I rolled my eyes, before he dug in his own plate.
"Thank you," I smiled after clearing my dish and not forgetting my manners.
He waved it off with a smile, "At least now you'll never underestimate my cooking skill, but really, there's nothing else to underestimate, seeing as I can't cook anything but breakfast anyways.." he drifted off with a shrug, and I burst out laughing.
I grabbed his plate and mine, and washed them quickly. When I came back, he was still sitting down, rubbing at his somehow-still-sleepy eyes.
I gave him a pat on the (extremely muscled, mind you) back, and told him gently, "You can get up if you like and wash your face and teeth. You still look sleepy. We don't have to do everything together." He shook his head.
"First, I was just thinking you would like it if we were together. Second, I was also waiting to tell you that I am going to shower, and third, I was also going to tell you that I plan on calling the maintenance to fix the AC, because the weather is too hot to have a lousy AC," he huffed exaggeratedly, "I can't really stay shirtless forever."
"Why not?" I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.
He turned a very obvious red and spluttered like a fool, before shooting an "It's wrong!" at me.
I raised my eyebrows.
"Honestly, what is wrong with being topless? It's your body, your property, you can do whatever the hell you want."
"But you're a woman, I'm a man!" he lamely protested.
"Gee, didn't know that, Captain Obvious."
He closed his eyes, collecting himself.
"Never mind, Clare."
Well that was odd.
He got up, probably to his bathroom, while I decided to check out the game room.
It was a blur of technology. Bleeping screens were everywhere, and old arcade games were plugged in around the massive room, a pool table took up most of the space, and a large TV was situated in the back, connected with lots of cables. A mini ping pong table was at the far right corner. The lights were dimmed inside, but the only open lights were three spotlights lighting on a glass cabinet at the back.
As I approached it, I gasped so loudly I was sure the next door neighbors could hear me.
Nestled on little iron nails were medals. Most of them gold, but a fair few were bronze and silver. I had no idea what they were for, but they explained a great deal of things. The sight of so much metal was blinding. Eyes still wide, I walked away, but not before stumbling on my feet.
Looking down, I found a magazine with Michael standing shirtless on the cover, wearing around 8 gold medals around his neck, the title popping out in gigantic bold red letters: MICHAEL PHELPS, MOST DECORATED OLYMPIAN EVER: SWIMMING SECTION, PAGE 19.
Had I not been used to unnecessary surprises, I would've fainted.