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The first thing Michael feels when he wakes up that morning is cold. Cold, icy air that bites at his skin and leaves a trail of shudders across his body. Pulling the thick duvet up further and clasping at it tightly beneath his chin, Michael reaches over to the small, bedside table and grabs his phone, unlocking it in one, swift motion. The screen blares angrily, a bright white light illuminating Michael’s pale face, and the time flickers urgently: 06:45. Grumbling, the eighteen year old nudges the phone back onto the table and yanks the covers up further, covering his head completely so all that’s visible is a dark strip of fluff.
It’s early, too early, in Michael’s mind. His ideal Christmas is one spent asleep all day, and that’s what he intends to do. Hearing muffled noise from outside his door; Michael groans lightly and buries himself deeper into his bed. He knows what’s coming, and although he dreads it, he’d be lying if he said a small part of him didn’t look forward to it.
Michael closes his eyes tightly, praying that sleep would drag him back down. The sounds outside grow faintly louder and, muttering under his breath, he begins to count down from five, waiting for the inevitable moment where sleep becomes impossible.
Right on cue at zero, Michael’s door bursts open and hits the wall frantically with a warning echo. Before Michael’s mind can catch up, he hears a thud and feels the weight of three bandmates crash down on his bed and, ultimately, himself.
“Merry Christmas Mikey!”
Everywhere is too loud, and Michael’s really wishing he savoured those blissful moments of peace more.
He grumbles “no” quietly, but the protest goes unheard amongst the over-excited yells of eager teenagers; teenagers who are definitely too awake for almost 7 am. Michael feels a slithering breeze of cold air seep under the covers and across his bare skin, and before he has a chance to hurriedly pull it back up, the duvet’s yanked backwards, leaving Michael exposed to the cool temperature and Ashton’s nose centimetres from his own. Michael hears the older boy giggle, fricking giggle Michael thinks, before he’s leaning back on his shins. He looks decidedly too happy compared to a drowsy Michael; with a grin practically splitting his skin, dimples intending his cheeks and an excited, almost maniac look in his eyes.
Michael hears a yelp that resembles a battle cry, and suddenly he’s hit with the force of Calum throwing himself onto Michael, the younger’s knee jutting knocking into Michael’s crouch fiercely, and Michael can’t help the yell that escapes his lips. Michael is instantly reminded of why he wanted to spend Christmas asleep, and preferably alone.
Calum simply laughs in Michael’s face, completely unsympathetic, and Michael’s torn between wanting to throw Calum off and hitting him back. Michael hesitates for a beat too long, and he registers what Calum’s about to do too late, and he definitely doesn’t remember Calum being this annoying last year. Michael’s suddenly jostled upwards and he groans in frustration; with Calum thrusting wildly against his hip and his arms pinning Michael down.
“No, Calum stop, s’ too early for humping,”
Michael complains, throwing his head back and shifting determinedly beneath Calum in a failing attempt to throw the younger boy off. Jabbing an elbow into Calum’s rib, Michael feels the weight of an additional body roll off him and practically hears the pout on Calum’s lips.
There’s too much hassle and chaos for Michael to deal with, and it isn’t until he feels a warm body wrap around his that he realises Luke had barely moved since they first came barging in, sitting amusedly on the edge of the bed and watching contently. Luke folds himself across Michael in his signature style, with one thigh hitched up around Michael’s waist, the flat plane of his stomach and chest pressing again Michael’s side, and one arm slung across Michael’s chest, a hand gripping his shoulder with the right amount of pressure. Michael feels Luke nuzzle his nose into the skin of Michael’s neck, and he’s certain that’s the first time he’s smiled all morning. Wrapping his arm around Luke’s waist and holding him close; Michael feels the younger boy press a light kiss to his cheekbone and move across to hover his lips above Michael’s ear.
“Merry Christmas, Michael.”
Luke speaks softly, his voice tinting with an uncontrollable excitement, and its then that Michael remembers Christmas being Luke’s favourite holiday season. Michael’s smile widens, and tilting his head, he presses a linger kiss to Luke’s cheek, muttering in reply.
“Merry Christmas, Luke.”
Michael’s lips catch gently on the hint of stubble spreading across Luke’s jawline, and his lets his mouth rest just above the skin there for a moment, before pulling back slightly and letting his head flop back onto the pillow. He’s about to roll over and attempt to fall back to sleep, but then Calum’s probing at his ankle, and Michael’s definitely not going to be sleeping any time soon.
“Michael.”
“Michael.”
“Michael.”
“Mich-“
Michael cuts Calum off with a high pitched whine from the back of his throat, his eyes shifting up to glare tiredly at the younger boy.
“What?”
Michael moans, his voice dragging out the ‘a’, and he determinedly ignores the muffled cackle coming from Ashton.
“Get up mate, we need to see if Santa’s been”
Michael rolls back over, his eyebrow quirked in disbelief, and it’s in that moment he decides he needs new friends.
“Really, Ashton, Santa? What are you, 5?”
Ashton just shrugs, his eyes alight with excitement and giddiness, and Michael misses the times when his comebacks would actually be taken in offense.
“Yes. Calum, help me move him.”
Calum smirks with a devilish glint in his eyes, and Michael knows this won’t end well, especially when he feels a strong grip wrap around his ankles.
He barely even has time to form a protest on his tongue when he’s being dragged forward, his head sliding off the pillow and his legs dangling preciously off the edge of the bed. He whines “no” feebly, and feels Luke grasping on tighter, and Michael wonders why Luke hasn’t let go of him to join in yet, normally Luke would be the most excited out of all of them.
Ashton’s giggle is beginning to give Michael a headache, and Calum’s holding his shin too tightly, and this is definitely not how he wanted his Christmas morning to start.
“Hey, guys, maybe we should leave him for a bit.”
And then Luke’s talking, helping him, and Michael is stunned with the lack of wanting to tell Luke to shut up, and wonders why Luke is always so nice to him. Michael glances down at the blonde boy, watches as Luke shuffles upwards awkwardly and attempts to yank Michael’s leg out of Calum’s grip.
“Aw, you’re no fun Hemmings.”
Calum’s pouting again, but Michael’s too tired to make a remark, just wants them to leave him in peace for a few more hours at least. He begins to drift off again, slowly closing his eyes and blocking out the sounds of his band mates.
He vaguely hears Ashton promising they’ll be back in about five hours, and then the muffled shut of the door, followed by a silence that’s both eerie and blissful at once. Michael shimmies ungracefully back up the mattress, collapses on the pillow, and is seconds away from being completely unconscious. But then Michael feels the mattress dip beside him, and he’s about to peel his eyes back open because he should be alone now, why am I not alone, when Luke’s pressing his lips carefully into Michael’s cheek, and somehow a small smile manages to work its way onto Michael’s lips.
“Goodnight, Mikey”
Luke mumbles into his ear, before shifting to rest his head against Michael’s shoulder, his hair brushing lighting beneath Michael’s chin, and Michael can definitely fall asleep to this.
-----
Michael wakes up again a few hours later, and he’s greeted with Luke curled up on his chest; his fingers clutching desperately at Michael’s arm and face nuzzled into Michael’s neck. Michael can’t hold back the fond smile that creeps across his lips, and he affectionately tugs at Luke’s blonde locks, letting his fingertips clumsily crawl through his hair and flopping down to curve against Luke’s waist. Luke’s somehow managed to wedge his foot beneath Michael’s thigh, his knee jutting into Michael’s lower back, and Michael should be uncomfortable and shove Luke off like he usually does, but for some reason he likes it, this feeling of Luke wrapped around him awkwardly. Michael tells himself it’s just the Christmas season getting to his head, and pretends that the butterflies in his stomach don’t really exist.
Michael wriggles restlessly, caught between not wanting to wake Luke, but wanting to move before the entire left side of his body is left numb. He glances down at Luke and is almost left breathless at how peaceful and beautiful he looks; his eyelashes fanning out delicately on his cheeks and pouting lips hovering gently above Michael’s collarbone. Michael frowns, his eyebrows creasing inwards, because since when have I been soppy, what is happening.
Luke whimpers sleepily, eyes still closed and his warm breath sinking into Michael’s skin. He nuzzles his head further into Michael’s neck, bumping his nose and tickling Michael’s chin with the tips of his unruly quiff. Michael chuckles lightly, and its then that he’s reminded of why he likes to stay in bed for the duration of Christmas day. It’s also in this moment when Michael realises just how far gone he is for this boy.
Luke whines again, and Michael doesn’t know how much more of this he can handle. Sighing, Michael buries his nose into Luke’s hair and presses his lips gently on Luke’s forehead, letting them linger there before mumbling,
“Luke. Wake up.”
Luke grumbles, snuggling into Michael’s side determinedly before lifting his hand and blinking sleepily, rubbing a hand clumsily across his eye and Michael’s certain he’s never seen anything cuter.
“Why you being so cuddly? Normally hate me,”
Luke mumbles, his voice thick with drowsiness and words tinted with confusion and slur. Michael smirks again fondly, and his minds racing because honestly, he doesn’t know the answer to Luke’s question either.
Instead he stretches lazily and shrugs lightly, only pausing when his feet nudge into something and he hears a light thud. Michael glances up at Luke, eyebrow raised in questioning, and an unspoken question that Luke already understands.
Michael watches curiously as Luke nervously bites at his lip piercing and avoids Michael’s stare. The younger boy crawls to the end of the bed, reaches down and emerges holding something out of Michael’s view. He scurries backwards, and Michael sinks his tooth lightly into his bottom lip to prevent a burst of laughter escaping.
Luke ungracefully collapses next to Michael, pushes himself up to rest against the headboard and gathers up whatever fell off the bed in his palms, keeping his eyes trained on the object.
“I, um, I got you something,”
Luke stutters awkwardly, holding out a bundle of festive wrapping paper and shifting his gaze to look anywhere but at Michael.
Michael stares at him in awe, mouth gaping open in a small ‘o’. He wasn’t expecting a present, wasn’t expecting Luke to stay with him at all, and he doesn’t quite know how to react.
“Luke…”
He begins, trailing off as Luke simply shakes his head and thrusts the present towards him again, the tip of the paper bumping Michael’s jaw. Michael’s eyes flicker up from the gift to Luke’s face, but the younger boy refuses to look anywhere but in Michael’s direction. Sighing gently, Michael hoists himself up against the headboard next to Luke, pressing his hands into the mattress and letting the present drop into his lap. Curling his finger beneath the present, Michael tentatively holds it up, cradling it carefully as if it’ll shatter any second.
There’s too much sellotape holding it all together, deep creases running through the vibrant red paper, and a wrapping bow stuck clumsily in the corner with the ribbon falling apart. Michael chuckles lightly, it’s all so Luke, and he can perfectly imagine the younger boy repeatedly trying to wrap the present with growing frustration; sticking the sellotape to his own fingers accidently and taking him several attempts until he was mildly satisfied, sticking on a bow at the last-minute with one of his dopey, open-mouthed smiles that Michael loves.
Michael realises he’s been staring for a beat too long at the present in his hands when he feels Luke fidget uncomfortably beside him, their shoulders bumping together. Michael’s reminded of how anxious Luke gets when the other boy coughs slightly, tangling his fingers together nervously, and Michael can practically hear the thoughts of what if he doesn’t like it, he’ll probably hate it, I’ve screwed up, you’re such an idiot Luke.
Reaching over, Michael gently nudges his nose against Luke’s cheek, and he smiles to himself when he notices Luke’s fingers pause and slither apart. Returning his attention to the gift that still sits un-opened, he decides he can’t leave Luke waiting any longer. Michael skims his fingers across the paper, desperately feeling for an opening in the mass of sellotape Luke used. He considers making a joke that won’t be funny, but Luke would laugh at anyway, just because Luke’s nice to him like that. Instead, he finds a small gap, and tears it back to reveal a mess of black fabric. Frowning lightly, Michael fumbles with the material until it slips away, and he instantly freezes because, oh my God, Luke bought me Pokémon. Letting the forgotten fabric slide through his fingers and onto the sheets, he grabs at the game, flipping it over in his hands and jolting his head to the side to stare at Luke animatedly.
Luke’s fiercely twisting his wristbands where they rest in his lap, and he barely even acknowledges Michael’s reaction, his expression blank and lips drooping down slightly. Michael glances back down at the box resting heavily in his palms,
“You bought this for me?”
Michael mumbles, and he watches as Luke finally looks at him, nodding timidly. Michael can tell he’s ready to apologise, saying he’ll return it straight away because Michael hates it, of course he does, and Michael will not let that happen.
“Oh, my God, Luke, you didn’t have to get me this.”
Michael’s honestly shocked, he knows this latest Pokémon game wasn’t cheap, but Luke was still willing to spend his money on Michael, Michael, the one who yells at him to shut up and repeatedly calls him a dick and annoying and stupid.
Luke shrugs; his shoulder rubbing against Michael’s and mutters,
“I wanted too,”
his face brushed with embarrassment. Michael’s never felt so loved before, and he can feel the weight of Luke actually cares about me pressing down on him.
Luke tips his shoulder into Michael’s and points sheepishly, and Michael’s remembers that there was something else. Reaching down, Michael captures the black fabric, and clumsily unfolds it to reveal a simple t-shirt with the Pokémon logo stamped on the front. Michael’s honestly speechless, and he can’t decide if he’s more irritated at Luke or himself for getting so emotional about the most basic gift.
Michael’s suddenly hit with an overbearing guilt, his eyes widening because shit, he didn’t buy Luke a present.
"Shit, Luke, I didn’t get you anything, crap.”
Michael curses, feels Luke shrug again, and knows that Luke won’t take it to heart, because Luke’s the type of person who prefers giving rather than receiving.
“S’okay, I got to sleep in with you, that’s enough.”
Luke mumbles, and Michael’s certain his words haven’t registered in Luke’s mind yet, and its only when Luke’s eyes widen and his cheeks blush that Michael’s thoughts were confirmed.
“Aw, Luke,”
Michael tries teasing, but somehow he can’t manage that and instead his voice drowns out, and suddenly Michael’s hit with the sincerity of it all.
“I wasn’t expecting you to even stay with me at all, to be honest.”
Michael mutters in reply, his voice barely audible, and he’s not sure Luke heard him at all. Michael glances downwards slightly, and now it’s his turn to be embarrassed. This is Luke’s fault, Michael reasons, it’s always Luke’s fault.
But then he feels the light, delicate press of Luke’s lips against his cheek, and he visibly relaxes, turning to see a prominent and vivid blush colouring Luke’s cheeks. He chuckles, and nuzzles Luke back, bumping his nose into Luke’s neck and brushing his fringe out across Luke’s jawline.
Luke laughs softly, and the butterflies that Michael pushed away flutter painfully against his stomach. Michael leaves his head to droop onto Luke’s shoulder, refuses to move and lets Luke snake his arm across the expanse of Michael’s shoulder blades.
There’s a comfortable silence filling the air, and Michael’s confused with how natural it all feels, as if cuddling in bed on Christmas morning is a tradition they’ve been doing for years. Michael’s growing quickly overwhelmed with it all, and he urgently feels the need to say something, when his gaze subconsciously draws itself back to the heap of presents and torn wrapping paper.
“Why so much Pokémon?”
Luke shrugs again,
“This is gunna sound stupid but playing Pokémon is kinda like our thing now, and, yeah.”
Luke breaths out that last part, as if he’s convinced that Michael will laugh in his face, and tell him how dumb he’s being. Usually, Michael would, but now all he really wants to do is kiss Luke. So he does.
He leans in abruptly and presses his lips against Luke’s, feeling the piercing bump into his skin and smiling at the surprised squeal from Luke. Nipping Luke’s bottom lip, he presses in deeper, more urgent, slipping his tongue into Luke’s mouth and feeling Luke’s hands roam up to rest on his waist.
After a few moments, Michael pulls back and shifts to rest his forehead against Luke’s; their noses nudging together awkwardly and eyes so close Michael’s vision’s beginning to blur.
“Merry Christmas, Luke.”
Luke’s smile widens and he lets out a barely audible laugh, his breath fogging out across Michael’s skin.
“Merry Christmas, Michael.”