Chapter Text
Pre-The Naturals
When Michael woke up, the lack of noise in the house was the first thing he noticed. It was quiet. Almost too quiet.
In the few months that Michael had been living in this house, he’d learned that it was never quiet.
Maybe everyone was still sleeping. Deciding to shrug it off, he pushed off the bed and headed downstairs. If there was no one else awake, then Michael was going to enjoy the rare moments of peace over breakfast in the kitchen.
Once downstairs, Michael checked the living room in passing. Surely enough, it was empty. Good. Michael waltzed into the kitchen—which was also empty—and made a beeline for the fridge.
Michael ate his breakfast in anticipation, waiting for someone else to walk in. The silence was almost… unsettling. Shouldn’t a certain lie detector be here already, sending smart-mouthed remarks his way?
He was just about to get up when the door to the kitchen finally opened. Only it wasn’t who Michael was expecting to see. It was Dean—probably Michael’s least favorite resident of this house.
“Glorious morning to you, Redding,” Michael greeted Dean, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Say, have you seen Lia yet?”
Dean narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t. Shouldn’t you have, though?”
It was safe to say that Dean wasn’t the fondest of Michael and Lia’s romantic relations.
“Don’t you worry,” Michael said, sauntering past Dean on his way out of the kitchen, “Lia and I are off right now.” He could practically hear Dean rolling his eyes.
As Michael made his way back upstairs, Lia finally came out of her room. It was clear she had just woken up—she was rubbing the sleep away from her eyes as she simultaneously smoothed out her long hair.
“Morning, sunshine,” Michael told her, unable to stop himself. “I was thinking you’d never wake up.”
Lia rolled her eyes. “It’s 8:30, Michael. That’s not even late.” For someone who seemed so sleepy just a few moments before, Lia’s eyes were now sharp and clear. “Though, I do have to wonder why you were waiting for me to arise,” she added lightly.
Michael scoffed. “I wasn’t waiting. I was just suspicious.”
Lia arched her eyebrows. He wondered whether she detected that sentence as a truth or a lie. Lia made a low humming sound, then walked away.
They had fought a few days ago, over something inane—Michael couldn’t even remember what it was now. He finished the last of the ice cream, maybe? Whatever it was, it had blown up in Michael’s face and led to their breakup. They both knew it was only a matter of time before they found their way back to each other, though.
Michael smirked at the thought and retreated to his room. Upon reentering, however, he knew something was wrong. There were no clothes on his floor or on the bed. Michael wasn’t a slob, but there was always a shirt here and there that ended up somewhere besides his closet.
Except now. Now, the room was spotless. Michael raised a brow and cautiously padded towards his closet. He threw open the door, and lo and behold, there were no clothes inside.
How is this possible?
How the hell did all of his clothes just disappear? His wardrobe was quite expansive, too—and expensive. As the panic began to set in, Michael tried to think logically. Obviously, his shirts and pants didn’t just walk away. Someone must have taken them.
But why? Was he being punished by Briggs? He didn’t think so. Michael had been relatively well-behaved recently. Was it Dean? He had a general disdain for Michael’s person.
Michael stormed back down the stairs, back to the kitchen. Inside, Dean was eating breakfast at the table, while Lia sat on the counter with a tub of ice cream. Sloane was there now, too, and much to Michael’s dread, she was brewing coffee.
He would have to deal with that later. There were currently more pressing matters at hand.
“Is something wrong, Michael?” Lia asked innocently, toying with the spoon in her hand. She wore a blank expression, but Michael knew her better than that—and how to look beneath the surface.
Instead of answering her question, he turned and studied her. Her eyebrows were slightly lifted at the ends, and so were the corners of her lips. Amusement.
“I seem to have misplaced my clothes. All of them,” Michael told her calmly, watching for her reaction. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Lia?”
Dean looked up at her then. “What did you do, Lia?”
Lia frowned. “Why does everyone always assume I’m the problem?”
“Because,” Sloane piped in, wrapping both of her hands around her mug, “whenever a mishap or unexpected event occurs in this house, you are involved eighty-seven percent of the time.”
Michael leaned forward, closer to her. “The numbers don’t lie, Lia.”
Lia didn’t respond right away. She set the ice cream down on the counter and rolled her shoulders. “It’s a nice day, today, Michael,” she noted, glancing out towards the door that led to the backyard. “Why don’t you go for a swim?” Lia gave a smile that Michael absolutely did not trust.
Michael’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know how going swimming was relevant right now, but he knew she was hinting at something. She was clearly entertained by his frustration, and also seemed to be anticipating something.
With one last glance to Lia, Michael crossed the kitchen and went out to the backyard patio. Fighting the urge to look over his shoulder, he crept closer to the edge of the pool.
You’ve got to be kidding.
There, sitting at the bottom of the pool, laid heaps of clothes. Michael’s clothes—all of them. Even his designer collections.
He was going to kill Lia.
Trying his best to push down his anger and maintain a neutral expression, Michael slowly turned back around. Lia stood right outside the door, her arms crossed and a smug smirk on her face.
“You threw all of my clothes in the pool.” Michael stated solemnly.
Lia shrugged, the picture of indifference. “Maybe I did.”
Was this seriously her revenge for their little clash a few days ago? He internally groaned as he thought about the work it would take to salvage the clothes—if they even could be salvaged.
Michael crossed his arms as well, mimicking her leisurely posture. “You do know,” he started, his eyes trained on hers, “that this means war.”
Lia slowly ambled over to him until they were standing toe-to-toe. A sharp smile tugged at her lips as she looked up at him. “Do your worst, pretty boy.”
And just like that, they both knew—it was on.