A/N: OMYLORRD. I cannot believe it's been a MONTH since I've updated. I could've sworn it's been a bit over 2 weeks, but a month? Good gracious. Damn these assignments and circulating illnesses keeping me so busy and out of it.

So anyway, two chapters for you all. Not because I actually wrote two chapters worth of stuff, but because a lot happens and a lot is said and I think it'd be heavy to put everything in one chapter, so I split it up in two. I know the smaller the scroll bar is on a fic, the more I wanna say 'OMG, sooo muuucchh' and leave. Don't wanna put you through that. (Although I believe I am with this A.N.)

Before You Read

Note1: I like making Nick babble. Note2: Free IV Madison is not real. I named it after a friend of mine and the lyrics are mine as well.

Enjoy :)

I peeked through the peephole and what do you know. Just the visitor I needed. I opened the door.

"Miley. …You're back."

- x. 0 . x -

Miley stood there at the door, rocking back and forth and back again on her toes. I looked down, wiping the smile from my face with my hand and I realized she was actually rocking on her toes. She was barefoot.

"Yeah," she said. Her toes flinched.

My arms crossed against my chest and I tapped my own toes. It was chilly and I needed to keep myself from singing 'Na Na Na, I Told You So'. So I asked her, "What happened to your shoes?"

"Well, I, uh…was talking…away…from your house…and, uhh…There was a bird." She sucked a breath in and kept avoiding eye contact. "It was a big… big bird."

I laughed, "I'm sure it was."

"Shut up!" she said and continued faster. "It just attacked me! I was just walking by and the b-tch was waddling around somebody's lawn. It sees me and it attacks me. F#cking attacks me! So I threw my shoes at it."

"M'hm,"

Miley went shy. "Yeah, and—uhh…I tossed my sandwich, too."

"Mmh," I hummed, understanding the 'attack'. "Interesting."

"Nick,"

She was exhausted. I could hear it. Just as exhausted as I was. Only difference was I wasn't homeless. I had a place to stay. I had family. And as much of as b-tch as Miley was, she was beautiful and deserved a bed.

I opened the door all the way and extended an arm to the inside. "Come on."

And maybe I was going crazy from the sheer happiness of her wanting to stay, but I swear I saw her smile as she entered.

"Good God," she spoke softly, taking in her surroundings.

And that's when I took in my own.

The light swirled marble flooring, cream walls and the spiraled, glossy staircase were beautiful. The hall to the left, a tunnel of my brother's photography, led straight to the kitchen. To left of that was the dining room and on the right existed the living area, wheezing blue and orange light from the television. The flickers shun just far enough to light Miley's eyes and one side of her face, turning her Avatar-like in one second and tan in the next.

"Welcome," I held.

"'Kay," looking up the chandelier she gaped at the crystals.

"What," I questioned, starting to take the jacket I forgot I owned off of Miley. I gave it a good shake once it was off; making sure it hadn't rained again. "You've never seen a chandelier before?"

She zoned in quite quickly. "Please." She snapped. "It's a ceiling light. I'm not blind." She grabbed the jacket from me. "Seen stuff like this a million times in magazines," She put it back on. "Just never in the real world."

I didn't question her on the jacket. She was probably still cold. "Come," I said and led her to the kitchen. "I'm sure you threw a lot of that sandwich."

"I did."

I asked her if she wanted some pasta and she nodded shyly in response. After preparing a plate for her, I turned for a fork and I spotted her, seated on the counter, sipping on a can.

Dad's beer.

"Miley." I snatched the quarter-empty can. "That's not yours."

She smiled and laughed. "What, you want it all to yourself, Mr. Drunky-Pants?" she took the can back—much like she did the jacket— shook it in my face and said, "Mmn, there's always a dirty habit to you rich folks."

"It isn't mine."

"So you're not a drunk?"

"It's my dad's." I clarified.

"So your dad's a drunk."

I stood for a moment. Bingo. "Give me that." I stole the beer and got going for upstairs.

- x.0.x -

"Are you going to take the jacket off?" I asked, leaning against the door to the guest room. I was about to let her forth.

"Not really." said Miley. She pulled the ends of the jacket close to her stomach and trembled a bit, indicating she was still chilly.

"It's warm in there." I promised. "There's a heater and blankets on the bed."

"That's nice." She busted through me, pushing the door open, and shut it when she was in.

I was flustered. Being pushed and shut out so hastily—especially after we ate penne together (I had seconds of it just to be with her) and talked about the bird, and my house, and the way garlic is used was weird. I didn't know whether or not to tell her I was off to take a shower. It was close to one o'clock and told her anyway.

- x.0.x -

"Can you keep a secret? / I've been seeing you / Don't know how to fight it / I'm the night, you're my moon…"

My eyes grew heavy and I closed them, rubbing towel on my abs. I sang to the song by Free IV Madison, thinking again and again of the girl in the room down the hall.

"And we all need company / When I get long!"

I opened my eyes and shifted my pupils left and right. Yeah, that was definitely loud. The last thing I wanted to wake anybody. Frankie snoozed through the whole dinner ordeal, Miley's entrance, and the sound of my parents'…bed moving softly. Too much sound from Dad, not enough from Mom, I thought then. I removed the thought from my head just as carefully as I put pants on. Humming the song, I crossed the hall to my room and shut the door politely behind me.

I glanced at the clock. 1:16 AM. Crap. I cursed, realized what exactly made the clock so bright: the essay. The nine business page essay I'd convinced myself was complete through erotica. It was due in less than six hours.

"Coffee." I decided. Forgetting a shirt, I flew to the stairs. Stopping me was at the landing was Miley…shirtless…as well.

"You got anything I could wear to bed?" she asked, covering herself …well, the little pink parts of herself, with my jacket.

Do not stare. Do. Not. Stare. "Uhhh…Umm…"

Suddenly, I was thankful for spacious pyjama pants.

I was finally able to spit something out moments later. "Third drawer down on your breast." I said. "…I-I mean left. Third drawer down on your left." *facepalm*

Miley went off, murmuring the chorus to Free IV Madison, pretending she wasn't laughing. "Thank you." She said and she closed the guestroom door.

Yeah, this essay definitely isn't going to be an essay.

I reminded myself of the coffee I wanted and resumed my trip downstairs. "Coffee, essay. Coffee, essay." I repeated in a low voice. Getting to kitchen again, I opened the pantry the scanned the thing for some mix. None.

"Damn," There was no way this essay was getting finished. Not without coffee, and certainly not with braless company sleeping over just meters from my room. I had to go.

So I went back upstairs to retrieve my laptop and then my jacket.