Hey there! *cheeky grin*
Oh my god I missed this story. That two-month-ish break felt like forever. But I have a slightly-longer-than-average chapter to make up for it - and it's all about Michael! *happy dance*
Oh, and before I forget - I wanted to thank my anon reviewers! Because, you know, I can't respond to them privately. Because. Anon. So yes, thank you, Stefan's Girl and Person Who Only Typed in "Anon"! If you're reading this. You might've just skipped the author's note and went on to the chapter already. ;)
2,600 words of Michael. Enjoy. XD
When he slowly came to, he was vaguely aware of being…warm. Warmer than usual, that is. It wasn't like he had been feeling necessarily cold as of late; the cold didn't bother him as much as it would a…human. But…Michael felt warm. It was a pleasant feeling—one he could get comfortable with. He stirred and rolled over onto his back, awake but not yet opening his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled deeply before his heavy eyelids opened, and he instantly closed them again. It was bright—very bright. It made his eyebrows pinch together to fight the headache that staring into such a light would bring.
After the fog of sleep ebbed away slightly, his mind came to attention enough that he began to question why it would be so bright and warm in his bedroom, because surely he was in his bed; he could feel the sheets beneath his fingers and pillow under his head.
Where am I?
He tested opening his eyes again—this time very slowly, and only a fraction. The light was still painful to look into but not unbearable; he was able to blindly reach the nightstand to his right, where he knew there were darkly-tinted sunglasses stowed away in the drawer. He knew because that's where he had placed them, when he transferred his things over to Max's house. And while there indeed was a nightstand there, it had no built-in drawer—just a small table-top. At this realization, Michael pulled himself up out of bed in a mild panic and—with very much effort—scanned his nearest surroundings. On top of the foreign nightstand was a pair of sunglasses, thankfully—broken ones, but they would work in a pinch.
The shades dimmed his bright surroundings enough that it was now bearable to squint at the floor while his hand held the sunglasses up to his face. After a few minutes, his eyes adjusted to the harsh light until he could open his eyes almost completely and focus on the room he was in. It didn't take long at all to recognize exactly where he was.
His old room.
What he was doing in his grandfather's house, he had no idea, nor did he know when—or how—he had gotten here. He racked his brain for his memories of last night and found them to be vague and clouded. He went out to eat with everyone, and then…then… He didn't know what happened after that.
A dull headache formed behind his eyes, probably a mixture of trying to recall the events of last night and having to look around such a bright-ass room. He sighed, and then it hit him.
He was sitting on the end of his old bed, using the broken sunglasses he had left behind when he had packed up his things a while ago, and a thick ray of sunlight was beating directly down on him. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized that sooner; it was the reason why he had woken up feeling so warm, and why his eyes had nearly fried inside his skull a few minutes ago. His old room didn't have curtains over the window, and the whole room was lit up in bright, midday sunlight.
For a second time since waking up, panic stirred in his chest—a very different kind of panic than he knew from when he was human, due to the lack of a functioning heart, but panic, nonetheless. Panic that subsided when he realized his skin wasn't burning, or bubbling, or even smoking. It didn't even hurt—not in the least. On the contrary, it felt almost…pleasant. It brought a warm feeling to his body, which naturally (or unnaturally, depending on how you look at it) lacked any heat. He never felt cold, necessarily, but it was nice to be warm for once. And he wasn't dead or dying. That in itself went against everything he thought he knew about being a vampire so far.
When he first awakened as a vampire in that cellar in Max's yard, Dwayne and David had specifically told him that if he left its safe confines and exposed himself to the sunlight, he would die. Plain and simple. Of course, that could've been said as a means to keep him in the underground enclosure until he calmed down, but aside from the special cases of Max and Marko, none of them went out into the daylight, ever. As far as Michael knew, that is. Did any of them walk around during the day? He wouldn't know; he slept as long as the sun was up.
A feeling of irritation overcame him. He couldn't believe any of them would lie to him about something like that, and make him think he would die if he stepped foot into the sun ever again. Sure, usually he felt absolutely exhausted by the time the sun rose every morning so he felt no qualms about crashing then, but if this had never happened to him, would they have eventually told him? Would he have ever found out? He exhaled in exasperation and promptly stood up; he wasn't planning on going back to sleep anytime soon.
The bedroom door was ajar so he slipped into the hall—and was instantly relieved that the concentration of sunlight was much, much less outside of his (old) room. He entered the bathroom, which happened to be right next to the bedroom, and set his sunglasses down on the edge of the sink. He opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the bottle of pain pills, and quickly swallowed two of them to ease his growing headache. They'd take time to kick in, so in the meantime…he could really go for a shower.
He got the water running in the shower first, deciding to let it warm up before he jumped in. While he waited, he took off his shirt and jeans, taking notice to how little he was actually wearing. He didn't have on shoes, socks, or a jacket. Absentmindedly, he hoped he could uncover at least a pair of shoes he could wear when he figured out how he was going to find his way back to Max's house.
Once he was undressed and standing in the white-tiled bathroom naked, he alternated between stretching his arms behind his back and in front of his chest for a few minutes. His muscles felt tired and sore; he blamed it on the uncomfortable bed he had slept on.
Running water had never sounded so good. The shower called to his aching muscles and he wasted no time in stepping into the tub and allowing the warm water to run over his skin.
It felt good for about a second, because that was how long it took for the water to suddenly become unbearably hot. Michael flinched, and that was when he felt a searing burning sensation where the water was coming into contact with his skin—the left half of his chest and along his left side, mostly. He cried out in pain and watched his skin turn bright red. Steam rose from his chest and shoulder and he all but fell out of the shower, tumbling over the edge of the bathtub and curling up on the floor in agony. Laying on his burn hurt like a bitch, but the tile was like a splash of cold water; it helped with the pain of the burn, if only for a moment.
He laid like that for a long time—curled up on his side and waiting for himself to heal. It took a little longer than it maybe should have, and a little voice in the back of his head whispered, You know why. Michael grit his teeth and pushed that thought away, along with the gnawing hunger that always rose up when he was reminded of the fact that he had yet to have a real meal.
Slowly, after many long, painful minutes, he could feel his skin heal itself. His skin was still pink and sore, but the bright red color from before had faded and the pain was gone. He pulled himself to his feet and very, very carefully reached around the shower to shut the water off. The room fell silent, minus his weighted breathing, and he stumbled over to the little cabinet that held all the towels. As he dried himself off, his hands shook and his mind raced trying to figure out what just happened and why. He wracked his brain for anything someone had said to him about avoiding running water, but he couldn't recall anything regarding that.
He'd definitely have to ask about that later. Along with why he didn't die when he was exposed to sunlight earlier.
All of his clothes had been moved to Max's place, leaving his drawers empty, so he had to put back on the same clothes he had woken up in—not a big deal because his clothes weren't dirty, but he had kind of been hoping to find something additional he could put on to cover up better. He was able to find a very old, worn-out pair of sneakers, but he crossed his fingers the pair he had worn last night showed up somewhere in this house. And just where was his jacket? Leather wasn't cheap. Or at least, he was pretty sure it wasn't; that jacket had been a gift to him a few years ago. He wore it last night. Actually, he wore it a lot – when it wasn't too hot outside. It certainly wasn't hot in Santa Carla this time of year. But being undead kind of eliminated the need to worry about temperature; he'd be able to wear it any time of year he wanted, now that he thought about it. That was kinda sweet. Maybe there were more perks to being a vampire than he had originally thought, if he looked deeper than just the surface. Even the little things could add up to be pretty awesome.
You know, if you overlooked the need to suck the blood out of humans to survive. But hey, at least he didn't necessarily have to kill to do that. Although, his fellow vampires' hands may not be as clean as they seem. Max said they aren't allowed to kill their victims but…accidents happened, right?
Ah, okay. Not thinking about that right now. Max wasn't here. Neither were any of his "boys"—or Michael's new "brothers," as it had been put. It was just Michael, in his old house. Alone. Shoeless. Walking around in the sun and almost dying while attempting to take a shower. Yeah.
The house was completely silent; as far as he knew, he was the only one home. As he roamed the house, he half-expected his grandfather to jump out of nowhere with a stake and…kill him? Would his crazy grandfather (who supposedly had some very freaky weapons against vampires) kill his own grandson if he became a creature of the night? To be completely honest, Michael didn't know his grandfather well enough to answer that without making assumptions.
There was duct tape in one of the miscellaneous drawers in the kitchen; he used the grey tape to fix up his makeshift sunglasses, so he could wear them without having to physically hold them up. Once he was done fixing them, he was free to start searching for the rest of his attire. Surely he must have somehow taken some of his clothes off on the way to his bed, right? Or maybe they were lying in his old room, right by the bed, and he had completely missed them before.
On his way back to his bedroom, he peeked into Sam's room out of sheer curiosity. The room had the kind of stillness that only existed in rooms that hadn't been lived in in a long time. Sam hadn't owned much; everything he brought with him to California, he brought to Max's. The room had the basic furniture it originally had, with a few picture frames here and there, but other than that…it was a dull, empty space.
He moved on to his own bedroom—or what used to be his bedroom. The whole past tense thing was hard to keep consistent. It took one glance-over of the room to see that, clearly, his clothes were nowhere to be found. Sighing, he pulled himself out of the bright, stuffy room and leaned against the wall space between the entrance to his old room and the bathroom.
Of course his shoes and jacket were missing. Now he would have to pull strings to buy a new leather jacket—something he didn't have money for. Max might, but Michael wasn't ready to start hitting his "creator" up for cash.
Although…maybe it would be a good idea. If Max was willing to pitch in for any and all of Michael's needs, why not hit the man up on it?
Just as that idea occurred to him, while he craned his neck to the side to loosen up some of his tight muscles, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Well, not really "caught." The object was immobile; he noticed it.
It was a shoe. His shoe, lying in the slightly opened doorway to a room at the end of the hall—a room Michael had never gone in, but had assumed to be his mother's. He furrowed his brows in confusion, tilted his head to the side, and slowly approached the shoe. He gingerly pushed the door open further, revealing what looked to be a trail of clothing. His other shoe, then his socks, and then his jacket, all leading to the messy bed with a big heap of blankets on the top. And then his underwear, hanging from the corner of the rocking chair in the corner of the room. There were thick blinds covering the windows, casting a dark shadow over the whole room. Michael stood there for a moment, his eyes traveling back and forth between the strange layout of the discarded clothes and the bed. It took a full five seconds for his senses—which seemed to be dulled now, probably due to it being in the afternoon—to pick up on the unmistakable feeling of an extra presence nearby. Right in front of him, actually, because there was someone bundled up on the bed—and not a human. That much he could tell.
He swallowed thickly and, feeling a little shaky, rounded the bed to get a look at who it was. They were fast asleep, naturally—thank god. He could get a peek without an awkward confrontation.
They were fully covered by the thick blanket, but luckily they weren't wrapped around it several times; all Michael had to do was pull the blanket down about five inches to see their face clearly.
Just like he had feared, he knew them—him. It was a man, and maybe that should've weirded Michael out more than it did. A few weeks ago, he would've scoffed at the idea of having a fling with a male. But here he was, looking down at a bare-chested male vampire (a beautiful one, though, Michael had to admit). Sadly, the gravity of the situation took away from the otherwise-pleasant sight before him.
Because Dwayne was in his bed.
Because there were two sets of clothing on the floor.
The only logical conclusion was that Michael had sex with one of his coven-mates.
The weirdest part though…was that Michael remembered none of it.