"What about Coldplay?" She asked, nearly getting dye all over my favorite My Chemical Romance shirt.
She was dyeing my hair - again. Apparently, she thought the lilac "washed me out", but I hoped it was for a different reason.
Luke still hadn't shown up and it had been an entire week since his disappearance. Calum had gone as far as to call Luke's family to try to find out if all was well with him, but ended up with no luck.
We've had a pretty lazy week in general, but today has been the best. We both had the day off, so we went to In-N-Out for lunch (and ended up getting kicked out when we had a ketchup/mustard fight) and she got the brilliant idea to dye my hair a different color. And we've been comparing bands ever since. So far, we've both agreed that there would be no hard feelings if one of us had the opportunity to be with Gerard Way, and that every day is an ACDC day.
"I like Coldplay, but I wouldn't be front row...so, 17?" I replied, shivering as she slapped more dark brown dye on my head. "And Bastille?"
"I can't believe Coldplay is your 17, my 17 is All Time Low..." She muttered.
"Yeah, yeah...Bastille," She knew I loved All Time Low - they were my number 3.
I felt her jab my head with the applicator brush and laugh as brown dye landed on the floor with a "plop".
"Gross, Michael!" she shrieked, "Why did you have to shit yourself? That's disgusting!" As she spoke, her nose crinkled and her eyes acquired some kind of sparkle that I'd never seen before.
"What?" She said after a few moments of silence.
"Oh, uh, sorry..." I hadn't realized I was staring, but God, she was just so perfect. Not in a way that's superficial or anything, just perfect in her own way. I think it's just so intoxicating when someone is undeniably and unapologetically who they are. Michaela is who she is and I can't help but fall more in love each day.
"When are you going to tell her?" I remember Ashton asking me one day this week after we went to pick up lunch for Calum and ourselves (Calum was opposed to both of us going since no one really needs two pairs of hands to carry one giant bag of orange chicken).
"Tell her what?" I replied, kicking a pebble on the ground along with the speed of my footsteps. It was especially smoggy outside that day; the thick yellow haze that covered the sky, along with the steam from overworked building heaters teamed up together to block out the delicate rays of sunshine. But I was still smiling like an idiot.
"You know..." Ashton said, nudging me with his shoulder. "Tell her how much you love her," he sang in a teasing tone, immediately making my eyes roll to the back of my head.
"Why the hell would I tell her that?" I scoffed. "Do you want me to scare her off?"
"No, dude," He laughed, "I just think you should tell her how you really feel. She's been great for you."
I hope I've been as great for her.
"Yeah, she really has," I replied, letting my voice drop again as I wanted to change the subject. "But she's pretty weird, you know."
It was true. She would walk around the apartment at the same time every night and turn a lot of things on and off to "make sure they were still working", she talks to herself, and she dances when she thinks no one is looking.
"Funny you should say that, because Matthew Gray Gubler said that if you're lucky enough to find a weirdo, never let them go."
And I never would. I never will.
"I'd say 11 for Bastille," she continued after a good minute and a half of hard thinking. "Okay, Pompeii or Things We Lost in the Fire?"
