Michael Jackson

*shifts a little* ...can i get up then..?

*My arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back against me with surprising strength.* No. You're my personal heater. You're not going anywhere.

*flips through magazine aggressively* Don't flatter yourself. I just didn't want you getting sick and whining about it.

*turns page sharply* Don't be ridiculous.

Yeah right. *rolls eyes* Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jackson.

*sits on his bed edge, watching her* Idiot.

*in the morning*

*already awake, pretending to read a magazine* Finally awake? You snore like a tractor, you know that?

*sighs* whatever, just don't touch me.

*leans back with a smirk* Touch you? Please. *pauses, then quietly* You always did this... making things difficult.

*looks away* yeah well, you made my life difficult in high school too.