"Where the hell's he going?"

"Pan, would you hush and just watch?"

"Bet he's got a secret girlfriend. Bet Aphrodite's got to him  first."

"Leave my mother out of this."

________________

 Michael makes his way across campus, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. 

He stops first in the cafe on campus that's open 24 hours and buys two of those warm double chocolate cookies that they make and tucks them inside his jacket to keep them that way, then, he sets off for his art room.

And Michael heads down the hallway, pausing a moment because is there music coming from somewhere?

It’s not really a surprise, he thinks, shaking his head as he continues on towards the room. He’s on what the students call the “indie” side of campus. It’s the side with the theater and dance rooms and art rooms—it’s the side that he and the boys occasionally practice in when the basement of their complex floods because of their shit landlord. It’s not unusual for this side of campus to have music blaring from somewhere and weed being burnt from paper rolled between someone’s hands. 

It was just the indie side, apparently. 

But Michael is surprised to hear that this music is growing louder—it’s coming from the room. It’s coming from his art room because the lights are on.

Someone’s inside and they’ve got The Black Keys playing.

Somebody’s listening to “Tighten Up.” 

Michael smirks to himself. 

Perfect. 

Take my badge but my heart remains, 

Lovin’ you—

Baby child. 

Tighten up, on your reins, 

You’re runnin’ wild,

Runnin’ wild.

It’s true. 

It's Mila. 

She’s sitting in front of the easel she sits at in class. Her iPhone is plugged into some speaker on the stool Harry sits at beside her as she draws. 

Michael can see that there’s something long and rectangular and thin and black in her hand, and he’s assuming it’s charcoal. 

He’s right, and in her USC sweatshirt and her yoga pants, hair pulled into a messy bun, he watches as her glasses hang from her shirt and she stares, with wide brown eyes, at the picture before her. 

Sick for days in so many ways, 

I’m achin’ now, 

I’m achin’ now—

It’s times like these I need relief,

Please show me how, oh show me how

To get right—

Yeah, it’s out of sight.

“Overachiever.”

“Holy—!”

Mila clutches her chest as Michael shoots her a quick smirk. He enters the room. 

She glares and points to him with her charcoal stick, “Way to give me a heart attack.”

Michael flashes her a quick grin. “What can I say, I’m spontaneous and shit.”

Mila snorts, watching as Michael weaves between the easels, brushing past her as he pauses at his stool. 

“To be honest,” she says, “I don’t understand what you’re doing in here right now.”

“What?” He gasps, hand over his heart. “I’m offended. Appalled, even. I can’t want to draw, Mila? I can’t enjoy the art of art? That’s pretty damn bitchy if we’re being honest.”

“Didn’t ask for the honesty,” she snorts. “And, shut up, because you literally hate on this class in this class. It’s not exactly a secret that you and art don’t add up.”

He pulls a face. “We can’t all be overachievers, can we?” He pauses as she turns away, rolling her eyes, “Overachiever.”

“Whatever, Michael.”

“Overachiever.”

“Hey?”

“Huh, Overachiever?”

“Shut up, Michael.”

“I can’t—wouldn’t know what it’s like.”

“Apparently.”

“We can’t all be overachievers now, can we?”

And Mila flashes him a quick glare that makes him offer her a smile. He sticks out his tongue and throws up his fingers to say ‘rock on’ because he knows that she does not wish to rock on and instead wishes to finish the sketch of the flowers on Ms. Banks' desk. 

"God, would you just look at this shit?" He'd said to Ashton earlier that day in class. He'd pointed directly to Mila's very near perfect sketch of the man in the center of the room and grinned. "God--Some people have no talent."

Ashton had laughed. "Rubbish. Complete rubbish."

Mila had scoffed. "God, could you just shut up?"

"Hey," he had shrugged as Zoe had laughed. "We were all thinking it."

But, that's when Calum had leaned towards her. "It's okay," he had said. "He's mean to me sometimes."

"I'm never mean to you!"

"You are!"

And Mila had reached out and grabbed Calum's hand. "It's okay," she had cooed, and Calum had leaned his head between her neck and shoulder. She had laughed and she had also stroked his hair and Michae may and or may not have had the urge to punch his mate in the face. "It's okay, I'm here, I'm here..."

Michael had gritted his teeth. "I am not mean to Calum."

"You're just a mean person."

"Yeah," Calum had said. "You're just a mean person."

Now, Mila blows hair out of her eyes and sets her charcoal on the easel. Michael stares at her little hands, dirtied and blackened from the tool. 

“What do you want, Michael?”

He says nothing. He shrugs, sitting in the stool beside her and pulls his cookies from his jacket. He lifts one from its paper and takes a bite. 

"Michael, I'm too tired to argue with you tonight--"

"Then don't," he replies. 

"Don't what?"

"Argue with me, then," and he offers her the second cookie. "Want it?"

She lifts a brow, skepticism written across her face. 

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Fuckin' Christ, Mila. It's in the fucking paper!"

"Okay," she says. "Yeah, I'll take it."

He offers her a small grin as she takes the cookie. 

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Michael watches as Mila breaks off a piece of the cookie and bites into it. He watches her chew slowly, as if she's savoring each bite.

"I love these," she says at once. "I love 'em so much."

Michael knows. He sees her order one practically every day. 

"God, this is the first thing I've eaten today since breakfast."

"What the fuck?" He sputters. It's past nine. "How are you--how are you even alive?"

"Been working all day," she shrugs, because between classes and friends and that festival this is the first time she's had time to herself all day. College is like that, sometimes. "I think I've reached the point past hunger. I just don't feel anything, anymore."

"When your stomach eats itself?" He scoffs. "That's got to be bad, right? That's not okay."

“Being an overachiever’s hard work," she says sarcastically. 

He frowns. "It's that festival, huh?"

Her eyes widen. "You've heard about it?"

He nods. Zoe told Ashton in class, or something. 

"Then, yeah," she says. "It is. Posters go up tomorrow. Sign ups start next week."

"For bands?"

"And art and spoken word and music--all of it."

"Shit," he replies. "That's a shit ton."

Mila sighs, staring at the rest of her cookie. "Sure fucking is."

But, it sounds like it's gonna be great, too. 

She holds up the cookie. "Thanks," she says, "for this."

He shrugs. "S'nothing."

Mila laughs. "Okay, Michael. Okay."

-~*~-

I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE THIS STORY IS RANKED. 

Yay long chapter yay! These two are getting closer and cloooosssseeerrrrr. Heeheh. I heart this story. Vomment! xx