Dream Like New York

Fuck.

OMG. About to board a six star luxury cruise Caribbean-bound! That little bitch told me we were going on a business trip to Milan #neverbeenonaboatbefore #omg #fuckcamping

Um... what do you do if someone did something whilst they were really, REALLY drunk, and don't seem to actually remember it the morning after. And it was something that sort of meant a lot to you...?

About to have breakfast ♥

Awake and can't sleep. Who did people bitch to about that before Facebook was invented?

Who: Michael Davison, Paris Hart and Gen Hart
What: Sprung!
Where: Paris' apartment
When: Brunch time, day after THIS

Michael's intentions of going back to his own place in Woodbridge Township in New Jersey had been admirable enough, but here he was, waking up slowly and stretching like a contented cat with the morning sunlight streaming in through the half-closed blinds. The bed felt like a marshmallow was hugging him, the loads of pillows puffed up behind his head and the extremely messy bed clothes in various stages of rumpled and creased around him. He was alone in the bed, but somewhere beyond the bedroom, he could smell something amazing cooking. Now he was torn. He wanted to stay here because frankly, he hadn't been this relaxed in a very long time, but on the other hand, he was alone and Paris was in another room. That made the decision for him. He was naked in the bed, pushing the covers back so he could shuffled his butt over to the edge to get up. He was still naked when he padded to the connecting en suite bathroom to take care of business and brush his teeth. Which was only when he realised the spare, new toothbrush he had been using since Paris brought him back here was still in the cup beside Paris' purple sparkly one. He leant on the bathroom counter and looked at them with a lopsided smile on his face. This felt extremely fucking weird, but no way was he taking it for granted. This was the morning after, and for all he knew, Paris might be out there ready to hand him his marching orders from the job because now things wouldn't work once they had slept together.

Slept together no less than five times in one night, mind. In fact, Michael's butt was sore now, but it was a good sore. They had changed up too, and when Paris happily bottomed for him, Paris was pretty sure he was about to die and go to heaven just from pleasure. Even if, apparently, gay sex wouldn't get them anywhere near the pearly gates. Michael was religious. He was more spiritual, if anything. He believed in things like guardian angels for people who truly needed them, and about your loved ones waiting in the afterlife for you. What he and Paris did last night was definitely more spiritual than religious. When he exited the bathroom, he realised them that Paris had laid out a fluffy bathrobe for him, so he pulled it on, not bothering with even putting underwear on.

He was looping the sash in a knot at his hip when he wandered out into the kitchen and found Paris at the stove, cooking something that looked gourmet with various ingredients placed in easy reach around him and a fresh pot of tea brewing. Michael came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Paris' waist, some soft kisses dropping against the nape of Paris' neck. "What's cooking, baby? Smells amazing. Are you going to share?" he asked lightly, even if he was getting a little nervous inside that Paris was about to slam the brakes on all of this and say one night was just one night. Fuck, he didn't know what he was going to do if that was the case.

Woke up feeling a whole lot better. Still not allowed to go back to work until Monday, though. If anyone wants to grab a coffee over the weekend, just give me a shout. I mean, assuming I'm let out to play... ;)

Who: Michael Davison and Paris Hart
What: "Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care."
Where: FABULOUS headquarters
When: Monday after lunch

Design meetings were always pretty intense and, today, Paris was running this one alone. There were concept boards, fabric swatches, past issues, fashion prototypes and samples, all spread out messily on the board room table as they brainstormed for some future issues and special editions. They always had one right at the start of a new season and for Christmas. It just felt like it was going on forever. Michael hadn't seen Paris all morning. He had been tied up in meetings and on the phone right up until this meeting was scheduled. The day felt like it was going on forever, and despite the couple of doses of Advil Michael had taken, his head was still pounding and his eyes just didn't want to stay open. To top it all off, he felt sick to the stomach and hot now, like there was no air circulating the room. Paris was seated at the head of sprawling table with Paris beside him in front of a yellow legal notebook and an iPad. He was usually so on the ball, taking written notes as well as bookingmarking things on the iPad to research later. Looking at the little screen felt like it was boring laserbeams through his brain, though, and he was actually sweating, his lavender business shirt sticking to him and he had to fight temptation to loosen his tie to help him breathe better.

He couldn't be getting sick. For the past few days, he had been unusually tired but he had also been working himself to the bone and fighting it too. He was usually a pretty deep and sound sleeper. His family joked that he could sleep through a hurricane, and it probably wasn't far off the mark. With Gen having her hands full these past few weeks and Paris taking the reigns, it meant Michael automatically stepped up to help Paris with whatever he needed. That was his job, and hadn't had anything else planned anyway. But today, it was hard to deny. First there was sleeping through his alarm, which he never did, and then there was actually showing up to work with his shirt inside out, that Paris flagged him on as soon as he walked in the door. There had been typing up a whole mail merge to the new sponsors he had gained and then closing without saving it. There had been the hayfever-like sniffles on and off, but he had convinced himself it was just the new floral arrangement delivered that morning in the foyer of the executive floor. One could only delude themselves with so many excuses for so long until it got ridiculous, however.

Now his brain was actually trying to tune Paris' voice out when usually Michael just absorbed it automatically. There was also the way the hipster aromatherapy-loving shoe columnist next to him was scratching the edge of her pen back and forth across the spirals of her notepad that was driving him up the wall. He shifted in his seat and drunk down the last of his water so he could top his glass up from the communal jug nearby. That was when, right in the peak of a brainstorm volley that was actually full of some awesome ideas, that Michael feared he was about to be sick. Paris had just been relaying some things to him to note when it happened too and he paused mid-sentence with his pen with an inner panic. He wasn't going to wait the risk out, though. He dropped his pen onto the top of his notebook, already scrambling from his seat with a hastily mumbled, "I'm sorry, please excuse me," right before bolting for the door.

Who: Michael Davison and Gen Hart
What: That awkward moment where you know your boss' secrets
Where: FABULOUS HQ
When: Saturday evening

Michael had no life, so he had come into work on a Saturday to do some overtime. It was getting late now, and he had almost fallen asleep at his desk because his boss, Paris, hadn't been in for two days and wasn't there to break up Michael monotony. He had a pile of files on the desk around him, and various other paraphernalia that always came pending a new issue. He had been screening Paris' calls in his absence and there were now people who felt entitled to his response getting annoyed and Michael was almost tempted to tell them to go fuck themselves, and that Paris was entitled to a rest when he already worked his fingers to the bone.

He was peeling his headset off his head and dropping it on the desk by the phone, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He was going home to take a bath, maybe watch a movie, and then going to bed. Takeout was a must on the way home. His neck was sore and he needed a good pair of hands to massage it, and he was getting the beginnings of a tired headache. He was just tidying his desk up and digging around in the draw for his cell phone when Gen came into the office and gave him a smile. He returned it with a small wave of his hand. "I'm going home, I promise. You guys don't need to pay me any more overtime than promised. I just lost track of the time, that's all," he said apologetically and was tugging at his tie to loosen it. He handed her a thick manilla folder then. "I did the rest of the follow-up on sponsors for the breast cancer spread in the next issue. I know it's something you had on your to-do list, but you had your hands full with things going on at home, so I thought I would help you out. I got twelve new business to commit too."