Mike was in love with how much of a mess you were.

Sodas, coffee, tea, alcohol, but no water. Odd meals at odd hours. Going to bed with your makeup on and the masterpiece it left on your face when you awoke. You dance terribly but you put so much passion into it. You sing loudly, you talk loudly, you laugh loudly. You cancel plans last-minute just to stay inside with him, which he adores, but also makes him anxious.

Lots of emotions, lots of interests and periods of time where one tends to take precedence over every single other one. Manic episodes, depressive episodes. Being restless and wanting to go out adventuring, and then being dog-tired and wanting to curl up in bed.

These things, and the many, many other qualities you possess, are what Mike loves so much about you. Your natural beauty and how kind and funny you are also tie into it. But to Mike, no matter what version of you he’s getting, he loves you more than anything or anyone else in the entire universe.

The two of you are getting ready for a party this evening. You are standing in front of the large mirror in the bathroom you share, trying to fix your face and your hair and becoming utterly distraught when you can’t. Mike leans against the doorway behind you, arms crossed, watching you in the mirror. Of course he’s already ready.

You mutter something under your breath without much seriousness. Something like ’God, I’m such a mess, how could you ever love me?’

Mike’s contemplative face deepens into a worried expression. He stands up straight and comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Baby,” he says with already too much conviction for you. “What are you talking about, hm? What’s the matter right now?”