you've got the album at home, your friends know every lyric, and if someone had told you you'd meet michael jackson on your walk home from a girls' night, you would've laughed in their face. except...that's exactly what happens.

it's late enough that the streets have started emptying out, and you're walking home by yourself because it's only another ten minutes and you'll be fine. meanwhile, michael's car has just turned onto the same street on the way back to hayvenhurst. bill notices you first. michael notices you second. one girl. walking home. by herself. at night.

and suddenly whatever conversation they'd been having completely disappears because that's all michael can think about. "...she alone?" he asks quietly. bill glances in the mirror. "looks like it." and before he even realizes he's saying it, michael's already asking him to pull over.

you don't even process what's happening until the window rolls down. you look over. and nearly stop breathing.

because...it's michael jackson, and not on your television, not on a record sleeve. literally sitting there. looking directly at you. he smiles that shy little smile. "you alright young lady?" and somehow that's the first thing he asks. not your name. not whether you recognize him. but..."you alright?" because he's far more concerned about the fact you're walking home alone than the fact he's currently one of the most famous people on the planet.

you manage the world's most embarrassing little nod. "y-yeah." he smiles shyly again."you sure?"

another nod. he looks you up and down then up and down the street once before glancing back at you. "how much farther?"

"um..."

you point vaguely. "just... down there." he smiles. "okay." there's this tiny pause where both of you just look at each other, you completely forget how words work. then michael reaches into his jacket. finds a little piece of paper. borrows bill's pen. quickly scribbles something down. "here."

he reaches it toward you. "call me when you get home safe, yeah?" poor worried guy isn't trying to flirt nor does he expect anything. he just wants to know you got home. and your heart actually hurts a little because...who does that except before your fingers can even reach the paper... someone screams. "MICHAEL!" then another. another. it's like the street suddenly wakes up.

people come running from everywhere, cameras appearing out of nowhere, hands reaching through the open window, security immediately trying to push everyone back. the tiny slip of paper disappears somewhere between all the movement before you even realize you've let go of it. "wait—" you don't even know whether it was you or him who said it.

bill starts pulling the car forward because he has no choice anymore. the crowd's becoming too much. and for one second... you meet michael's eyes through the window. he's still looking for you. really looking. leaning forward in his seat, trying to see past all the people pressed against the car, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the lady who never got his phone number.

the same way you stand there searching through the crowd for him. but there are too many people now. too many hands. too many flashes. the car slowly disappears into the night. and somewhere on the floor of a California street... lies one tiny folded piece of paper. with michael jackson's phone number written on it.

never called. because it never made it into your hands. and somehow...he spends the entire drive back to hayvenhurst wondering if you got home safely anyway. ❤︎ 🚘

because this is mature, grown man michael in 2002, and the second he realizes you're actually serious, he's pacing around the house with the cordless phone in one hand and his other hand on his hip like he's trying very hard to be patient. emphasis on trying. the first phone call is calm.

the second one is slightly less calm. by the eighth call he's leaving voicemails that somehow manage to sound annoyed and worried at the exact same time. "baby... call me back." click. five minutes later. "i'm serious. answer the phone." click. another ten minutes. "you're really gonna make me call again?" yes, michael. yes, she is.

and the thing is...he isn't angry because you wanted space. he's angry because, in his mind, your place is beside him. even if you're both furious. even if neither of you speaks a word until morning. he'd rather sleep on opposite ends of the bed than wonder whether you've eaten dinner or if your friend's house doors actually lock properly or if you're lying awake crying by yourself.

it genuinely never occurs to him that you'd rather be anywhere else after an argument because arguments, to michael, are something you fix. not something you sleep on. so by phone call number seventeen he's not even pretending anymore. "baby, this is ridiculous." another voicemail. "come home." another one. "i'll sleep in the guest room if that's what you want." another one. "you don't even have your skincare over there." because somehow that's the argument he thinks is going to win you over. and...it almost does. your friend eventually answers the house phone because she's tired of hearing it ring every twenty minutes, and before she can even say hello he's already asking, "is she still mad?" not where is she? not put her on. just..."is she still mad?" like that's the only thing he's been thinking about all evening.

he'd never admit it, but the house feels wrong without you in it. the lamp on your side of the bed stays off because he refuses to touch it. your mug is still sitting by the sink because that's your mug, him having nasty flashbacks of;

dry humping and making out. squeezing ur ass and helping u grind on his hard cock while his tongue is shoved down ur throat :/ he just loves the soft sounds u make. whimpering and moaning, trying to get ur self off on him and clinging to his shirt or hair.

he feels like he's in heaven. his pretty gf all horny and needy grinding on his dick :( and he loves getting messy. loves cumming on u, literally anywhere on u—ur face, ass, back, tummy, on ur pussy or inside ur pussy. spreading it all over u with his fingers and making u lick and suck on them afterwards :3 *cough* even your slippers by the bedroom door somehow make him miss you more than he thought possible.

he keeps catching himself listening for your keys in the front door before remembering you're not coming home tonight... and every single time it annoys him all over again. because if there's one thing michael absolutely cannot stand...it's ending the day without kissing you goodnight. and he'll call twenty times before he lets that become a habit. ❤︎.

© 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖶𝖤𝖡𝖡. ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡. ‎‎‎

It stung at first, then it just became your reality. Slowly you distanced yourself. Every call went unanswered, every invitation to hang out gradually stopped coming, but you were content with it because you knew if you had to look at them, holding hands, laughing, doing whatever couples did, you’d instantly feel sick to your stomach. It was also hard to say that you didn't care when, in all actuality, you did. You cared more than you should have. You should have moved on, should have found someone better, but in your mind there was only one person that weighed heavily: the boy with that sweet smile and large Afro that sat neatly on top of his head, the boy who’d invited you to his house more times than you could count on one hand, just to watch the latest episode of whatever cartoon he was watching or stay up talking about the newest albums that had just come out. But now there was no more of that; you were utterly alone to handle your feelings and the heartbreak that came with it.

Years passed and it wasn't like you forgot about Michael, not with the release of his first solo album, which was beyond successful and now it was all you heard. All the people were raving about it. It played in nearly every store, had people walking down the street with the vinyl in their hands excited to go home and listen to it, but for you it brought back the overwhelming urge to be angry, sad, something, but once again you swallowed those feelings, desperate to keep them locked away.

It was that type of day where the sun was shining in the blue of the sky, the clouds danced around in the sky making different shapes as they moved along, a gentle breeze blowing against your skin, cooling down the burning sensation from the sun and drying down the beads of sweat that grouped together at your hairline. The neighborhood kids played in the street, yelling and laughing to each other as they ran around. The leaves on the trees swayed in the wind, a few falling off in the process as you walked back towards your house.

Then you heard it.

The sound of your name, paired with that familiar voice that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist.

No, you were going crazy, hearing his voice so many times in stores.

Clearly, you'd completely lost it. Hell, it might even be the heat getting to you, well, until you looked up and there he was, at your door step, his fro still just as prevalent as it was years ago, that smile that not only melted your heart, but the hearts of all the people around the world.

“Michael?” There was pure confusion laced in your voice, as questions ran through your head.

“Hey.”

“How'd you find me?” You blurted out. It had been long since you moved out, so for him to be here was completely unexpected because why would you expect that?

“Well, y’know, after you stopped answerin my calls, I decided to show up to your house only to find out that you moved away, and that's how I ended up here,” he laughed nervously, his hand reaching to rub the back of his neck.

It was that moment when you realized that was the same boy you left behind all those years ago. That same smile, same hair, same personality as before, only now he was just older, years older, yet his features still remained soft even if he had grown into his features.

The sun was still beating down on your skin as you stood there. You weren't sure what to say, what to do. You were just stuck in place like the sun was so hot it had melted your shoes into the concrete like gum stuck to the bottom of your shoes.

The sounds of the birds chirping, kids laughing, the sound of a ball bouncing against the road filled the sudden void of silence as the rays of sun fell through the gaps in the leaves. “I never did stop thinkin about you and honestly I was a bit hurt when you stopped taking my calls.” His eyes darted around, taking in the scenery of the neighborhood before they finally landed on you.

“Oh, yeah, I—um, was just kinda upset at the time,” you tried your best not to look at him, too afraid that if you looked into his eyes he’d be able to seek out all your emotions, and for some reason your eyes stung, stung like when you first caught them hand in hand, stung like when you sat on your bed wondering if he even had a thing for you in the first place or if this was just some kind of sick joke, stung like when your parents would ask if you were hanging out with Michael, not knowing that it was long gone, so eventually they stopped asking.

“Are you… still with her?” It was like you were holding your breath, waiting for an answer, like the answer could make or break the rest of your year.

“No, things just didn't work out that well.”

“Oh, I see.”

Oh, did that feel like a breath of fresh air, or maybe it was since you were standing outside in the midst of the California heat.

“I missed you.” Michael’s voice cut through the tension that was building between you two, taking another step to ease the nerves. It was almost like instinct as his arms wrapped around your body. Though it was already hot outside, the hug was warm and very real as you buried your head in his shoulder, letting your arms wrap around his body, taking in every bit of his scent.

"I missed you too, so much"

©angelfacediary

Taglist:

because this is mature, grown man michael in 2002, and the second he realizes you're actually serious, he's pacing around the house with the cordless phone in one hand and his other hand on his hip like he's trying very hard to be patient. emphasis on trying. the first phone call is calm.

the second one is slightly less calm. by the eighth call he's leaving voicemails that somehow manage to sound annoyed and worried at the exact same time. "baby... call me back." click. five minutes later. "i'm serious. answer the phone." click. another ten minutes. "you're really gonna make me call again?" yes, michael. yes, she is.

and the thing is...he isn't angry because you wanted space. he's angry because, in his mind, your place is beside him. even if you're both furious. even if neither of you speaks a word until morning. he'd rather sleep on opposite ends of the bed than wonder whether you've eaten dinner or if your friend's house doors actually lock properly or if you're lying awake crying by yourself.

it genuinely never occurs to him that you'd rather be anywhere else after an argument because arguments, to michael, are something you fix. not something you sleep on. so by phone call number seventeen he's not even pretending anymore. "baby, this is ridiculous." another voicemail. "come home." another one. "i'll sleep in the guest room if that's what you want." another one. "you don't even have your skincare over there." because somehow that's the argument he thinks is going to win you over. and...it almost does. your friend eventually answers the house phone because she's tired of hearing it ring every twenty minutes, and before she can even say hello he's already asking, "is she still mad?" not where is she? not put her on. just..."is she still mad?" like that's the only thing he's been thinking about all evening.

he'd never admit it, but the house feels wrong without you in it. the lamp on your side of the bed stays off because he refuses to touch it. your mug is still sitting by the sink because that's your mug, him having nasty flashbacks of;

dry humping and making out. squeezing ur ass and helping u grind on his hard cock while his tongue is shoved down ur throat :/ he just loves the soft sounds u make. whimpering and moaning, trying to get ur self off on him and clinging to his shirt or hair.

he feels like he's in heaven. his pretty gf all horny and needy grinding on his dick :( and he loves getting messy. loves cumming on u, literally anywhere on u—ur face, ass, back, tummy, on ur pussy or inside ur pussy. spreading it all over u with his fingers and making u lick and suck on them afterwards :3 *cough* even your slippers by the bedroom door somehow make him miss you more than he thought possible.

he keeps catching himself listening for your keys in the front door before remembering you're not coming home tonight... and every single time it annoys him all over again. because if there's one thing michael absolutely cannot stand...it's ending the day without kissing you goodnight. and he'll call twenty times before he lets that become a habit. ❤︎.

© 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖶𝖤𝖡𝖡. ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡. ‎‎‎

because this is mature, grown man michael in 2002, and the second he realizes you're actually serious, he's pacing around the house with the cordless phone in one hand and his other hand on his hip like he's trying very hard to be patient. emphasis on trying. the first phone call is calm.

the second one is slightly less calm. by the eighth call he's leaving voicemails that somehow manage to sound annoyed and worried at the exact same time. "baby... call me back." click. five minutes later. "i'm serious. answer the phone." click. another ten minutes. "you're really gonna make me call again?" yes, michael. yes, she is.

and the thing is...he isn't angry because you wanted space. he's angry because, in his mind, your place is beside him. even if you're both furious. even if neither of you speaks a word until morning. he'd rather sleep on opposite ends of the bed than wonder whether you've eaten dinner or if your friend's house doors actually lock properly or if you're lying awake crying by yourself.

it genuinely never occurs to him that you'd rather be anywhere else after an argument because arguments, to michael, are something you fix. not something you sleep on. so by phone call number seventeen he's not even pretending anymore. "baby, this is ridiculous." another voicemail. "come home." another one. "i'll sleep in the guest room if that's what you want." another one. "you don't even have your skincare over there." because somehow that's the argument he thinks is going to win you over. and...it almost does. your friend eventually answers the house phone because she's tired of hearing it ring every twenty minutes, and before she can even say hello he's already asking, "is she still mad?" not where is she? not put her on. just..."is she still mad?" like that's the only thing he's been thinking about all evening.

he'd never admit it, but the house feels wrong without you in it. the lamp on your side of the bed stays off because he refuses to touch it. your mug is still sitting by the sink because that's your mug, him having nasty flashbacks of;

dry humping and making out. squeezing ur ass and helping u grind on his hard cock while his tongue is shoved down ur throat :/ he just loves the soft sounds u make. whimpering and moaning, trying to get ur self off on him and clinging to his shirt or hair.

he feels like he's in heaven. his pretty gf all horny and needy grinding on his dick :( and he loves getting messy. loves cumming on u, literally anywhere on u—ur face, ass, back, tummy, on ur pussy or inside ur pussy. spreading it all over u with his fingers and making u lick and suck on them afterwards :3 *cough* even your slippers by the bedroom door somehow make him miss you more than he thought possible.

he keeps catching himself listening for your keys in the front door before remembering you're not coming home tonight... and every single time it annoys him all over again. because if there's one thing michael absolutely cannot stand...it's ending the day without kissing you goodnight. and he'll call twenty times before he lets that become a habit. ❤︎.

© 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖶𝖤𝖡𝖡. ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡. ‎‎‎