ashes ₊˚⊹⋆☁.✦ ݁˖

"Aren't you excited?" You asked Jimin as you put the finishing touches on his hair. "You'll find your bride by the end of the ball."

Jimin can't be excited. It wasn't his decision to host the ball, much less that he'd have to pick a bride from the women who attended. Just because his parents had this whole love story, didn't mean Jimin's had to be set up the same exact way.

Hell, he didn't even have a fairy godmother to make a pumpkin into a carriage. If he did, he'd have left the palace in the dust. He'd leave everything, everyone... except you.

Jimin enjoys your hands on him for one last time. It would be inappropriate for an engaged man to have female attendants. All was fine the first 30 years of his life, when the two of you were just kids, but the king and queen knew the reason why their eldest son had put off getting married until now.

The queen stands in the hall, her hand raised to knock but the door opens slightly.

She doesn't announce herself as she watches her eldest smile at you in the reflection, how his fingers linger on yours when you adjust the crown on his head. How he turns to kiss just below your wrist, how your touch lingers, your eyes shinning with unshed tears.

"Your highness," You whisper as he trails kisses higher up your arm, each one marking you as his.

"That's not what you call me when it's just us," Jimin's tone is stern, and your heart flutters as you keep your gaze on his.

"Jimin," you say his name in that tone that sends his heart skyrocketing.

"Say it again," He demands as he stands, your hand still in his. "Say it like you love me."

"Jimin," you breathe as his kisses continue to head upwards until his hands grip your hips, your chest pressed to his.

"I'd make you my queen in an instant," Jimin confesses before he kisses your neck. Your fingers thread through his long blond hair.

"Your highness," You whisper, but moan when he bites your neck. "Jimin!"

"Only yours. Just your Jimin," He states before his tongue licks over the bite to soothe the stinging pain. “I just want to be there for you.”

"We can't," you remind him as his hands hold your waist, your fingers still in his hair as he walks the two of you backward until you're pressed to the wardrobe. Your fingers thread in his gold locks, flashes of his head between your thighs just this morning, your nails dragged down his sculpted back, your face in the pillow to muffle the screams of his name.

Jimin's crown topples to the floor, forgotten as his hand cups your face.

"We can," He states decisively as he kisses you deeply, pouring his love into it, hoping it'll fill your body the way your body fills his. "And we will. Kingdom be damned. I'll set it all alight if it means being with you."

Jimin's dark eyes are determined, sincere. It makes your heart stutter as you cup his face, kissing him once more, desperate, wishing it were possible but Jimin has a responsibility to the kingdom, to his parents, to the world.

"Jimin, darling!" His mother calls, voice coming from down the hall, her high heels clicking as she announces her arrival with enough time for the two to pull apart. Jimin sits at the vanity, his crown on his head and you bow as his mother enters. You excuse yourself, looking at Jimin's reflection one last time before going back to your quarters.

~

The ball is in full swing that evening, women and their families fill the grand ballroom.

By the grace of the queen, you had been giving the night off, perfect for you to pack your things and leave.

There would be no room for you once Jimin found his bride, none at all. Might as well leave now before he can do something stupid.

"Hey, hey," you hear a familiar hissed whisper calling your name in the shadows.

"Princess Hayun?" You ask as you approach her, your bags still unpacked.

"What's wrong?" You ask, looking her over. She shouldn't be down here, she was a royal. Hayun rolls her eyes, "Come on!"

You don't get to protest or ask questions as your pulled up the stairs, through a secret passage straight to her bedroom. Her most loyal maids wait for you there. Hayun locks her bedroom door, shuts the secret passage and has her maids bathe you, dress you, and style your hair.

"Wear this," Hayun hands you a lovely intricate mask to cover the top part of your face.

"Hayun," You go to protest, but she shushes you.

"Go, hurry! Yoongi will escort you to the ballroom. He's waiting for you outside. Go!" Hayun urges.

"Hayun, I can never repay you," You say as your hand holds hers in thanks.

"Name the first princess after me," She giggles, ever the trouble maker.

You nod then get pushed into the hallway, where Yoongi waits, the king's advisor. You're taken around the castle in the shadows, placed in a carriage with great fanfare you arrive.

Yoongi escorts you inside, your eyes wide as you take in the details of the ballroom. The chandelier in the center of the room is the main attraction, the white drapes shine as the light hits them, there's more food than you've ever seen in your life and oh, the beautiful gowns paired with jewels you'd only ever held to adorn a royal.

"He's on the throne," Yoongi whispers before he bows and disappears into the crowd. You want to reach for him but you can't seem to tear your gaze from Jimin.

Even slouching in his throne beside the queen, a goblet in his hand, looking bored out of his mind, he looks gorgeous.

"Jimin, sit up," The queen scolds as she plasters on her brightest, media trained smile.

"Mother, is it not enough I am here, adorned as your little puppet?" Jimin huffs and his mother shakes her head.

The queen looks out into the crowd, hoping she could point out someone for Jimin to speak to. However, unbeknownst to Jimin, she's looking for a very specific masquerade, the intricate lace one she wore when she met Jimin's father nearly 33 years ago. Once she spots it, she silently thanks her daughter, Hayun, for being able to pull it off and getting you to show.

Hayun makes her entrance, her throne next to Jimin's.

"Apologies, my maids had a lot to do," Hayun says coyly as she takes her spot, winking at her mother.

"Jimin, why don't you introduce yourself to that lovely lady in the white mask, straight ahead by herself. Maybe a chat in the balcony is just what you need." The queen urges, and Jimin recognizes her no-nonsense tone.

"As you wish, your majesty," Jimin sets his goblet down and bows to his mother, his father, and sister before he heads down the steps to the woman his mother pointed out.

The crowd clears for him like always but he pays it no mind as he bows and holds out his hand for the lady to take. "May I have this dance?"

"Jimin," You say his name without thinking, it comes from your lips like breathing, and Jimin's eyes widen slightly. He looks you over, studies the shape of your lips, the slope of your nose, but your love-filled eyes is what gives you away.

Jimin holds your gloved hand, refusing to let go as he looks over his shoulder at his mother.

The queen raises her goblet in Jimin's direction.

Approval.

Jimin looks at you, his heart hammering in his chest. He cups your face, not caring that all the guests have gasped in unison. "Marry me? Marry me, please."

Jimin's voice is a desperate plea, his sanity holding on by a thread.

You and him have been friends for a good few years now, having met him just a little before his 'Off The Wall' album release. Accidentally bumping into the then-twenty year-old-star in a record store of all places, a few apologies were exchanged before your eyes noticed the Donna Summer album in his hands. That led to further conversations ranging from talking about how good Donna Summer's latest single is, to Michael showing you the Bee Gees album he's planning on purchasing, and somehow ends with you playing a record of Blondie's on the store turntable to make him listen to the B-sides.

It was a whole hour and a half before a burly looking gentleman kindly reminded Michael he had other affairs to tend to, and after eagerly sharing each other’s contact details, you got home urgently to listen to the newly bought records of Jackson Five. 

From then on, you've been calling and exchanging letters with Michael non-stop. Postcards from the different states he’s touring in, long distance telephone calls when his shows end, and everything in between. He finds a way to contact you so often that when his mother knew of you, she asked you to come over for one of their family gatherings. That's likely when it's been established that you and Mike are pretty much best friends. 

You were lucky enough to witness Michael at his most focused when he was working on final touches to Off The Wall, changing musical tunes during late nights in the studio. Memories of celebrating with him when said album won the Grammys, as well as the AMAs. There’d even been numerous times where you got to come to his shows during the Triumph Tour with his brothers. It’s been well over four years since you met, and at this point he’s the only person to truly know you inside and out.

A quick snap out of your thoughts when the bathroom lights turn off, and Michael steps out as he dries his curls with a towel. He’s been out the whole day doing… whatever it is pop stars do during their spare time, only reaching home about half an hour after you already made yourself a cup of tea to heal from a long day at the diner. You don’t even know how it got to the point where you can just waltz into Michael’s home without him even being there, but it’s better not to question much about it. 

Michael walks around the bedroom, shifting things as he gets ready for bed. Glancing at you, his eyes soften. "Tired, baby?" He asks gently. 

"Mhm," you hum in response, sinking further into the blankets. "Had the worst customers today. I don't even care about the no tipping, y’know? The thing that’s bugging me is why the hell were they drinking fifteen shots of espresso at 9.30PM? And God... One of them had a rat-tail, Mike. I sure hope it doesn't become a thing because it's just so unfortunate to witness." 

A soft chuckle escapes him, warming your heart. You continue ranting, “Mike, that one mean woman who comes for coffee every lunchtime? She got to the diner late, and then proceeded to blame me for making her late because by the time her food arrived, her break was almost ending. Can you even believe that?” 

Michael clicks his tongue, getting on the bed. Making himself comfortable, he pulls you in and wraps his arm around your back, your head laying atop his chest. "I told you to please just stop working there. I can take care of you, baby. You know that. We'd be just fine and you can do whatever it is you want." 

Shaking your head vehemently, you nudge at his chest. "No way, Mike. I can handle myself. I'm a responsible adult. I'm a strong, independent woman, y'know?" 

"I know you are, beautiful. I'm just tellin' you that I can help while you look for somethin' you'd actually enjoy. Not that horrible diner place. You deserve so much better," Michael says as he leaves soft kisses on your temple. 

You melt at his touch and close your eyes. Murmuring, "Thank you, Mikey. It's just hard leaving Daisy all by herself. The others are so mean to that poor kid." 

"Hell, I'll hire her for somethin' if it means you're out of that damn place," Michael grumbles as he shifts and pulls you closer. 

Snickering quietly, you hush him before kissing his jaw, "That's enough out of you, hm?” 

“I'm serious, sweetheart. That job is stretching you thin, and I'm not liking any second of it. I'm just worried about you,” Michael looks at you with furrowed brows, thumb stroking your cheek. 

Michael has never not worried about you, you think. The man has protective tendencies towards everyone he cares for, but it's been noted by many that whenever you're in the picture, it's as if it gets dialed up to the maximum level. One of the most insane things he's done so far was that he had three extra secure locks installed at your front door when you first moved into your apartment, and despite it being against the rules, the landlord couldn't really argue with the Michael Jackson over his loved one's safety. 

You respond quietly, “I know, Michael. Don't worry too much. I got everything handled, okay? I'm looking for job openings as we speak.” 

“If you'd just consider the fact that I know many people in all kinds of businesses, baby–” 

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Uh-uh, I'm not doing this again. Mikey, I don't want to take advantage of you for this. I'm doing this myself because that's the right thing to do.” 

“It's not taking advantage, it's called networking,” Michael sighs. 

Shaking your head again, you shift to make yourself more comfortable against his chest. “No helping, Michael. Not unless I'm absolutely desperate. Which I'm not… yet.” 

He sighs again, silent for a moment before kissing your head. “Fine. But I'm tellin' you right now. The minute you want to quit, go on ahead and don't hesitate. You got me, you know that right?” 

“Yes, I do.” A small smile forms on your face, eyes closing slowly. “Goodnight, Mike.” 

"Goodnight, baby," he wishes, shifting down slightly as he gives a peck on your lips before burying his head into your neck. Murmuring softly, “Love you.”  

“Love you,” you reply, already out of it. The room’s silence filled with only the sounds of you and him breathing in sync, and the TV playing the end credits of Roman Holiday. 

Despite the quiet, your mind races. 

Okay. You're aware of how it seems between the both of you. It’s been mentioned by a few who witness your dynamic and you’re aware of how weird and frankly, even disturbing for friends to be this close. Cuddling is one thing, but kissing on the lips and saying ‘I love you’s are on a totally different level. It doesn't really occur to you when that has evolved. As far as you're concerned, he just started calling you sweet names one day and became more physically needy than usual. 

It happened around after he returned from his tour in Europe, so you figured they really weren't joking about how Europeans are more touchy. Well, that's what the travel magazines say anyway. 

With that, you leave it be. In retrospect, you're never one to turn down any physical affection from Michael. And deep down you know it gives you butterflies, but you remind yourself daily to just ignore it.

So you do. Remind yourself, that is. Without fail. 

It gets a lot more difficult each day, if you're being honest with yourself. On some days, it feels almost impossible. Especially when he gets so touchy and soft. Holding your waist as he talks to his brothers. Firmly holding your hand when he walks down the studio hallways. Even during the little days when he has free time and instead of doing something more worthwhile with someone more important, he'd persuade you to come stay at his house and play all kinds of board games.

You beat him at Connect Four every time, by the way. 

Once having realized the risk of this becoming a huge problem if you don't handle the… pool of feelings swirling in your gut… and how it would lead to everything crumbling down, you knew you had to do something.

That's why, after much pressure from your boss, Janine, you're going on a blind date with her nephew. 

“He'll be just the perfect man for you, doll,” she said to you so excitedly. In fact, so excitedly that you couldn't really turn her down. It's set for the day after tomorrow, and you still haven't told Michael.

Make it work first, see the guy first. See how things go before saying anything to Mike. That's your plan. It'd be a waste of time if the date didn't work out and you got Michael's hopes up regarding your love life for no reason at all.

How on Earth would you even start? Michael knows you're not exactly the type of person to go on just any blind date. He'd ask. And what could you answer? That you're falling in love with him more every single day that passes? That you're only doing this to get over it? 

Absolutely not.

•

Mornings with Michael are always the epitome of domesticity at its finest. Both of you are hanging around the kitchen. Michael is sitting at the kitchen island, with only intentions of accompanying you, who's currently craving a bowl of freshly sliced fruit. 

“Hey, baby? I'm gonna be home late again. Q called and said somethin’ about some adjustments the album needs. You got anything planned for today?” Michael asks, eyes focusing on his book of notes. Hand gripping on a pencil, eager to underline or scratch words about whatever it is he's working on. He writes down any important pieces from meetings, or anything that comes to mind about a lyric or a tune. You call it his ‘book of wonders’, and Michael laughs it off with a shy blush every time. 

“What more adjustments does it need? I think the album is already perfect!” You scoff. 

Michael laughs quietly and shrugs, “I think he's gonna cut another song from the final tracklist. Been drivin’ me crazy with that.”

Pointing at him briefly, you press your words firmly. “Don't let him cut Billie Jean, Mike. I swear to God.” 

“I promise I won't. Not Billie Jean,” Michael snorts, “Anyway baby, your plans? For today?” 

You hum absentmindedly, too distracted with cutting up some apple slices for your fruit bowl. “I’m going out later. Thinking about doing some shopping.” You're off work today and tomorrow, so there's plenty of time to get ready and make yourself beautiful for the stranger you're about to go on a date with. 

God, everything is so silly.

“Ooh, somethin’ special going on? You never shop for yourself spontaneously. I always have to beg for you to do that,” Michael asks, getting up from his seat and walking up to you. Hands snaking around your waist, chin resting on top of your shoulder as he takes a gander on the bowl of fruit snacks you're making for yourself. 

“Looks like heaven, doesn't it?” You ask with a teasing grin, gesturing towards the bowl. 

“No, angel. You do,” he replies with a kiss on your temple. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Oh, that. Well…” You shrug, “Maybe, maybe not. We'll have to wait a bit and then you'll get your story, hm?” 

“Hmm… Okay, I'll bite. I'll be waitin’ for some kind of update soon, okay?” 

“I promise,” you say. 

Michael nods with a smile, tilting down and softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart lurches as you hesitantly kiss him back. Not two seconds later though, he pulls away with a grin when a knock comes onto the door. “That's Bill. Hold on, baby.” 

As he walks away, you take a minute to gather yourself. Breathing deeply, you groan at the delusional path your heart was heading down. What was that kiss? Jeez, Europe really did a number on him. 

Turning back to the bowl of fruit, you rethink how good of an idea it is to actually go on this damn blind date. 

•

“I’m telling you, Daisy, what if this is a bad idea?” You hiss in desperation into the telephone. 

You’re back in your own apartment, surrounded by messy piles of clothing. It’s almost 10PM and the thing is, what you should be doing is some facial care before the date tomorrow, but instead you’re currently freaking out on Daisy. You were supposed to be back at Michael’s. But then. During your retail run, you belatedly realized it’s almost impossible to sleep at Michael’s the night before your blind date.

One, he would try to heckle his way into knowing what you’re going to be up to. 

Two, you would immediately give in to him and tell him everything. 

Three, after all of that, he’d question your sudden urge to date.

And finally, you’d have to tell him you’re doing it to get over your stupid feelings for him. 

Ruining your friendship with Michael would have to be the worst thing that you could do to your life. 

So that’s how you end up back in your own space, though the comfort you felt at Michael’s is sorely missed. Picking up a nearby sweater, you throw it across the room to the ‘No’ pile. “What if the date turns out really well but it’s just my subconscious self making it work to forget about Mike? That wouldn’t be fair to Janine’s nephew.”

“Okay, first of all, if your subconscious self is making it work, that’s a good thing. At least some part of you have an effort to try. Second, it’ll be exactly perfect if you got over Michael. I mean… c’mon, you’ve been friends for years. If he hasn’t made his move by now, then he never will.”

‘Well yeah, but if I told you he kisses me almost every day, you’d probably be saying something different,’ the thought runs through your head silently. Blinking away your delusions, you sigh, “What if Janine’s nephew thinks I’m too breezy?”

Daisy laughs, “Girl, you’re not as breezy as you think you are. And even so, breezy is in now. You’d be having him drooling all over ya’.” 

A brief pause. 

“You keep saying ‘Janine’s nephew’,” Daisy says, “Girl, do you even know what his name is?”

Shameful heat blushes your neck, grimacing silently, mind running to remember. 

“Uhm… Kevin… what’s-his-name?”

Shrieking laughter from the other side of the telephone makes you flinch in shock. You’re telling her off, whining as Daisy repeats to herself the word Kevin. “It’s Calvin, girl,” she corrects you, chortling unabashedly. “Calvin Johnson, Janine’s sister’s son. Remember that before you embarrass yourself tomorrow night.”

“But Daisy! What if it’s a bad idea?”

“Listen to me. Calvin is also being set up, right? He’s probably just as nervous as you are. And he doesn’t know you yet. If you somehow don’t hit it off, which I seriously doubt because, well, don’t tell Janine this, but she’s a killer matchmaker, I mean, hello? Douglas from the kitchen and Jake from the laundromat across the street? Who the heck expects that? Anyway, if you somehow don’t hit it off, he won’t be hurtin’ and cryin’ in the ditch somewhere. He’s fine, and so are you. Just do this.”

You bite your lip, “Daisy…”

She immediately cuts you off. “The main reason why you’re still apprehensive is because you want to know what Michael thinks. And he probably would not give you the input you secretly want. I love you, really I do, but it’s time to acknowledge the fact that nothing seems to be blossoming there. You deserve the world, babe... You can go try and gettin’ it yourself instead of waitin’ around for someone to give it to you.”

Listening to her gentle voice, you fiddle with the string of pearls on your corner table. Sitting back on the couch, looking at the mess in front of you while the words she says slowly take root in your mind. Daisy is right. You’ve spent years trying to hollow out your feelings, ignoring whatever is growing inside the crevices of your heartstrings whenever you look at Michael, forgetting those sneaky thoughts of what it would be like to have him as your boyfriend, husband, the lover of your life. All of that, you’ve been pushing down so deep, and the fact that Michael is so openly and brazenly affectionate with you starts to feel a little insulting. Here you are, absolutely spiraling from every single touch shared, and yet, for him it’s just another friendly peck. Everything he does means the whole world to you, but why doesn’t it seem to mean much to him?

You’re aware you’re being unfair. Michael doesn’t owe you anything. All he asks from you is a loyal companionship, be it in a platonic way. He never expressed intentions of something more, at least not officially. It’s your own fault for developing feelings. You can’t be mad at him.

You can never be mad at Michael. Not when all he’s done for you is provide love and unconditional support. 

After a few more minutes of slow conversation with Daisy, you tell your goodbyes after reassuring her you won’t back out on the blind date. Heaving a deep sigh, you get up from the couch and start cleaning up your mess. Already deciding on what to wear for tomorrow night, you’re determined to never have to look at a piece of stray clothing ever again because it will absolutely slay you if you did. You haven’t been this fashion anxious since forever ago. Having Michael as a friend has its perks, and one of them is receiving endless fashion tips; that actually works for you. 

And obviously, Michael should be no such help for this particular instance. 

The landline rings and you pick it up, half assuming it’s Daisy to convince you to not back out again. The girl has such little faith in you, you scoff. 

“Daisy, I promise—”

“It’s Michael.”

Your eyes widen briefly before a soft laugh escapes you, “Oh, hey, Mike.”

“Where are you?” he asks, voice sounding a little stiff. Momentarily freezing, your head tilts in confusion over his tone.

“I’m at home, why?”

“No, you’re not. I know this because I’m calling from home. I thought you’re staying here tonight?” Michael asks.

“Oh, I thought you’re supposed to come home late tonight?” You ask him. 

Michael replies with the same stiff tone, “I got out early, Q just wanted to get rid of Billie Jean and I chewed him off and got out of there before he could jump me. Baby, you’re not home. Why?”

“I meant I’m at my home, Mike. And because I figured I had to stay here at least for tonight, the space is literally about to gather dust.”

“That’s never stopped you before?” he argues.

Letting out a nervous laugh, you say, “Mike, maybe it’s because I don’t want you to get sick of me—”

“That’s a bunch of bull, sweetheart. C’mon, what’s happenin’? Please, baby, tell me,” Michael pleads, voice almost upset. “You’re supposed to be here with me. I want you here.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sensing the upcoming begging and persuading coming from him. Firmly reminding yourself that no matter what pretty words he says, you’re putting your foot down and not surrendering to him. Regardless how tempting it is.

How insanely tempting.

“I’m sorry, Mike. It’s just so late already, you know?” You try to deflect. 

“Who said anything about you drivin’? I’ll get Bill to drive you, I’ll call him right now—”

“Wait, Mike, don't!" You exclaim. “Poor Bill needs his rest. And so do you. Mike, we can sleep apart for one night.”

“We can but I’d rather not, baby…” he replies, almost completely quiet. “Is something the matter? You usually tell me when you’re not coming over.”

Slapping your palm to your forehead, you let out a soft gasp. “Of course! Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry. It completely slipped my mind. I was too distracted from the– from today! I’m sorry, honey, I should have given you some kind of note.”

Michael hums, “That’s okay… Just… Don’t you want to come over?” 

Hearing his desperate tone, you almost stood up to grab your keys right then and there. Fighting against the strong urge, you sigh out and try to ignore the heavy guilt inside, “Mike, I’d love to but it’s late. Please rest. I promise I’ll see you the day after tomorrow okay?”

“Woah, hang on, why not just tomorrow?”

A tugging of your bottom lip, you think of what to say. You genuinely can’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. You don’t want to risk it. Not if he’s going to interrogate you until you confess your undying love for him. Gosh, your head feels as if it’s about to explode.

“Because I’m gonna be doing something tomorrow. Remember the little update?”

“Why can’t you just tell me now? Or tomorrow night?” Michael almost pleads. 

“Mike, please don’t make this harder for me,” you tell him, whining. “I promise, promise, promise I’ll tell you the day after tomorrow. Please?”

A beat of silence. 

“I can’t…” he starts so timidly.

You hum in question, “You can’t what, Mike?”

A clearing of his throat before he replies, voice firmer, “Nothing. Okay, baby. I’ll wait until the day after tomorrow to see you, but I’m callin’ you tomorrow midnight. I need to hear your voice and I need to know you’re at home safe.”

“Okay, Michael. That’s very sweet of you.”

He only hums in response. Furrowing your brows, you ask him. “Mike, are you alright?”

“I just miss you so much, baby,” he replies after a short second. He says it so earnestly, your cheeks warm up. 

“We just saw each other this morning,” you softly remind him with a laugh.

“I don’t care.”

You smile softly, finger coiling with the landline wire. “I miss you too, Mikey. I’ll see you, okay?”

“Don’t forget to call.”

“I won’t!”

“You better not… Go to sleep. Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mike. Goodnight.”

Hanging up, you let out the deepest sigh you could muster. Plopping your head on the back of the couch and staring off into space, you wonder why Michael is taking it so hard about you sleeping in your own apartment. 

•

Taking a sip from your wine glass, you smile politely as Kev– Calvin tells his story. Sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant is honestly not what you expected, but when he stood in front of your doorstep dressed in a black suit and tie, that would have been your first hint. You’re immediately relieved about choosing the dark, sleek dress that was purchased spontaneously the day before. 

“And then my boss just went off on him, I did nothin’ but walk away, it was so bad,” he laughs. Calvin Johnson has a really cute laugh. He was pretty, too, you think. His hazel eyes gleam brightly and he knows how to land a joke. He orders good food and good wine. His voice is pleasant and deep. He dresses nice. 

But… nothing. You feel absolutely nothing.

Here you are, dinner with the perfect gentleman who knows to compliment, and you’re feeling absolutely nothing. Your mind is just filled with thoughts of what Michael would have done if he saw the waiter passing by with mismatched neon socks, or what Michael would have ordered if the menu only consisted of fourteen different types of spaghetti, if he would have vomited and just starved altogether, or what Michael would have said to you when you pointed out the painting of the restaurant’s owner at the entrance that resembled Gene Kelly. Michael, Michael, Michael. It’s like he’s taken over your life the more you try to forget about your feelings. 

You’re immediately being consumed by guilt at the thought of hurting Janine and her nephew. They are both really nice and warm people, and you’re returning the favour by playing games. Michael would have been so disappointed. He probably would enjoy talking to Calvin. Maybe if it doesn’t work between you and Calvin, and you’re being real honest here, it definitely won’t, you could introduce him to Michael. They already have the musically talented section in common. Only Calvin was more towards classical instruments. Well, maybe they could read music sheets together. 

Biting your lip, you realize you’re only thinking of things that include Michael to help you go through this date. And that only makes you feel worse. You’re a terrible person. 

“ — Hey, are you okay?”

You slightly jump, wide eyes gazing back at Calvin’s concerned ones. “O-oh, yeah, yes! I am okay, I’m so sorry. I’m just so… full, I get a little breezy when I’m, uh, full.”

Just pulling shit straight out of your ass. 

He nods in acknowledgement, giving a small smile before he continues his story about… kangaroos or underoos. Either one. 

You couldn’t really focus on the rest of his story, not that you did in the first place, but this time the focus was actually elsewhere instead of inside your own head. Your eyes flicker to a few tables behind Calvin, and the familiar face catches you off guard. Slightly squinting, you try to make out who the person is, before pausing your breath. It’s one of Michael’s bodyguards, you think. He’s newly appointed, but he seems nice. He has ginger hair and a small tattoo behind his ear, that’s how you know it’s him. Tilting your head further to the side, you try to recognize the rest of the table he’s sitting at. Nerves racking, you hope with everything you have that Michael isn’t there with them. But after seeing the whole table only has burly men laughing aloud, you realize they’re just on their break. Michael gives them his card sometimes and tells them to get fancy dinners. This must be one of those nights where he wants to be completely and utterly alone. Your heart drops. Could something be bothering him? He was definitely off from the phone call last night. 

Your eyes suddenly make contact with one of the guards, who looks just as dumbfounded as you are. It was the world’s worst staring eye contest before you clear your throat. Averting your gaze, you force a smile as Calvin cluelessly continues his story. 

That redhead is so gonna rat you out. 

•

Returning home couldn’t be any more relieving than it is now. You’re leaning against the front door after closing it, sighing heavily. Thinking of moments prior. 

“Hey, listen… I had a wonderful time tonight. And I think you did, too. But just as friends, huh?” Calvin asks as he walks you to your doorstep. You only look at him with your mouth slightly agape, not knowing what to say. 

He laughs, shrugging, “I only agreed because of Aunt Janine. And I’m assuming you did too. That woman doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, that’s for sure.”

“She sure doesn't,” you softly chuckle. 

Calvin rubs his nape, looking at you with an almost sympathetic grin. “And uh… don't take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope you don't go on another date with a stranger.” 

Trying to hide your offended face, you ask him. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because this whole night, I was just talkin’ your ears off but your mind is in a completely different place. I mean, I was talking rubbish towards the end, with the kangaroos and all. Not even a peep from you, because you're busy thinking…” he trails off, displaying a pitying look as you nervously fiddle with your fingers, looking away. 

“... Of someone else, hm?” 

You don't respond, but you settle for a small smile. “You're too understanding.” 

Calvin sighs deeply, “I know.” He says in a melancholic tone. 

Laughing with him, you sigh and step closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Calvin. I'm so sorry this didn't work out. I'm sorry for not trying.” 

“Eh, forget it,” he reassures you. “Honest. We wouldn't work anyway, I actually liked those risottos.” 

“They were disgusting,” you tease back. Hugging Calvin a very short second, you let him off with a goodbye. 

Which brings you to now, sighing like the world's biggest loser. You hated letting people down. It feels like you're hurting them on purpose, but it truly isn't your intention. You thought you'd get over your feelings for Michael at least a little. 

Instead, the thing you want to do most right now is cuddle up against him. 

You're thinking of the possible phrases on what your excuse could be if Michael asks what you've been up to today, not taking any chances that he wouldn't heckle. It's been a good two minutes since Calvin left your doorstep, and the date is being fast forgotten.

More so when a sudden knock comes down on your front door. You instantly know it's not Calvin. This one felt too comfortable, familiar…. Intimate.

You must be imagining things. 

Walking back to the door, you take a look at the peephole. And lo and behold, Michael's standing right at your doorstep. His face unreadable. 

As you open the door, you force a bright grin onto your face. “Michael, hey—” 

“Who's he?” Michael asks sharply. Almost robotic. His body tense, jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“Hm?” You hum in response, tilting your head in confusion. 

“The guy you were just with,” he quietly adds, walking into your apartment. 

You realize what he's talking about and let out an ‘Oh’. “That's Janine's nephew,” you answer. 

Michael just looks at you with a deep gaze. Murmuring hoarsely, he says to you, “C’mon, baby… don't play with me like this. Not right now.” 

“Michael, I'm telling the truth, that is Janine's nephew. His name's Calvin.” 

“Calvin…” he scoffs before turning around to pace back and forth in your living room. Meanwhile, you get more and more confused. 

“What, you went on a date with him or somethin’?” Michael asks you shakily.

Well, the cat's definitely out of the bag, but Michael's reaction is not one you're expecting in any way, shape or form. 

“Y-yes, I did… Come on Mikey, what's going on?” 

He gives you the most incredulous look he's ever given anyone. “What's going on? Are you actually asking me that? What's… What's wrong with you?” 

Hurt strikes through your chest at his words. Michael has never, ever been rude or said anything harsh like that towards anyone, least of all you.

Why is he talking like that to you? And why does it hurt so much with the way he's being so… different?

“What did I do, Mike?” You ask in a small voice, hugging yourself nervously.

“Oh no, no, no, you don't get to be upset, I'm upset,” he says with glassy eyes staring back at you. You almost gasp at the sight, his hurting can be seen as clear as day. Michael continues, “You were on a date with a rando? What, did you think I wasn't gonna find out? And you're so– so casual about it, do you even care at all?” 

“Mike, what's… It's one date, Michael, what could be the issue? Please tell me why you're so bothered!” 

“Why the hell do you think I'm bothered?” 

“I don't know! It's just one date and you're not even my boyfriend, so tell me, Mikey, please.” 

Michael throws his arms in the air, “Oh, sure! Just one would be fi– wh-what? I'm sorry?” 

“What?” 

“What did you say?” 

“It's just one date!” 

“No,” Michael whispers, shaking his head. “After that… what did you mean by that?”

Tilting your head, you furrow your brows. “Mike?” 

He suddenly walks right up to you, hands slowly coming up to cradle your face. “I'm not… your boyfriend?” 

“ … No?” 

Michael's eyes flutter, pain being etched on every surface of his face. “Are you breakin’ up with me, baby?” 

“What?” You ask with a soft voice, eyes widening. “When did we get together?”

“What?” 

“What?” You repeat, starting to breathe really hard. Michael gives you an astounded look, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. His lips part in surprise, and it appears as if his brain is taking an extremely long time to register your words. 

“What do you mean when did we get together?” 

Close to crying, you whine softly, “Michael, I don't follow!” 

Michael clenches his jaw, eyes boring into yours as his brows furrow deeper. “Baby, this isn't funny.” 

“I'm not trying to be funny!” You reply. 

“Then what are you talking about? I am your boyfriend!”

“Since when?” You ask loudly, eyes getting wider by the second. 

His jaw only drops further in response, head shaking repeatedly. “She's joking,” he murmurs softly to himself. You deny it again, strongly needing to know what the hell is actually going on. 

“Well, baby,” Michael starts with a bewildered look on his face, “I happen to think we got together since I started callin’ you baby every day and how you're practically livin’ with me because I don't think I can actually sleep without you anymore, oh and I almost forgot, we're kissin’ damn near all the time!” 

You stand there, yet another dumbfounded look on your face. “I just thought you took home some European customs,” is the only thing you could say in a small voice. 

“What?” Michael asks again, another confused facial expression before he sighs and pulls you close. “Baby… you're telling me this whole time…?” 

You shake your head, hand coming up to softly stroke his jaw. “I didn't know anything. God, I'm so sorry, Mikey. I mean, I mean what am I supposed to think? You never asked me about it– you didn't clarify anything, did you?” 

“I thought in a way, you knew!” 

You ask softly, “How could I have known?” 

Michael looks away, arms still wrapped around you. “Okay… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for yelling because now I’m just rethinking everything… I was a stupid twenty year old. Remember how we kissed for the first time?” 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory. Yes, you certainly did.

By then, both of you have been friends for about a few months. It was late at night, and you were sleeping over at his family house. It was just you two in front of the television, everyone else having already gone to bed. The time was nearing 1.30AM when the movie finally ended. 

“Mike, I told you we should have just rewatched Dog Day Afternoon.”

“How was I supposed to know it was gonna be that bad?” He snorts as he places the half eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

Laughing, you lean back on the couch and make yourself comfortable. Turning to him, you ask. “We went straight for the movie earlier, I never got to ask you how your day was.” 

Michael sighs and closes his eyes, making you frown in concern. Reaching out to softly grip his hand in between you two, you give a small smile.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He shrugs, looking elsewhere. “I don't know, it's just…” 

“New album jitters?” You try, knowing how under the pressure he's been, with Off The Wall about to be released in a few days. If someone were to ask you how dedication was to be presented in real life, you'd point instantly to the man next to you. You've never seen someone so passionate about what they do as much as Michael is with his music. 

“... No, it's not that,” he laughs softly. “I mean, I'm nervous about that too, but tonight is different. It's just my brothers. They wouldn't stop ragging on me earlier.” 

Pulling your knees to your chest, you tilt your head. “Why? What's the matter?” 

“I had them listen to the final picks for the album, and they—” 

“If they didn't like it, that's their problem. The album is perfect!” You cut him off, already raging at the thought. You’ve always been his number one supporter and defender.

Michael laughs again, shaking his head. “No, no, they were real supportive about that… it's just the fact that I've uh, I've been singing about, y’know… romance and all.” 

You nod, and raise your brow when he doesn't continue. “And?” 

He sighs after what felt like forever, “Well it's silly... because I've never even had my first kiss yet, so.” 

“Michael, that's okay. Me neither.” 

Eyes widening, he sputters out, “You haven't?” 

“No,” you laugh. “Is that so unbelievable for you?” 

Yes, he happens to find it completely unbelievable because you're so gorgeous all the time. Boys were bound to try something on you. Now once he's realising nobody's ever come close, he feels a sense of happiness. Happy that nobody came close. That she rarely gives her time of day for anyone. And he happens to be one of the few exceptions. 

He only shrugs in response to your question before shifting closer. “Does it bother you?” 

Shaking your head, you smile at him. “Not really. I'm not dying to be kissed. I know it's gonna happen when it happens. There's no use dwelling on it. But then again, I don't have brothers, nor am I releasing songs about romance.” 

“Yeah, they really did their thing when I Can't Help It played,” Michael grumbles. 

Softly giggling, you grip onto his hand more firmly. “Don't let them get to you. You have so many girls that've been wanting to kiss you for years. Take your pick, Mike,” you tease. 

He only smiles and brings your intertwined hands to his lap. “I know, oddly enough. And I'm flattered that a lot of pretty girls like me. But I don't know them. I can't… I'm not like my brothers.” 

“I know you're not,” you whisper. “And that's okay. It's great, even.” 

“Yeah?” He says softly in response.

“Yeah.”

Michael bites his lip, thoughts running in his head. He’s thinking of something stupid… Something reckless. Something that can’t be undone if he does it. The silent hum of the room becomes overbearing to him, gaze focused on your soft eyes, down the slope of your nose to your lips. He lingers there, thinking to himself how it would feel like. What it would taste like. Would he still taste the remnants of your flavoured lip balm? Would it be soft and light? Or something else he can’t even imagine?

“Michael?” comes your quiet voice.

“Hm?” He’s out of it, almost. Dazed with some type of need. He doesn’t want to call it lust. He doesn’t think you deserve that. He feels more. The need to be with you. Sit beside you. Hold your hand. Kiss you. Everything he imagines to do with a girlfriend, is what he’s imagining with you. 

Good grief, since when did he start crushing on you?

“Michael, do you want to kiss me?”

His brain shuts down. His mouth, hands, and eyes don’t move. Mind blanking out.

After a few moments of silence, he manages to stutter out, “Wh- I’m sorry?”

Softly giggling, you shift your legs down and scoot closer to him. Hand still laced together with him, you look deep into his eyes. Gleaming with amusement, excitement and trepidation altogether. “Do you… Would you like to share our first kiss?”

He stares at you, jaw slack. “I thought it’ll… I thought it’ll happen for you when it happens.”

“Mhm,” you nod, “If you want to, it happens now. If you don’t want to, it will happen for me another time. I won’t be mad at you, Mike. I promise.”

You try to act cool, but the truth is your insides feel far from it. You don’t know what came over you, but from the way he was staring off into space, looking at your lips, the quiet surrounding you felt almost suffocating from the way you wanted him to lean in closer. To do something. Say something. So, you gathered your courage and took initiative. Even if there is no guarantee of him actually agreeing, you find yourself not regretting making your move. You wanted to know what a kiss feels like. And you wanted to know how it feels with Michael. You couldn't think of any better way to have your first kiss if not with him.

Michael is quiet for a few seconds, giving you some time to think of some lame segue out of this suddenly odd predicament you singlehandedly put you and him in. Before you could utter out an excuse, though, he cuts you off. 

“I’d really like that.”

Your eyes widen, “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot, actually,” he whispers, leaning more towards you. “Are you sure you want this?”

You could only nod, breathing out a ‘yes’. 

Michael’s eyes flicker down to your lips, before gazing back into yours. Shifting closer, his head slightly dips down, you moving with him. Lips a hair’s breadth away from each other, his fingers coming up to gently hold your chin, closing the distance.

When your lips meet his, it feels like a quiet magic blossoming from your lungs and into every crevice of your heart. Eyes closed, you press yourself further against him. Sighing out, Michael tilts his head to the side, parting your lips with his and kissing you deeper.

He does taste your flavored lip balm. And he thinks that’s the happiest discovery of his life.

A close second to knowing now how it feels to kiss you. At first, when you suggested to him to share his first kiss with you, he thought you were joking. But when you joke, he’d know right off the bat. And he knows your tone. You weren’t joking one bit. His mind was racing through what felt like numerous mountains of anxiety and anticipation. In that second, there was nothing he’d like more than to kiss you. 

During the kiss, your hand comes up to stroke his cheek. A hum reverberates from him, sliding his tongue against yours, almost breathing into you. It’s a few more seconds of pure bliss before Michael slightly parts away, eyes still closed as he bites his lip. Closing the distance again, you leave some more pecks against the corner of his mouth, making him tilt his head and meet your lips with more passion and fervour. Smiling against the kiss, you melt into him as he holds you against him. 

It feels like a long time before one of you takes the initiative to pull away, properly this time. The room is quiet save for the sounds of your heavy breathing. A soft smile is etched onto your face as you eye his gleaming face. 

“Was that good?” You ask him, teasing. 

“That was good, babe,” he laughs, “That was real good. I liked that a lot.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you tell him, “I did too.”

“Can we do that more often?” he tries, leading to rounds of shy laughter to echo through the walls of the room. 

Snapping out of your memories, you clear your throat. “Yes, what about it?”

Michael reaches and cradles your face, “Well, that was quite literally… one of the best things to ever happen to me. I loved that night. I loved kissin’ you. I loved it so damn much, and I assumed– I assumed you loved it too. I didn’t say anythin’ about you bein’ my girl because I thought it was gonna naturally happen. And the longer I left it alone, and the more we got closer, I just... I thought we'd been together for a while. Nothing too official, because… I didn’t know where you stand on that, but I figured we’d only feel like this towards each other.”

You lean into the palm of his hand, and he leans down and presses a kiss against your temple, continuing gently, “I didn’t think we needed any establishing. I thought you already knew I’d… I’m so in love with you, baby. I fall in love with you more and more each day. But it’s my fault for, well, for not telling you properly. For assuming. I’m really sorry, I should have said something sooner.” His voice is bordering on sounding pained now, but you hush him.

“Mikey, gosh, stop, you’re fine. You’re perfect, don’t be sorry,” you whisper as you leave kisses on his forehead, down his nose and to the apples of his cheeks. “We’re both really stupid.”

He laughs and pulls you closer, if it’s even possible. “Tell me about it. Baby, I really am sorry. Please forgive me?”

“Shh, I forgive you, and I hope you’ll forgive me too. I’m sorry,” you say.

“There’s nothin’ to forgive. You didn’t know. See how funny that sounds now? God, I could just hit myself,” he sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, are we together officially now? I want you to be my girl. Been wantin’ that for years, if you must know.”

You teasingly grin and shrug, “I don’t know… Quite presumptuous of you, already calling me your girl.”

“Baby, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Michael smirks smugly, “It’s not wholly my fault for thinkin’ we’re together when you gaze at me the way you do.”

“I don’t gaze at you,” you gasp.

His arms snake around your waist again, pulling you closer and nodding dramatically. “Yes, you do and I can’t blame you, baby. I’d want to be my girl, too.” Swatting at his chest, you could only laugh in response.

“I’m serious, y’know? I’d like for you to be my girl. And just mine. No foolin’ around with this amateur stuff,” he says in a quiet tone, “I want you. You’re my best friend and I’ve never loved or wanted anyone as much as I do you. I want to marry you one day, I want everything a man can have with the love of his life, and I want that with you. There had never been and never will be anybody else. I love you, so much. Can you be my girl for real now?”

A soft hum escapes you, “Michael, I love you too. God, I love you so much.”

He doesn’t reply. Michael only leans in and catches your lips so, so urgently, it almost brings you down to your knees. It almost feels like your first kiss again. Except, this time Michael wasn’t afraid. Or doubting. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you. Heat grows from the way he pulls you closer, every inch of you burning from his touch and passion. His lips brushing against yours, tongue slipping in between to glide against yours. Softly nudging you backwards until you’re leaning against the wall, he tugs your bottom lip with his teeth before continuing to kiss you fervently. Your fingers come up to run through his curls, and he tilts your head upwards into the kiss. And that drives you crazy. 

Leaving small pecks against your lips before kissing down your neck, he murmurs against your skin, “I love you.”

You could only hum dazedly, weakening as he continues his ministrations on your skin. “I’m so glad you’ll have me, baby.” He continues to whisper.

A final kiss to your lips, he pulls away to softly grin at you. “Tell that Kevin schmuck to kindly get out of your life, please?”

“It’s Calvin, honey.”