⸂⸂⸜(രᴗര๑)⸝⸃⸃

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.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who worships the ground you walk on, never being able to tell you no, despite people thinking negatively of your dynamic.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who purchased an entire Chanel collection that you had seen at a fashion show simply because you said you needed it.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who gives you your own card, which is connected to his bank account, after you continuously need to borrow his.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who immediatley fired two emloyees after hearing them negatively gossip about you and your relationship.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who is never surprised when you burst into his meetings. His assistant rushing after you apologizing profusely. "Michael, I've been running around all day trying to find a dress for the award show later, Bubbles ruined my pink one. Do you think one of these two is okay?" you say holding up two extravagant dresses. "I like the one on the right, it reminds me of a roman goddess," he replied after consideration. "Your right or my right?" You asked, while the table of high executives sat completely baffled.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who loves that you enjoy playing games with him. (a home video was later released to the public of you and Michael teaching Bubbles how to perform a dance routine, all three dressed in an iconic Michael Jackson outfit. Only for you and Bubbles to still do terrible in your 'official performance video' which was also released.)

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who proposed to you months after knowing you.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who was furious when you did an interview together and were asked about whether you were using Michael for his money, but smiled when you sweetly quoted Marilyn Monroe in the movie 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes'.

"Don't you know that a man being rich is like a girl being pretty? You wouldn't marry a girl just because she's pretty, but my goodness, doesn't it help? Why is it wrong for me to want these things?"

I do not give consent to copying/editing my work.

You glance around the crowded backstage press room instinctively, reporters talking loudly, cameras stacked everywhere, assistants rushing around with coffee trays.

Nobody notices you unfolding it beneath the table, Good.

You smooth the paper carefully open. Michael’s handwriting curls neatly across the page.

—

You looked at me differently today. At least I think you did. Maybe I imagined it. You always get quiet when I catch you staring. I like that about you. You know somethin’? Everybody asks me questions all day long, but you’re the only person who waits for the real answer. That scares me a little. A lot actually. I heard you didn't get lunch again. That’s twice this week. Stop doin’ that. And stop lookin’ so pretty when you’re concentrating because it’s making these interviews difficult for me. I mean it. Yesterday during rehearsal I forgot lyrics because you walked in late carrying that little tape recorder against your chest. That never happens to me. You’re distracting. I think you know that already though. Ain’t fair. I know you think this is a bad idea. Maybe it is. But every night before interviews I still catch myself wondering what color you’ll wear. And every time you leave first after conferences I get irritated for the rest of the evening. That probably means somethin’. You never answer my letters back. I wish you would. — M

Your heart pounds so hard it almost hurts.

This man is insane. Like Actually insane. “Five minutes till conference!” somebody shouts across the room.You fold the letter shut instantly, cheeks burning. This cannot keep happening... Seriously.

One wrong person sees these and your entire career disappears overnight.

You shove the letter deep into your notebook right as movement stirs near the hallway entrance.

And then—

Michael walks in.The entire room changes immediately, Reporters straighten, Assistants rush faster, Everybody suddenly becomes aware of themselves.

Meanwhile Michael enters calmly while security trails behind him.And despite the entire crowded room—he looks directly at you first.Your cheeks are heating.

What a fucking Dangerous man. You immediately look down at your notes pretending deep concentration.

But thats a little bit Too late.. Michael already saw you. Of course he did. The conference starts quickly after that. Questions fly everywhere.

Tour schedules. Awards. Album sales. Michael answers smoothly, charming everybody effortlessly.

But every few minutes, his eyes drift back toward you, And worse? You feel it every single time.

“So Michael,” another reporter asks loudly, “how do you handle all the attention from women during tours?”

The room laughs lightly, Michael smiles politely.

Then—

completely unfairly, his eyes flick toward you while answering.“I try behave myself.” Your pen nearly slips from your hand.

Idiot.

You refuse to look up again after that.The conference finally ends forty minutes later in a blur of camera flashes and exhaustion.

Reporters begin packing equipment quickly.You stand immediately too, desperate to leave before Michael gets any ideas.

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice says beside you. Your breath catches instantly.. Michael.

Very close to you already.

You turn quickly.

“M-Michael.” His security stands farther down the hallway purposely not looking over. Which somehow makes this worse.

“You got my letter,” he murmurs softly. Not a question.

You clutch your notebook tighter against your chest. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Why?” He copies your face expression. “Because somebody could see.”

Michael tilts his head slightly. “But they didn’t.”

“That’s not the point.” You look around you. A small smile touches his mouth. God.. that smile..“You read it though.” Your cheeks warm immediately again.

“You cannot write things like that to me.”

“Which part?” He teases. “All of it!” Michael laughs softly beneath his breath while leaning one shoulder casually against the hallway wall. Completely relaxed. Meanwhile your heartbeat is trying to kill you.

“I meant everything.” He says softly.

“That’s the issue.” His expression softens slightly after that.

Not teasing now. More real. “You really think I don’t know this dangerous?” he asks quietly. The hallway noise fades around you strangely.

You swallow hard. “Then why keep doing it?” Michael looks at you for a long second before answering.

And when he finally speaks—his voice lowers. Gentler now. “Because every time you walk away from me after these conferences...”

He pauses. “I think about you all night anyway.” Your chest aches instantly. Because no way the king of pop thinks about you all night.

“Michael.” You lowered your face.“Mhm?”

“We shouldn’t even be standing here.”

“I know.”

Neither of you moves. That’s the worst part. People pass through the hallway around you carrying equipment and paperwork while the tension stretches tighter between you both.

Then Michael glances briefly toward your notebook.

“You’re dress tonight,” he murmurs softly. Your stomach flips fast. “What about it?” His eyes lift back to yours slowly.

“That was mean.” You stare at him in disbelief.

“Mean?” You know damn wel what he means.

“You knew you looked pretty.” The words come so sincerely it almost ruins you.

You glance down the hallway quickly, panicked somebody might overhear.“Please lower your voice.”

Michael smiles softly at your reaction.

And somehow that feels even more dangerous. “You get nervous around me now,” he says quietly. “You make me nervous.” The confession slips out accidentally.

it went quiet for a minute.

Michael goes still for half a second.

Then he wanted to whisper something.

But The Second He comes closer, The photographer notices you both standing together—and your stomach drops.

fuck.

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. ౨ৎ oops thats bad..🫣😙 who's bad..?

The moon was nestled into the clouds as it shone onto the quiet house of the Jacksons. You two sat in the quiet glow of the starlight, cuddled with each other on the couch.

With you consumed by acting and Michael by music, it was rare moment of peace either of you get.

The quiet was occupied but the mindless hum of the tv, and the shuffling of you and Michael proving how much you love each other.

Sneaking over— it was routine.

Sure, you didn’t have to sneak over. But imagine the fans already awaiting at his front gate, the tabloids itching for a new story, the paparazzi ready to blind you when they discover you and Michael holding hands for too long. You two have so much going on in your lives, and having a “are you two intimate with each other?” on top of that by an invasive journalist is not something you want to worry about.

Of course you made you public appearances together, but keep them light. Simple. Friendly.

Besides— you were going public when Off the Wall releases. You can already imagine some eye grabbing headline like— “The Lucky Lady Behind Michael’s Biggest Hits is Revealed!!” You don’t know— and honestly you don’t want to think about it right now.

Hence, here you are.

The blanket pooled at your hips that straddle his own, fingers tangled in his curls, his own hands gentle but firm on your waist…

Your lips met softly at first, Michael giggling at something he heard on the TV before deepening into something hungry but tender. The rhythm of your lips against his was absolutely perfect! Slow and sweet one moment… then passionate the next.

And Michael was greedy. But gentle, of course.

Every time you kissed him, he never wanted to pull away. His arms would lock around your waist, or hands cup the back of your head— just to keep you close and feel you as your mouths moved together in a slow, lingering kisses that felt endless.

Warmth bloomed like flowers in the spring every time his palms blessed your skin. He’d breathe you in between presses of your lips, fingers tracing the curve of your jaw like you were something precious. And you were. You meant the world to him. And right now? Every second with you was cherished because it was all you both had.

“Michael…” you called out in a sweet whisper, barely audible over the sound of your shared breaths. He didn’t even hear you (or bother to hear you).

He was lost in you, drowning in the sweetness of your sweet lips dancing with his. His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks as he kissed you even deeper. Slow but with desperate. Every press of your mouths felt like a prayer: worship and all-consuming.

Your hands gave his shoulders a squeeze in an attempt to ground him, “Michael—“ he kissed you “I gotta go—“ another kiss.

Oh what the heck.

You reciprocated his kiss with that same desperate sweetness, cupping his face and twirling the curls at the nape of his neck.

Finally you speak again, a little louder this time, soft but persistent against the quiet hum of the room.

Michael finally registered it through the kiss-drunk haze. He blinked slowly before pulling back just enough to look at his woman properly— your lips slightly parted from yours separating, cheeks flushed agsint the dim light of the tv.

His eyes were glassy with affection as he studied the face he fell in love with. “Hm?” he humbled drowsily, that sleepy-sweet tone he only used for you when you’d be making out for ages.

“They’re gonna home in less than minutes…” you didn’t miss his flicker of disappointment, and you couldn’t help but feel it too. “I should be heading out.”

His face fell. He hated that he was being needy and begging you to stay. But he hasn’t seen you in weeks. He misses his girl.

“Nooooo,” he whined in denial like a petulant child, pressing his forehead to yours, “five more minutes… please?”

The clock on the wall mocked him— his family probably two streets away from Hayvenhurst… Yet Michael couldn’t find himself to care. He just wanted one more kiss, maybe two, maybe three, maybe ten.

Although he kissed you again— you didn’t dare to pull away. You both know you don’t want to. You giggled into the kiss, your laughter vibrating between your lips. Your hands slid up to cradle his face, fingers threading through soft coils. You melted right back into him despite knowing both of you were on borrowed time.

The world outside— the risk of being caught by his family (and the world in general) coming home— faded for just a few more blissful seconds.

Then Michael had the nerve to trail his lips down your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut momentarily and your head automatically tipped itself back. Every brush of his lips against yours sent little sparks though you. Yall knew you were pushing it— you knew the car could pull up any second now— but this boy addicted to kissing you.

“Michael— I seriously gotta go—“ you tried to be responsible while making no serious effort to leave.

His hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them gently in that way he always did when he was utterly smitten. The touch was warm and possessive, a silent I love you without words.

You hesitated on saying his name again— Michael could see it in the way your lips parted to speak but you held your tongue. With his stupid smirk you loved so much he kissed the hesitation away. Slow and teasing, refusing to let go.

“Mmmm… one more…” he whispered against your lips.

Then one became two.

Three.

Four.

You lost track of time as he kissed you back like a man starved. Each press of his lips was soft! But hungry. His node nudged against yours, breaths mingling,

Each peck was sweeter than the last: one of your bottom lip… then the corner… your cheekbone… the tip of your nose… that little space between your eyebrows… as he chased every inch. He didn’t care about anything else at the moment— not schedules, responsibilities, touring, his brothers, Joseph— just you. Right here, in his arms.

He mumbled without even thinking “Mine…” a quiet claim slipping out before he could stop it. You felt a tingle in your spine.

He swallowed your next gentle scold with a kiss, deeper this time. He didn’t want to hear about responsibilities or curfews… not when you tasted like cherry lip gloss and home. So, he kept kissing you. Slow… hungry… then soft again. Unfortunately you melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck and sighing softly.

“Shhhhh…..” he breathed against your mouth between kisses, fingers sliding to cradle the back of your head while the others held the arch of your back.

You finally put your foot down.

“Michael Joseph Jackson.”

He sat there, dazed and kissed-drunk, lips still puckered from the sudden break in your heated makeout session. Those big brown eyes stared at you with a mix of adoration and poutines.

The both of you look ridiculous. Cheeks flushed, hair messy from fingers running through it… and absolutely lovesick.

Michael looked like a puppy who’d just been scolded for begging too much. “Whaaaaaatt?” he rasped after a beat.

“I have to go,” a soft smile graced your lips as unhooked your arms, thumb tracing his jaw, “like— right now.”

His pout deepened as you found amusement in his heartbroken face. But he knew you were right, they would be home any second now. But damn it… he didn’t want you to leave! Not after you both have been lost in each other for so long.

With dramatic reluctance, he finally exhaled and leaned back on the couch, but not before stealing one last peck.

Your hands fell from his face, down his chest, to your own lap, while his own hands hovered over your hips, like he was determining if he was ready to let go or not. His fingers twitched like they had a mind of their own (something you can confirm.)

And then, in one last act of defiance, he cupped your face and kissed you fiercely. It was messy and desperate, and he didn’t miss the way your hands crept up to grasp his chest.

You two finally parted, chest rising and falling rapidly, what glassy with unspoken emotion.

You grinned, “you done?”

Michael exhaled dramatically, shouldering slumping in exaggerated defeat. He looked at you one last time with those pretty, soulful eyes. Maybe if you stared hard and long enough then you’d stay the night…

He didn’t anything. Then nodded once like a sulky child accepting defeat. “Yeah.. sure…” he muttered, voice low and resigned as he reached to tuck a stray curl behind your ear one last time before you left.

Not before he leaned forward to press his lips to yours…

finally published something omg

𝒯here was something almost dangerous about the way michael loved you. not in loud dramatic shows of affection but in quiet, consuming ways that settled into every corner of his life until there was no part of him untouched by your presence. because you had been there before the fame, before the screaming crowds and impossible expectations and the endless loneliness that came with becoming michael jackson, and to him that meant something sacred.

michael views you as the only living bridge to a version of himself that wasn't a product. to him, you are the keeper of his most vulnerable memories, the sound of his real childhood laughter before the world grew loud, and this shared history creates a suffocatingly tight tether that makes him feel as though his very soul would unravel if you were to ever step out of his line of sight.

you were the only person who had stayed constant while everything else in his world shifted and disappeared, the only person who still looked at him and saw the boy from gary instead of the superstar everyone else demanded pieces from, and because of that he held onto you with an intensity that bordered on obsession, terrified somewhere deep down that if he loosened his grip for even a second the world would take you away too.

he would constantly gravitate toward you in crowded rooms without even realizing he was doing it. his hand finding the small of your back instinctively whenever someone approached you for too long, dark eyes flickering toward anyone who made you laugh a little too hard, because even after years of fame and adoration he still carried this gnawing insecurity that someone better, easier, less complicated might eventually steal your attention from him. but michael’s jealousy was never explosive or cruel to you, it was quiet, aching, almost heartbreaking in the way it manifested. the subtle withdrawal when another man complimented you, the way his smile would tighten ever so slightly while watching you talk to someone else, the clinginess afterward when he’d suddenly insist on keeping you beside him for the rest of the evening as if proximity alone could soothe the fear clawing inside his chest.

there would be nights where the pressure of everything became too much for him and he’d disappear from everyone else entirely, retreating into silence until eventually he showed up at your door like he always did, exhausted and emotionally frayed, because no matter how overwhelming the world became you were still the one place that felt safe to him. and once he was there he would barely let go of you, resting his head against your shoulder while talking softly about things he never admitted to anyone else, his voice fragile as he confessed how exhausting it was constantly wondering who truly cared about him versus what he could give them. you became the person he clung to almost desperately during those moments, the only one capable of calming the frantic loneliness inside him, and sometimes he would look at you with this unbearably intense expression like he couldn’t comprehend how someone as important as you had chosen to stay.

michael would absolutely spoil you in deeply personal ways rather than flashy ones, remembering every tiny detail you ever mentioned and treating those details like treasures because making you happy genuinely mattered more to him than almost anything else. if you casually mentioned liking a certain flower as a child, suddenly your dressing room would always have them waiting there. if you got cold easily, he’d quietly drape his jackets around your shoulders before anyone else noticed. he paid attention to you constantly, almost obsessively, because in his mind protecting your happiness became intertwined with protecting his own emotional stability.

and the protectiveness? it ran so deep it nearly consumed him sometimes. michael already distrusted most people around him because of how often he’d been used or abandoned throughout his life, but when it came to you that distrust sharpened into something fierce. he hated seeing people upset you, hated hearing anyone speak carelessly about you, and the second he sensed someone trying to take advantage of your kindness his entire demeanor shifted. normally soft-spoken and gentle, he’d suddenly become cold and unreadable in a way that unsettled people immediately, stepping closer to you protectively while making it very clear without outright saying it that you were his person and he would not tolerate anyone hurting you.

there would also be this constant underlying yearning in everything he did around you, because even with all the years you’d spent together he still craved reassurance endlessly. michael loved deeply but fear always lingered underneath it. fear of abandonment, fear of not being enough beneath the celebrity image, fear that eventually you would grow tired of carrying the emotional weight of loving someone like him. so he sought comfort in small intimate routines with you: late-night phone calls that lasted for hours because neither of you wanted to hang up, his fingers absentmindedly playing with yours while sitting beside each other in silence, the way he’d glance toward you first after finishing a performance just to see your reaction because somehow your approval mattered more than an arena full of applause.

sometimes his attachment to you became almost painfully obvious to everyone around him except himself. the way his entire mood changed depending on whether you were near him. the way he watched you when you weren’t paying attention, not even trying to hide the softness in his expression. the way he unconsciously mirrored your movements, leaned toward your voice in crowded conversations, interrupted important discussions the second you entered the room because his attention shifted automatically back to you. to michael, you weren’t simply someone he loved, you were the one constant thread tying him to the version of himself he trusted most, and the thought of losing you was frightening enough to make him hold onto you even tighter.

being with michael jackson in private would feel so vastly different from the version of him the world knew that sometimes it almost surprised you, because behind the carefully rehearsed smiles and dazzling stage presence was someone impossibly soft, clingy in ways he rarely allowed himself to be with anyone else, constantly seeking comfort in your touch like he needed the reassurance that you were still there beside him. the intimacy between you wouldn’t be loud or overly dramatic most of the time, it would exist in quiet moments that slowly became sacred to him, moments he guarded possessively because they belonged only to the two of you.

he would absolutely be the type to linger around you constantly when you were alone together, following you from room to room under the excuse of wanting company even though the truth was much simpler: he genuinely hated being apart from you for long. if you were reading, he’d end up stretched across the couch with his head in your lap while absentmindedly tracing shapes against your wrist. if you were cooking, he’d stand behind you with his arms loosely around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder just to feel close. there was always this almost aching need for physical closeness with him, not necessarily out of passion alone but because touch reassured him in ways words sometimes couldn’t.

and michael, despite all his fame and confidence onstage, would actually become incredibly vulnerable during intimate moments with you because you were one of the only people who ever saw him completely unguarded. there would be nights where the two of you stayed awake for hours talking quietly in dim lighting while he confessed fears he never admitted publicly, his voice soft and exhausted as he spoke about loneliness, pressure, childhood memories he couldn’t shake. those conversations often ended with him curled close beside you, holding onto your hand almost tightly enough to hurt because he found an overwhelming amount of comfort in knowing you were listening instead of judging and leaving.

his protectiveness would become even more obvious in private. anytime you seemed upset, even over something small, his entire attention shifted immediately toward you with this intense concern that bordered on desperation. he’d pause everything just to focus on making you feel better, brushing your hair back gently while asking over and over what was wrong, unable to relax until he was sure you were okay again. it almost felt like your happiness dictated his emotional state entirely, because when you smiled he visibly softened, but when you pulled away or seemed distant he became restless and anxious almost instantly.

jealousy would still linger in subtle ways even during your softer moments together. if someone flirted with you earlier in the day, michael would suddenly become far more affectionate afterward without consciously realizing it, keeping you tucked close against his side while talking to you in that low gentle voice that only appeared when he wanted reassurance. he wasn’t possessive in an aggressive way, but emotionally? completely. he needed to feel chosen by you constantly, needed reminders that after all the chaos in his life you still belonged beside him.

one of the most intimate things about your relationship would honestly be how much he trusted you with the parts of himself nobody else saw. the exhaustion after performances. the insecurity beneath the fame. the moments where he became quiet and withdrawn because the world felt too overwhelming. michael spent so much of his life feeling observed that being truly known by someone became incredibly important to him, and with you he never had to perform or pretend. sometimes he would simply sit beside you in comfortable silence for long stretches of time, fingers intertwined with yours, looking calmer than he ever did anywhere else because your presence alone grounded him.