Aaliyah Rae😋

People just absolutely loved being able to hold him in their arms, and you honestly couldn't blame them. You got to do it everyday, and it was addicting. Most people were respectful about it, although it did occasionally come across as people wanting him badly. Again, you completely understood, what was there not to want? There were a few guys who you swore up and down had crushes on Michael, something you found kind of impressive. He was so loved that even grown ass men were thirsting over him, and yet he came home to you every night. God definitely had favorites, and you were one.

It was cute most of the time, you loved seeing Michael get the love he so very much deserved. But there were other times where you felt it was a little unnecessary. Like with Diana Ross.

She absolutely loved wrapping her slimy arms around his waist, pulling him close to her chest and pressing a gross kiss to his cheek. Part of it was utterly revolting, and the other part made you want to double over laughing at the idea of her thinking she actually had a chance.

Michael had outgrown her years ago, which was funny because she was the one who needed to grow up.

The first few times it had happened Michael had worried that you would be upset with him, that it would cause a big issue like it had with some of his previous relationships. What he didn't expect was for you to assure him that you knew he meant well and that you didn't feel threatened in the least. If anything, each time she pushed at the boundaries he had clearly set up, it just made you want to shove your steady relationship with Michael in her face. Which is exactly what you did.

You and Michael had been invited to some after party for an award show. He had immediately told you that the she-devil would be there and that the two of you didn't have to go. You assured him that you were a big girl, you weren't afraid of the woman. Michael had smiled, admiring your confidence with small stars in his eyes.

He was accustomed to Diana causing problems in his relationships. He understood she was overly affectionate with him, and how it came across to others, but none of it was purposeful (at least on his end). With you, he didn't feel like he had to step on eggshells. He knew that if things got too much for you, that you would happily step in and shut things down with a smile and a backhanded comment. He found the whole thing really attractive, to the point where he often let people hang onto him just to see you come up and claim him as your own.

So when you left to get drinks that night, he could already tell that Diana was about to make her move, and he wasn't too inclined to stop it. She came up to him, a coy smile tugging on her lips, "I see you've finally gotten a moment to breathe." She disguised the comment as a joke, laughing slightly.

Michael shrugged, "If anything, my lady is the one that's getting a break. I like keeping her glued to my side."

She brushed off the comment, "M'sure. But you know you suit a more mature woman."

He did everything he could not to laugh at her obvious advances. "I've got one."

She decided to move on from the topic of you, opting to weasel her way into his arms with pure flattery instead. She congratulated him for what felt like the 50th time on his newest album and the awards he had won. He nodded politely, thanking her each time. She finally decided to make her move, an arm wrapping around Michael's waist as she introduced him to someone he already knew.

Almost like you could sense it, you turned from a conversation right as her arms settled around his waist, cheek pressed up against his. Michael felt your gaze, and he couldn't wait for the silent storm that was coming.

Your eyes narrowed as she continued to hug him, waiting for the woman to get a grip on reality and pull her wrinkly arms away from him. Except she just kept holding him, she was clearly feeling bold today.

You politely excused yourself from the conversation you were having, walking slowly towards Michael. You didn't feel the need to rush yourself, you knew this would be over before she even realized. Once you got to him, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The action should have shaken off the older woman, but she simply shot you a glance.

You felt a laugh bubbling up, she really had some nerve. "Hey, baby" You spoke sweetly, grabbing his chin and turning his face towards yours as you placed a long kiss on his lips. Out of habit, Michael immediately turned his full body towards you, twisting out of Diana's grip. His hands found your hips as he kissed you back. You deliberately wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer, staking your claim. The kiss lasted far longer than it should have, but you really wanted to shove it right in her face and Michael had absolutely no qualms.

When you pulled away, Michael's lips chased after yours. You smiled and kissed his cheek, well aware of the stares you had gathered. "We're in public, baby." You carefully fixed the hem of his jacket.

He spared a glance around the room, "Then let's go somewhere private."

You nodded, a smile playing on your face. Your eyes finally landed on Diana, a fake surprised expression dawning your face. "Oh! Diana, I didn't see you there, how are you doing?" She started to answer before you cut her off, "Sorry, you've got something in your teeth. Well, it was alright seeing you." You turned on your heel, making your way to the door.

Michael quickly fell into step behind you, pulling your arm around his waist to really let the message sink in. You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Diana, a triumphant smile on your face as you gave her an 'innocent' wave goodbye.

Michael invited you to every photoshoot, introducing you to everyone “in case you needed something”. He made sure you were comfortable in a chair where you could see everything with your favorite snack and drink, before allowing himself to focus on the shoot. After nearly a million photos with outfit changes, background swaps, the team huddled up together narrowing down their options. Several minutes later, Michael rushed over to you, “What do you think?” He held up two photos, one of him sitting on the ground with a purple satin shirt and pink background, the other him in a suit in front of a brick wall. You hummed carefully considering both. “This one, you seem more confident,” you pointed to the suit photo, watching as a big grin spread across Michael's face. “I thought the same.

You went to his music video shoots as well as his TV performances, and whenever you couldn’t make it, you’d watch the performance from your couch at home allowing yourself to let out giggles and roll around, completely obsessed with how fine your man looked in his element.

Despite Michael and your best efforts though you rarely had any time to go out. Michael’s new wave of stardom and your schedule made it impossible to meet up outside of “work”. So when Michael invited you over to his house, you didn’t hesitate to drive over. “Not that I’m unhappy that we're staying in tonight…but why are we staying in tonight?”

“I just want to spend the night with you,” he replied, handing you a bowl of ice cream without meeting your eyes.

“Oh, really?” You asked, not hiding the doubt in your voice or your face. Michael blinked his doe eyes at you innocently as you stared at him suspiciously.

It didn’t take long for him to crack, “Well…”

You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of your ice cream.

“Q’s knows the people who run Studio 54 and they agreed to play the album a lot and let us take priority with drinks and booths.” Michael’s eyes drifted away from yours, the eye contact becoming too much as he asked, “Do you want to come with me?”

You fought to keep your smile from growing too wide. You shouldn’t be so enamored with how shy he was, how careful and considerate he remained. You leaned back on the couch's armrest, body fully turned towards him, “Of course, Mikey. Who’s gonna be there?"

Michael went still as a statue at the question and you nearly groaned. It had only been a few weeks that y’all had been together, but this was one of the first behaviors of Michael’s you noticed: the freezing. Like a kid caught being bad, Michael would just tense up at any mention of him doing something that might piss someone off. “Who’s going to be there, Mike?” you asked firmly, trying to rack your brain with who would make you angry.

“Well, there’s Q…and Rod…Toya will be there,” his eyes scanned your face as if the mention of your best friend would distract you, seeing no change he continued, “Janet, Randy, Marlon, Carol, and a few celebrities. And, you know, just the regular people who go. It’s not like we're going to shut the place down just for us…”

You weren’t going for it, “Michael.”

At this point he had fully walked away, now on the other side of the room looking through his movie cassettes. “You know…Diana might be there,” he mumbled, not daring to look at you as he heard you bowl clink as you put it down. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You and Michael had several long talks these past few weeks, ranging from gossip to childhood memories, wishes, dreams, and life in general. Frequently you two would end up discussing the harsher personal aspects of your lives, comforting each other and providing words of advice when the time was right. Diana had been brought up during those conversations numerous times and each time it solidified your burning hatred for her more and more. The first time he mentioned her you were asking him about the Wiz, you wanted to know how he met Quincy and how he ended up in the project. Michael told you all about Diana putting in a good word for him and the producers reaching out, swooping him up the moment he said yes. He told you how Diana had known him practically his entire life and how he even used to stay over at her house. You remembered your throat burning and your stomach growing nauseous when you thought back to interviews you had seen of the two of them, way before you had properly met upon his and La Toya’s return to Encino. Her rubbing up on his arms, blatantly flirting with him without a single care for the camera capturing every word she said. 

At the time you tried to gently explain how you felt without explicitly telling that you thought Diana was an old bitch who shouldn’t flirt with eighteen year olds. However you were too gentle the first time, Michael brushing you off saying that sure he had a childhood crush but “it wasn’t like that.” Every time since you tried to get him to see how strange she was but, Michael wasn’t hearing any of it. It was the only real "argument" you two had, if you could even call it that. Michael realized immediately that any mention of Diana would frustrate you. While he thought you were adorable huffing and puffing at him, he wasn’t exactly interested in seeing you come face to face with the women you clearly despised.  

“I didn’t invite her,” was all Michael could think to say. “Just the other night she called me, saying she heard that we’d all be at the club and was tired of waiting for her invitation. I didn’t know what to say, doll.”

“Say-” you cut yourself off, “nevermind.” You hated this tightrope act you had to walk when it came to her, any push too hard against their “relationship” Michael would pout, eyes sad. He was so close to seeing the issue and yet so far. 

You didn’t look at Michael as he padded his way over to you, “It doesn’t matter.” He ignored the way you took a deep breath, ready to argue that it does in fact matter. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not worried about her, baby. I’m worried about you and us. I want to have a good night out with my girl, whoever happens to be there isn’t going to change that.”

The urge to rip out your hair was so incredibly strong, you clenched your fists nails digging into your palms. You wanted to explain that she’s not going to “happen” to be there. She’s going on purpose for the sole intention of seeing Michael. You wanted to tell him that you just might kill her if you see her. But as you looked up at him, his face was so earnest, so cautious, clearly not wanting to upset you, all you could say was, “Ok, Mike.”

----

You had arrived at Hayvenhurst an hour or so before you were supposed to be at the club. Michael’s eyes widened when he saw you slip through the door from where he was planted on the couch, “Hey, doll.”

You walked over giving him a kiss on the cheek, “Hi, Mikey,” but didn’t linger, rushing back over to the stairs ignoring Michael’s calls for you to come back as you walked straight to La Toya’s room.

“Look at you. Coming in and out of my house as if you live here.” Joseph continued on his walk past you, he never liked giving you too much of his time.

You didn’t like giving him your time either, “Look at you walking around the house as if your son’s work didn’t pay for it,” you rushed inside La Toya’s room not wanting to hear his response. 

La Toya turned from her vanity to look at you, “Joseph?”

“Yeah,” you placed your bag on her bed and started digging around for your hair supplies.

She turned back around and continued applying her foundation, not bothering to ask about her father she completely moved on, “I would’ve tried hard to get Michael to leave you alone if I knew every time you’d come over he’d try to steal you away.”

Taking her lead in the conversation, you teased her back, “Don’t worry, you're still my favorite Jackson.”

The two of you got ready together, singing to Donna Summer and laughing your asses off when the boys tried to convince you to unlock the door so they could annoy you. Stumbling out of the room half high on La Toya’s hair spray, you held each other as you made your way down the staircase while also trying to stop laughing at Toya’s story. 

“Ain’t nothing La Toya says is funny enough for y’all to be laughing like this,” Marlon said, completely unamused with how long they had been waiting for you.

Shoving Marlon out of his way, Michael went to you,“You look good mama,” he complimented you shyly, taking your hand into his, as he tried to keep his gaze from wandering. 

The drive to the studio felt short with the boys playfully shoving each other in the limousine and teasing Michael’s grip he had on your hand. You laughed along with them, while subtly side-eyeing your boyfriend, usually he was too shy to hold hands in public, opting instead to hover in your general vicinity. “Are you okay?” you whispered.

Michael nodded silently, looking out at the crowd of paparazzi waiting outside the door as y’all finally arrived. “Let’s go. Don’t stop no matter what they say or do, okay?”

“Okay.” With your confirmation, the Jackson’s filed out of the car, Bill taking up the rear.

Michael wasted no time dragging you around the club, introducing you to any artists he knew you liked before forcing you on to the dancefloor with him. Hours passed in blurs of the most popular songs pumping so loud you felt the bass in your chest. You tried your very best to keep up with Michael but it was fucking impossible with the boots you had worn. “Okay, enough! I need to sit before I pass out!”, you yelled into Michael’s ear. 

He led you over to one of the bars, waving down one of the bartenders. 

“Water for me, please,” you huffed, hand against your chest as your adrenaline wore off and the pain in your feet took its place.

 Looking around you saw people dancing with each other, doing lines and drinking themselves silly. You gulped down your water, taking a moment to admire the most interesting part of your environment, your boyfriend. Michael leaned up against the bar beside you, staring out to the dance floor with pure amusement in his eyes. You took in the way his curls were styled perfectly, and his clothes fit him just right.

He broke your concentration as he turned his head to you with a soft look, “I haven’t been out dancing in a long while, doll.” 

Your heart stopped for a millisecond, “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak before his eyes focused on something behind you, his peaceful smile replaced with a look of terror, “Not now, gosh.”

“What?” you whipped your head around to see a small group coming towards the two of you. “Who-”

“Michael!” 

“Oh hell nah.” You felt Michael’s hands wrap around your wrists as you tried to get out of your seat. 

Diana Ross was strutted out from the center of the group, wrapping her long arms around Michael before either of you had the chance to think. “It’s been too long, Mikey.”

You wanted to throw up.

“Who’s this?” she asked as if she had just noticed you. You didn’t fail to notice the arm she kept around Michael’s shoulders as she sized you up.

Michael introduced you, “We’ve been dating for a bit now, Di.”

Di???

“Really?” Diana asked condescendingly, as if she could never imagine.

Michael gave you a pleading look, you bit your tongue so hard it bled.

“Well, it's nice to meet you.” Her voice was actively chipping away at the last of your patience, “Let me buy you a drink, on me. Any friend of Michael’s is a friend of mine.”

“Oh, no. I’m good, I don’t drink,” you excused through gritted teeth.

Diana looked you up and down, “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” your voice was flat.

One of Diana’s crew laughed in your face, “Girl nobody cares, have a drink.”

“No, I don’t drink, period,” you start to turn away from the rando, “the fuck…?” 

Seeing the look on your face Michael stepped out of Diana’s reach, “You know, I think it’s about time we found the family.”

 He began to pull you away from the bar when Diana stepped right into your faces, “What’s the rush, we haven’t even talked.”

You put a hand up in the small space between y’all, “You can back up.”

Diana grabbed Michael’s arm, not sparing you a glance, “I haven’t even been able to properly congratulate you on the album, Mike.”

You pushed her arm off of Michael, “No, because why are you grabbing him up on him like that? Like you his girl or something, back up.” 

“Let’s just go, doll,” Michael started to walk away and at first you followed him, though your eyes never left Diana’s.

 You pushed past her, subconsciously mumbling to yourself, “Fucking, weird bitch.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, having the audacity to look at you as if you were in the wrong.

“Oh? Are you losing your hearing?” You turn around, clearing your throat aggressively, “You’re too fucking old to be acting like this towards him! You’re fucking weird!”

Diana turned up her nose at you, “You got some fucking nerve.”

“What are you gonna do about it? Feeling froggy, bitch?”

‘Do it, do it.’ you mentally begged as you watched her become completely outraged. You saw the hit coming a mile away and stood perfectly still as Diana’s hand came across your face hard. 

You launched yourself at her, knocking her ass to the ground. Wasting no time you started slamming your fists into her face and chest as you straddled her waist. You were so fucking angry. How much has she gotten away with over the years? You were focused. Hit after hit after hit, you didn’t even register sounds of shock and horror coming from the crowd surrounding you both. You didn’t care. You didn’t care about Diana’s desperate attempts at hitting you back or her bony ass hands pulling at your hair and pushing at your chest to get you off of her. You just kept punching, taking a sick satisfaction at the feeling of hands hitting her. You felt hands pulling at you from all over trying to stop you, you pressed your thighs and knees into her sides to get a good grip on her and kept going, grabbing her shoulders and slamming her on to the ground.

“That’s enough!” A pair of strong arms grabbed you around the waist and tried to drag you away. Only when some people grabbed Diana's shoulders were they able to finally separate you two. They weren’t moving nearly fast enough though, you took advantage of the fact that you were standing above her to kick at her side with your heavy boots. Realizing what you were doing, the person behind you picked up the pace. 

You kept trying to throw your body weight towards her, to break free from the grasp as you clawed at the person's arms and hands. “Nah, let me at her. Raggedy bitch, I’m sick of her ass. I’m tired of it.”

“It’s over, kid.” You knew that voice, you put your anger on pause to focus. You looked over your shoulder. Bill. Fucking Bill. 

“You better let me go or I’m gonna hit you too, Bill. Don’t make me.” You liked Bill. But as far as you were concerned he could get it too, because why the fuck was he stopping you right now?

Bill didn’t look concerned, he just kept carrying you through the crowd. He didn’t let you go until you were on the other side of the club. The moment you were back on your feet you started hustling back towards the crowd, more than ready for part two now that you knew how easy it was to overpower her.

A firm grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks. “Let’s go home, doll.” Michael, precious Michael. He looked so sincere as he gently tugged at you. His eyes scanned over your face, “Did she hurt you?”

A harsh laugh escaped you, “What? You didn’t see what happened?” You know he did. And he knows you know. 

“Come on, girl.” You let him pull you out of the club and into the backseat of his car. The ride was silent as Bill drove you both back to Havenyhurst. Michael held your hand the entire time, gently running his thumb across your knuckles as he watched you take deep breathes, fighting to let go of the last of your anger. Thanking Bill for the ride, you and Michael made your way up to his room as Bill set out back to Studio 54 to wait for the other Jacksons. You laid down on the carpet not ready to head over to Toya’s to get ready for bed. 

Michael joined you on the floor, “I… I appreciate that you stood up to her,” a shy smile on his face before he got serious again, “But you really shouldn’t get into fights for me.”

“Calling it a fight is generous.” Michael gave you a look. “She started it,” you defended.

“You goaded her.”

“And?”

Michael sighed, wrapping you up in a hug, squeezing you tight. You breathed in his cologne, mumbling, “You're not mad at me, are you?” You knew you weren't wrong in anything you said or did, but Michael was so close with Diana you wouldn't have been surprised if he still just didn't get it.

Michael took his time finding his words, only making you more nervous. “I'm not mad. I know how protective you are of Toya, Janet …and now me. I saw it coming.” He pulled back to look at you, “I just don't want to see you get hurt, you're lucky her security wasn't there.”

You hummed into his neck before pulling back, taking his face into your hands. “I know you two have history, Michael, but look at me. She’s bad news, okay. I don’t trust her at all. I don’t like her at all. And I’m not comfortable with the way she acts towards you or the fact that you don’t know how to tell her no.”

Michael tilted his head as his eyes roamed your face looking for something. He must have found it because after a moment, he nodded, “I promise.” You sat like that for a while, your thumbs gently brushing against his cheeks, Michael long since closed his eyes basking in your presence as he tried to wrap his head around everything. “You know, Janet doesn’t like her either.”

“‘Cause she’s smart.”

Some more time passed, "You're crazy you know that?”

You squeezed his face gently, “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”

Michael giggled, bringing you even closer, “It was kind of cool though.”

“You think so?” you asked, a bit surprised.

He shrugged, “You fight better than Jermaine, I’ll tell you that much.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Mimi!” Your son shrieked at the top of his lungs, launching himself at Michael so violently that he almost certainly would have knocked him over if he’d weighed more than forty pounds soaking wet.

Your daughter was gentler about it, but she also ran right to Michael, koala-ing herself around his leg. 

You watched them, amazed by how comfortable they were with him. They had no idea what it meant to be in Michael Jackson’s personal space, or that the man they tackled with hugs every time they saw him was the most famous person in the world.

To them, he was just Mimi—the nice guy their mommy worked for. The guy who lit up whenever she brought them around. The guy who would drop whatever he was doing to play with them. The guy who brought them toys and souvenirs from every city or country he traveled to. The guy who always shared his orange juice, and made sure that wherever you were working was stocked with all their favorite snacks (which he insisted he got for himself, but you’d never actually seen him touch).

Their favorite games to play were “makeup artist” and “record producer,” and he always let them touch all the fancy makeup products and expensive music equipment. Whenever another adult tried to stop them, Michael would glare at them like he was daring them to ruin their fun. They always backed off after that.

It was all painfully endearing. 

You tried your best to keep your personal life from interfering with your work, you really did, but being a single parent with no reliable childcare made that virtually impossible.

The first time you’d asked Michael if you could bring them along with you to the set of a music video he was working on, you nearly died from nerves. I’m so sorry, it’ll just be a one-time thing, the babysitter fell through at the last minute, and—

He’d cut you off, his mind already made up from the moment you’d mentioned the word “kids.” Bring them. Please.

Eventually, you stopped trying to line up a babysitter altogether, and bringing them to work with you became a regular occurrence—not only allowed, but expected. Michael was just so good with them, and they were so at ease around him, and you loved to watch the three of them interact. 

Not that you had anything but professional feelings for him. Definitely not that. It just did your heart good to see them with such a kind and gentle man after their deadbeat dad had left you all in the dust. 

It had nothing to do with the way he looked leaning back in the makeup chair, his eyes closed while your daughter powdered his entire face with the ugliest eyeshadow color imaginable and your son played with his hair, twisting it into complicated “braids” that were going to take the actual hairstylist hours to unknot.

Nothing at all.

“Hey, appleheads.” Michael caught your son and held him tight with one arm, ruffling your daughter’s hair with his free hand. 

Then he glanced up at you, and you practically melted at the sight of him looking so thoroughly pleased to have your children attached to him in the most inconvenient way possible.

“Hey, mama.”

The nickname had started with him referring to you as “your mama” when talking to your kids. They’d be giggling conspiratorily about some outlandish thing they wanted to do, spot you, and Michael would whisper dramatically, “I dunno. You gotta ask your mama first.”

Or they’d be ooh-ing and ahh-ing over one of his makeup looks, and he would beam proudly, “Didn’t your mama do a good job?”

On very rare occasions, when they were being cranky and you were getting frustrated with them, he’d pretend to get all stern and say, “Y’all better mind your mama, now.” 

Things like that. Very normal. Totally fine.

You hadn’t bothered correcting him when he started saying it in other contexts, because, well… mama was practically your name.

He probably didn’t even notice he was doing it.

“Hey, Michael.” You laughed as he started to walk towards you, an awkward shuffle with a three-year-old clinging to his leg. You’d ditched the “Mr. Jackson” formality after your first day of work, when he’d insisted you call him by his first name. Michael. It felt awfully good on your tongue.

“Get off him, you two. Let him walk.” You scolded them—not unkindly—but Michael shook his head. “I got ‘em. Gimme those too.” He reached for the duffel bags you were holding, one for you and one for the kids, and threw them over his free shoulder with ease.

You were suddenly struck by how utterly ridiculous it was that Michael Jackson—your boss, the man who hadn’t had to carry his own luggage in decades—was standing there holding yours. Not just your luggage, but your entire world, right there in his arms.

This was going to be a long tour.

“‘m glad you came.” He flashed you a megawatt smile, and you had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“It’s my job. And you didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Even though you were comfortable bringing the kids to work with you, taking them on tour was a whole other story. Michael had asked you multiple times before, but you’d always insisted on keeping them home. They’re just babies, they’re too young, you’d reasoned, but that excuse was beginning to expire now that they were three and four years old. 

And he’d looked so cute when he was pleading with you to bring them along, how were you supposed to say no? 

You were a weak, weak woman.

“Aw, you’re makin’ me feel bad.” Michael pouted, giving the kids a look. “Tell your mama you wanted to come on tour!”

“We wanted to come on tour!” They echoed him simultaneously, sing-songy in a way that made him laugh. Not the quiet, subdued laugh that he used during interviews, or the forced, fake one that he used when he was talking to someone important, but a deep, genuine, belly laugh. It made your chest hurt.

“You trained them to say that.” You did roll your eyes then, falling into step beside them as the four of you made your way into the airport, followed by several bodyguards.

You got a few odd looks from the staff as you walked past, no doubt because this big-deal celebrity was walking around with two small humans hanging off him like a couple of spider monkeys. 

Other than that, there was a suspicious lack of commotion. Normally, when you went anywhere with Michael, there were screaming fans and flashing cameras coming at him from every direction. Today, the airport was quiet, and it didn’t occur to you why until you’d gone through security without having to wait in line.

This man shut down the entire damn airport.

Something about that realization made you feel… thrilled? It was a reminder of just how important he was. How he had the whole world at his fingertips. How he could have anyone he wanted bowing to his every whim, but for some reason, he chose to spend time with you.

At least, you felt that way for about five seconds before the rational part of your brain reminded you that duh, it was because you were his employee. You’d worked for him for years, and he liked your kids. That was all.

Michael had to put the kids down to go through security, but they stayed glued to his sides, clutching at his jacket and pants leg like he might get lost in the nonexistent crowd if they weren’t careful.

It was the easiest boarding experience of your life. The private plane was roomier than anything you could have possibly imagined, and for your kids, who had never flown before, it might as well have been Disneyland. 

The seats were set up in pairs, and Michael sat in one of them, your son plopping right next to him and your daughter climbing onto his lap. That left you standing alone, hands on your hips, trying your best to look offended.

“Where am I supposed to go?"

The three of them looked at each other like that was a possibility none of them had considered. 

“Sorry, mama.”

Michael chuckled and nudged your daughter gently off his lap, gesturing for both kids to follow him across the aisle to another pair of seats. “You sit right there. We don’t wanna hurt mama’s feelin’s.” He whispered like he was talking just to them, but it was still loud enough for you to hear, and your eyes practically rolled out of your head (even though your heart felt like it was going to explode). 

The lightheartedness of the moment dissipated when your daughter suddenly burst into tears.

Michael looked alarmed, glancing from her to you like maybe he’d said something wrong.

“I wanna sit with Mimi!” She wailed, reaching for him, and you watched in real time as he all but melted into a puddle on the floor.

“Hey, hey, honey. ‘s okay. I’m gonna be right over there.” He pointed back across the aisle to the seat he’d been in before, but she was inconsolable. 

“B-but I‘m scared.” She stared at him, eyes bigger and glassier than you’d ever seen them.

Michael’s face softened impossibly further. You didn’t know a human being could look like that.

“I know.” He nodded solemnly. “Me too.”

You raised an eyebrow. Both kids looked confused but curious. 

“R-really?” Your daughter sniffed. Michael nodded again.

“Oh, yeah. I hate to fly. I used to cry all the time when I had to get on a plane.”

That made her stop crying. Just like magic.

Because if Mimi was scared, but he could be calm on the flight, she could too.

“Still wanna sit with you.” She pouted, and you knew the second she stuck her lower lip out that Michael was a goner. You were definitely not getting that seat next to him.

“Mama?” He looked up at you, both of them wearing matching puppy-dog looks on their faces.

You huffed, but it was fond, not annoyed.

“Fine.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.