Carma ৻ꪆ

You turned to him, "Basically there's an app that lets people write out kinda whatever they want, and this company has found a bunch of things written about you and we're going to read them together. We've watched a couple of their videos, angel face, don't act like you don't know what you've agreed to." You smiled and nudged his leg with your foot.

He sighed dramatically. "You're right, I'm just not sure this is a good idea." He hid his face away, trying to conceal his smile. Little did you know, Michael had secretly reached back out to BuzzFeed and had asked them to not only get tweets about him, but tweets about you. And you were so clueless. Michael could see it now, you laughing at his embarrassed face when he would flip everything on it's head and you would be the one hiding your face. He was also very intrigued to see what people really thought about you.

Your heart melted, thinking he was actually nervous. You took his hand, "Hey we don't have to do this, Mikey." You rubbed your thumb over his rings.

He shook his head, "No, I want to, you just know how I get." He squeezed your hand.

You smiled at him sweetly, so sweetly. It almost made him feel bad about the little stunt he was pulling, almost. "I'll be right beside you the whole time, okay?"

He nodded and kissed your head and then your lips.

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Before either of you knew it you were sitting in front of a bright blue backdrop. You both sat in separate chairs, much to each of your dislinking. They had originally been set up a foot apart from each other, but as soon as Michael saw it he moved his chair so that it was directly touching yours. You smiled and took a sip of whatever sparkling water they had offered you. You watched as the producer handed the phone to Michael, explaining to him very carefully how to access the tweets they had found. Michael stared at the phone, his glasses hanging onto the tip of his nose.

You laughed a bit at the way his brows furrowed in confusion, "Michael, darling, I can help you if you want."

He shook his head, "No no, I've got it."

You raised an eyebrow at the dismissal. He never declined your help when it came to technology, especially phones. That should have been the first warning sign.

Once everyone was set up, Michael came into frame and took a seat. You crossed your legs in the chair and he instinctively reached over and placed his hand on your thigh. The action warmed you and you leaned into his side slightly.

"Alright whenever you guys are ready." The director shouted from off screen.

Michael smiled and looked at the camera, "Hello, I am Michael Jackson,"

"I'm Y/n Jackson, and we're here with BuzzFeed to read some thirst tweets!" You finished the intro. Michael smiled at you and showed you the phone.

"Do you wanna read the first one?" He asked, you nodded and found the screenshot. He laughed nervously, trying to read your expression, "Oh gosh, I'm nervous."

You laughed, "Don't be this one is pretty tame."

"Girls don't want boyfriends, they just want Michael Jackson."

You looked at him after reading it, and both of you laughed, leaning into each other. "Do you think that's true?" He asked you.

You nodded, "Oh for sure, although I guess I don't really get a say in that, I'm the one that has you." You flirted shamelessly.

He hid his face in his hands, "Next one, gimme the Iphone." He carefully took it from your hands.

"Y'know you can just call it a phone right?" You teased.

He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat ready to read the next tweet.

"Can Michael Jackson please choke me with his thighs?"

You doubled over laughing, as Michael turned bright red. He looked so concerned, "Why would I want to choke somebody?" You opened your mouth to respond, but Michael quickly covered your mouth with his hand, "Don't actually answer that!"

You mumbled something through his hand before prying it off, "Okay okay, next!" You took the phone and read the tweet.

"Oh I just know Michael Jackson's dih is big."

"My what?" He looked at you confused. You showed him the tweet, "What is 'dih'?" He looked at you.

You really tried not to laugh, you tried so hard, but that look on his face immediately broke you into a fit of giggles. You were laughing so much you couldn't respond. Michael smiled, starting the chuckle with you, "Why are you laughing? What is it? Y/n!" He grabbed your shoulders, trying to get an answer from you.

Once you finally caught your breath you looked at him and wiped away the tears from your eyes. "They're talking about your junk, Mikey."

His eyes widened and he hid his face in his hands again. You kissed his cheek and looked over at the camera with a smirk and gave an exaggerated nod.

This continued for some time, the tweets getting raunchier and raunchier.

"He's so dada."

"Michael Jackson could spit in my mouth and I'd still call him Daddy."

"What will it take for me to ride that fine man's face?"

"Can Michael Jackson please whimper and moan in my ear?"

"All I want in life is Michael Jackson's face buried deep in my pus-"

Michael cut you off before you could finish reading that one, taking the phone from your hands, his face was red as a tomato.

"Alright, my turn." He declared and carefully pushed up his glasses. He cleared his throat,

"Michale Jackson is the luckiest man alive, because what do you mean he's married to Y/n?"

You blinked a bit and leaned over, trying to look at the screen. "That's not what that one says."

Michael held it away from you, "Oh yes it is! Surprise!" He smirked as your jaw dropped.

Oh how the turn tables.

Michael kept reading.

"My toxic trait is thinking I could pull someone like Y/n."

"Y/n is so mommy."

"I would get on my hands and knees for Y/n."

"I would let Y/n walk me like an actual dog."

You sat beside Michael, stunned, and very flustered from hearing all those things leave his mouth.

"I genuniely believe I could sit in a cuck chair for hours and watch Michael Jackson and Y/n fuck, but mainly so I could watch Y/n."

You hid your face in Michael's chest, your ears burning from how hot they were. "Dear lord, okay okay, you got me!"

Michael laughed a bit, he was just as flustered as you.

It was quiet for a moment before he looked at you, "What is a cuck chair?"

"Oh my god, no. We cannot have this conversation here." You shook your head, laughing slightly.

The video ended with you both laughing and red in the face from all the things you had read.

Michael opened the car door for you and you both got in the car. The ac was on blast, as you tried to cool down.

Michael smiled and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "I surprised you didn't I?"

"Very much so." You leaned against him.

"Did you like it?" He looked a bit nervous.

"Yeah, I did. Now we both can look like flustered idiots on the internet." You smiled up at him and gently kissed his cheek.

It wasn't like Michael was new to the environment, he and his brothers got their start from performing in strip clubs in the midwest, but none of them were as magical as this. In fact, unlike the clubs his father had booked him when he was the age of a kindergartener, this club didn't suffocate him at all, he didn't feel like he was unsafe, he felt free.

Quincy came up to his side as they waded deeper into the building, he grinned and leaned down to whisper in Michael's ear, "Still feelin' hesitant?"

Mike let out a breathy laugh, "Nah, m'feelin great, Q." He smiled bright, nodding at a group of ladies who eyed him up and down.

"Good, cause I got the best seats in this place." He nodded up to the second floor where he saw a small area blocked off. It sat in the center of the second floor balcony, providing a view of the entire club. The room was clothed in red velvet and silk in a variety of different oranges. There was the swankiest looking couch he had ever seen and a chair that was the shape of a literal hand. The table that sat in the middle looked like it was made out of disco ball fragments and fairy dust. There were large plumes of pink feathers that clung to a large floor lamp. It was the most overwhelming yet mesmerizing room he had ever laid his eyes on.

Quincy led Michael to the spiral stairs that led up to the second floor. Michael paused halfway up them, his body telling him there was something he was missing. He scanned the crowd below him, everyone had resumed all of their previous activities. He saw people dancing, people talking and laughing, people drinking, smoking. It was almost too vast to look at. But his eyes raked across the sea of people before being drawn like a magnet to her.

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You stood with your girlfriends against the back wall of the club. They were on their 5th round of whatever the drink of the night was. You think it's some sort of tequila based drink that was so sweet you couldn't even taste the alcohol. It wasn't really your style, no you opted for an espresso martini and whatever substance was in the small compact mirror in your hands. Maybe it was the dangerous mix of alcohol and drugs in your system but you felt a pair of eyes on you. Your eyes scanned the crowd as best you could.

One of your friends tapped your shoulder, pulling you away from your search. She held her drink in one hand, her other hand lingering on your shoulder, "You're up next, babe." She pointed to the elevated stage where the current DJ was wrapping up.

Excitement fills your body like a rush of adrenaline. You sniffled slightly and tucked the compact into your bra, thanking your friend and giving her a playful wink as you made your way to the stage. You fluffed up your hair, and smoothed out the tight little dress you had stepped into back at your apartment.

As you took your place behind the booth, getting things set up to your liking you felt the familiar return of the eyes from before. You ignored the feeling as you placed the headphones around your neck, you typically would have actually put them on your head, but you had spent forever fluffing up your hair and getting it to sit just right. Your hand held one side of the headphones up to your ear, your other hand quickly fiddling with certain dials and indicators. The table felt so good beneath your fingers, you could feel the energy slicing from the hundreds of wires into the soft pads of your fingers.

You queued up a few songs before the stare came back. It felt purposeful at this point, like whoever was staring at you wanted your attention, wanted to make you nervous. But it also felt thick, like this person was using all their energy to make you look at them. And shit, it was working. You glanced up from the mixer, eyes somehow knowing exactly where to look. They trailed straight up in front of you and into the VIP box in the balcony.

There he stood, dressed in fitted bell bottoms that hugged his thighs perfectly, and a long glittery flowing shirt that plunged almost all the way to the waistband of his pants. He leaned against the balcony, skin shining beautifully under the rainbow of colorful lights. His big brown doe eyes locked onto yours.

Either your incredibly intoxicated brain was pulling a prank on you, or Michael Jackson was staring straight into your soul like he had already conquered it.

With the way he was looking at you, it wouldn't be long until he did.

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Michael watched you move effortlessly through the crowd and up into the dj booth. His eyes raked over your body more times than he would like to admit. He wanted to commit your figure to memory, everything from your chunky gold heels to the bold turquoise makeup look that made you look less human and more siren. Oh you were absolutely poisonous.

He had been silently praying to God that you would look his way, that you would spare him even a single glance.

And then you did, your glossy eyes meeting his. Did you naturally have that effortlessly bewitching look in your eyes, or was that something that you saved specifically for men who looked at you like you were the sun? Michael wasn't sure he cared all that much, all he cared about was that you kept looking at him.

And you did, a smile pulling at your lips as your hands moved across the mixer with ease. Everything about you was captivating, Michael genuinely felt like a sailor being lured to death by a siren. He leaned further over the railing, eyes trailing over every curve of your skin that you mercifully let him see.

As his eyes met your, you bit your lower lip slyly. You shot a wink at him as you pressed play on the mixer, turning the volume up as the crowd hollered at the song.

Disco Inferno boomed through the speakers, hitting Michael like a punch to the gut. He smiled and dipped his head, nodding at you as an approval of your song choice.

Quincy called Michael away from the railing, wanting him to sit down and have a drink. Michael left his spot begrudgingly, but kept his eyes trained on you. Even when he sat on the plush couch he looked through the iron railing at you. Every sip of alcohol made his body ache for more of your attention. Since the music had started playing you had paid him absolutely zero thought. He knew you were doing it on purpose, he knew you could feel his gaze on you.

Quincy talked beside him, introducing him to other celebrities, producers, business men, whoever. Michael didn't care. He sat watching you, watching your hands move expertly against the mixer. He wished your hands were on him. He could imagine your touch easily, the feeling of your hand on his chest, your fingers in his hair.

You sneaked the tiniest glance up at him. He sat with his legs slightly widened, body leaned back, drink dangling lazily from his hand. It was a mistake to look, because that one look lit your whole body on fire.

Michael noticed, he caught your eyes darting up at him before back down to your task at hand. He noticed the heat in your cheeks, and it made him giddy. He watched you move to the music, head nodding perfectly on the downbeats of each song, hips swaying carefully. It was so natural that it could have made him cry out in pure joy.

He found himself wondering about you, what was your name, did you live here? Did you have a boyfriend, a girlfriend, any kind of partner? God, he hoped not. Did you always elicit this kind of response from strangers? He wondered how you felt about animals, did you like them as much as he did, what if you hated animals. He wondered what you smelled like. His best guess was some sort of husky amber scent, or maybe some kind of citrine smell.

He didn't know anything about you and he was already imagining what a date would look like, how bad he would spoil a girl like you. He imagined the sound of your voice, how it would sound hearing you say his name.

Quincy shook his shoulder, "Michael!"

He blinked, you were gone. Shit, he had been day dreaming so hard he had missed you leaving the stage. He stood up, eyes searching the crowd frantically, what if you had left? He thought he may actually pass away if you had slipped through the cracks.

Quincy looked up at him, "Michael, relax, she's on the dance floor."

He let out a sigh of relief, "Good," he looked at Quincy, "Wait, how do you know who I'm looking for?"

"You've not exactly been discreet about it, Mike. I mean Cyndi Lauper was sitting next to you and you were starin' at that dj chick."

Michael shrugged, "She caught my eye, Q."

"Well, Jesus, Mike don't just stand up here. Go talk to the girl before I lose my mind."

Michael smiled and left the VIP area, fully on a mission.

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After your set you carefully slipped out from the booth and over to your friends. They smiled and kissed your cheek, applauding you.

Before you knew it, you were on the sparkly dance floor with them. The three of you danced close, hands roaming each other comfortably. You wolf whistled as another girl came and whisked away one of your friends. Then your other friend quickly disappeared with a guy, sending you a wink as they left the floor. You smiled and continued dancing, letting the music clear your head. You shut your eyes, the music leading your body in fluid movements.

You felt his presence before you saw him, in fact you were so certain it was him you didn't even open your eyes. A large hand found its way to the small of your back, and you leaned into the touch. Your back grazed his chest, you could feel the cold touch of his necklace graze your bare back. The sharp difference in temperature sent a chill down your spine. His hands settled on your hips, guiding them with his to the music. Your heart felt surprisingly steady, like this was natural, like dancing with Michael Jackson was just an ordinary experience. Maybe it would become one, Michael sure hoped it would.

Michael felt your body relax and press into his touch, your head leaned back against his chest, his mouth right next to your ear. He wanted nothing more than to dip his head and kiss your glistening neck, but he remained a gentleman, or as much of one as he could muster.

He wasn't sure how long you two stayed like that, but it had been a couple of songs. Slowly you turned in his grasp, now facing him. Your glossy eyes met him again and he could have sworn he was in heaven. You both smiled lazily at each other, sharing a knowing look.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he wrapped his around your waist, bringing you closer. "I'm Michael."

You smiled more, you wanted to say 'i know,' but you decided to play his little game, "I'm Y/n, it's nice to finally meet you, Michael."

God you sounded exactly like he had imagined, and somehow you smelt better than he could have ever dreamt.

His thumb drew little circles against your hip, "You dance like this with every guy you meet?" he teased slightly, leaning closer to your face.

"No, just you. And do you stare at every girl that peaks your interest?" You leaned closer, nose brushing his.

"Nah, just you." He copied your response. You smiled at the lighthearted banter.

"I guess that makes me a very lucky girl, hm?"

"That depends on if you make me equally as lucky and go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?" His grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly, it made your knees slightly weak.

"Why wait until tomorrow night?" You smiled, a mischievous glint hitting your eye.

He raised a brow, a grin matching the look in your eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

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You and Michael found yourselves seated in a waffle house, laughing violently at something one of you had said. His security guard, Bill, sat a couple of seats away, enjoying his own late night/early morning breakfast.

It was close to 5 AM the next day, you and Michael had been terrorizing the waffle house for almost 4 hours now. You would've felt bad had you not been having such a good time. And Michael felt the same way.

When the sun started to peek through the city streets, Bill finally decided to intervene.

"We gotta head back to the hotel room before your father has an aneurysm, Joker." Bill clapped his shoulder.

Michael sighed and muttered, "I wish he would," causing you to double over in more laughter. Michael smiled proudly.

You stood up, "I should head back to my apartment."

Michael stood as well, looking at you curiously, "How are you getting home?"

"I'll probably walk." You grabbed your purse, carefully reaching for money to pay for the food.

Michael stopped you, "First, you're not walking home alone. Second, I'm paying."

"Michael, I'm the one who suggested we come here, and I am perfectly capable of walking, I've done it many times before."

He placed down enough cash to cover the bill and to leave a hefty tip. "I don't like that, you're not walking home on my watch."

"But it's an inconvenience to take me home, my apartment is on the opposite side of the city from your hotel." You crossed your arms.

"Then you'll come to the hotel with me and we can get you a cab from there." Michael said cooly, even though he had no intent of calling a cab.

"Can I not call a cab from here?" You challenged, eyes narrowing.

"No, you can't." He said simply, taking your hand and leading you to the sleek Cadillac he had arrived in.

"Why are you so worried, you're not my boyfriend." You teased him lightly.

He opened the door for you, a smile already on his face. "Not yet."

"Mike, they're gone." Bill said it steadily, just like the doctors instructed him.

"What?" Michael paused, reality settling back into his bones.

"You're having another episode, buddy. You got to go to sleep so this doesn't keep happening. Remember, the doctor told you those meds were going to help you sleep better."

Michael slumped onto the bed, eyes distant as he remembered the truth.

You were gone, you had been for almost 6 months now.

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The accident had happened while Michael was in New York for some award show. You had been driving home from your parents house, the weather was nasty.

Your parents had told you to stay the night, to wait until the storm cleared up, but you had refused, saying that you needed to be at home when Michael called.

Michael wished more than anything that you had listened to your mom. He wished you hadn't gotten in the car, he wished you hadn't gotten on the highway when it was dark and you could barely see two feet in front of you because of the rain. And he wished more than anything in the world that the man who t-boned your side of the car was the one to die, not you, and not the baby in your belly.

Michael was rushed out of the award ceremony and onto his private jet the second your mother called. He didn't care that it would take him hours to get to you, he truthfully didn't care that the conditions weren't good enough for the plane to take off. He needed to be there for you.

By the time the plane landed and he had gotten to the emergency room it was too late. He saw your parents holding each other in the waiting room, and he knew the worst had happened.

You were gone. His darling angel, the light of his life, was gone forever.

People said that the day you had left was the day Michaels soul left too.

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Things never really got better for Michael. It didn't matter how many hit songs he made, how many tours he went on, how many fans loved him, everything felt empty.

The following month of your passing, Michael was put under close surveillance by his doctors. He barely spoke, let alone do anything else. He moved around like a ghost.

When Janet came to visit she would find him sitting silently on the couch, holding one of your shirts. Other times she would find him sitting at the dining room table writing feverishly. She asked him what he was doing and he would say he was writing letters to you.

The entire family was worried, so they got him a doctor that specializes in grief. They quickly and quietly put him on a combination of different medications, trying desperately to find ones that worked. They were looking for the medicine that would lock away any and all parts of you.

But Michael didn't want to lock you away, he didn't want the feeling of your touch to fade away, he didn't want your scent to just be another smell in the world.

You took his days, his nights, his hopes, his dreams, his life, his world. All of it taken away with you.

He started having episodes the longer he went without sleeping. But he couldn't sleep. He couldn't fall asleep because you weren't holding him, and when he took enough medicine to finally knock him out cold he had violent dreams about you.

His dreams taunted him, showing him the life that he should've been living with you, forcing him to see what could've been.

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It was growing closer to being a full year without you. Some people used the word anniversary, but Michael couldn't. That word made him think of happy occasions, and your death date was anything but that.

He went longer stretches without sleeping, his episodes getting worse. Once, Bill had found him sitting alone in the nursery he had refused to get rid of. Michael sat in the rocking chair with a book, reading it aloud to the baby in his arms as you smiled from across the room at the adorable sight. Except there was no baby, and there was no you. Only Michael.

Janet came over to stay with him the week of that terrible day. She didn't want him to be alone in the house with nothing but doctors and security. She couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't stand to see him in so much pain, and no one was doing anything real about it. So she gathered all the letters he had written to you and put them on the coffee table before dragging Michael out of his room and sitting him down in front of them.

"Michael, this has to stop. You're driving yourself into the ground and I can't sit here and watch it happen anymore." She grabbed his hands.

He was silent for a moment, staring at the letters before speaking, "The first doctor told me that grief that continues past 6 months is pathological and should be medicated. 6 months for the life of my wife and child." His eyes glossed over.

Janet didn't know what to say. She just wanted her brother back, "Michael, it's like she took everything with her. Like she took you with her."

"She did." He answered simply.

"But you let her. Michael, we both know she wouldn't want you living like this. You know that she's worried sick watching over you. And I know as badly as you want to be with her, she doesn't want that yet. It's not your time, and you can't keep trying to speed things up to get to her. She's always going to be waiting for you, she has the patience of a saint, I mean she had to in order to be with you." Janet squeezed his hand.

Michael let out a small laugh, a real laugh. He looked at Janet, "I can't sleep, it's like every time I close my eyes I see everything that I'm missing. You can't possibly ask me to move on from her."

"I'm not asking you to move on, I'm asking for you to live for her."

Michael slowly looked at Janet, something soft in his eyes. For the first time in a year, Janet felt like she had finally seen a small glimpse of her brother.

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Michael did as Janet said, he tried to live for you. And he did so for a long time. But his sleeping never really got better. He stopped having visions of you still being alive, but it still pained him to close his eyes at night.

Michael did all the things he thought you would have wanted him to do, he continued making people happy, caring for children, spreading love and joy. In the face of ridiculous accusations and horrible rumors he continued on for you.

But after 13 years, God had finally put an end to the distance. Michael went to sleep, and for the first time it was peaceful. And when he opened his eyes he felt your arms around his waist, and saw your beautiful face looking up at him. Your sweet baby laid gently on your chest as you welcomed him home.

"We missed you, darling."

You were a private person, which is why you had kept your relationship with Michael a secret until after you had said 'I Do.' At first you had liked that you had tricked the paparazzi into having not the faintest idea about your existence, but it seemed like they were determined to get back at you.

You sat in the back of the limo with Michael, your knee bobbing up and down anxiously as you drove through the streets. Michael was asked to go to some award show to present a couple awards. He wanted you to come with him officially as his wife. You had announced the marriage a few months ago but this was the first award show of any kind that you had been seen at publicly. He knew it was a big ask, but he wanted you by his side from now on, and who were you to say no to his pleading eyes.

Michael gently placed a hand on your knee, holding it gently, "If you keep that up you'll tear a hole in the floor of the car." He teased, trying to take your mind off what was waiting down the street.

You looked up at him, "Sorry, just nervous."

God you looked so heartbreakingly beautiful, it hurt Michael to look at you for too long. He smiled and kissed your head, "Don't apologize, baby. Y'know m'proud of you for coming with me tonight." He squeezed your knee gently.

You finally smiled, relaxing at his words, "You're too sweet to me."

"Impossible." He laughed, his hand gently grabbed your chin and guided your lips to his. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back slowly and bringing your thumb up to his lips, wiping the lipstick off his lips.

"Leave it, sweet girl. People know I belong to you now, there's no need to hide it."

You bit your lip, holding back your wide grin. He smiled and pulled you back into another kiss, this one deeper than the previous. He pulled you closer, disregarding the pull of his seat belt. Your lips moved gently against his, before trailing down to his jaw, then lower to his neck. He groaned lowly into your ear. "Y'sure know how to work me up right before we go out in public. It's criminal." He laughed breathlessly.

You blushed as you finally pulled away, satisfied with the claim you had placed on him. There were at least three lipstick prints on his neck and jaw, each matching the shade on your glossy lips. "I've had a lot of time mastering the skill." You shrugged and sat back in your seat.

He laughed and looked you up and down. He had bought you the most gorgeous black dress, it sat like silk against your skin, and perfectly matched his black leather suit. You both looked lethal. He sighed and played with the strap of your dress, "I can't wait to take this off you tonight." He smirked as he watched you flush visibly.

You eyed him for a moment, "Don't get ahead of yourself, pretty boy. We have a whole award show in front of us."

He laughed and kissed your knuckles.

The car slowly rolled to a stop, the moment breaking as screams erupted around you. He felt you tense up immediately, and he squeezed your hand, "I've got you, doll."

You took a breath and nodded. He got out on one side of the car, the screams exploding around him, you could see the flashes from the cameras going berserk. Before he could walk around to your side of the car and open the door for you, a group of paparazzi swarmed in, prying the door open. They stuck their cameras in the car without a second thought, blinding you quickly. You held your arm up, scooting to the side of the car Michael had left from. You could hear him shouting at the cameramen, telling them to back up. You looked out the back of the limo, seeing him being pushed back by his security.

Your ears were ringing, and you could feel your heart trying to escape your chest. You were pressed up against the left door, still trying to shield yourself from the right side, when the left door was yanked open.

You felt yourself being pulled from the car, but couldn't see by who, your vision blurry from all the flashing lights. Questions were being shouted at you left and right as people demanded to know anything and everything about you.

"Look over here!"

"Why have you been hiding?"

"Are you pregnant with Michael Jackson's children?"

"Did you trap him into marriage with a child?"

"Look this way!"

A hand grabbed your arm harshly, turning you to face the flashed head on. Your head felt like it was going to explode. Your eyes burned from the light and your ears rang so loud your head felt like it was being shoved against a brick wall.

Your throat felt more constricted with each question and command thrown at you. Your head couldn't keep up with anything around you, as the panic in your chest took hold of your body. You felt helpless against the crowd slowly closing in on you. It felt like being dragged underwater, no matter what you did you couldn't come up for air.

The grip on your arm was ripped away, a figure quickly standing in front of you as security shoved the man back. An arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his side, shielding you from the onslaught of flashes. You couldn't see him or hear him, but you knew his touch.

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The second Michael stepped out of the car without you immediately behind him he knew he made a mistake. He didn't even have time to get to your door before he saw two cameramen rip it open and shove their cameras into the car.

The smile on his face quickly turned into something more sinister as he ran around the back of the car, "Hey! Back up!" He shouted at the group that had quickly barricaded himself from you.

Everything had happened so fast that security had mistaken him as the one in need of help. They quickly flanked him, pushing him further from you. He tried shoving past them, growing angrier as more cameras flashed into the limo. "Get away from the car!" he shouted angrily before turning to the two security guards, "Get them to back up, my wife is in the car!"

They quickly scrambled to the side he had been trying to reach, pushing people away. He heard more shouts and looked over to see a man yanking your terrified form from the car.

Michael could've killed the guy. Two more security guards saw the look in his eye and grabbed his arms as he tried to get to you. They knew that if Michael got his hands on that guy things would be bad. Michael felt like he was going to go crazy if he didn't get to you. He could see the way your chest was constricting your airflow. The questions being shouted at you sent him over the edge. He yanked himself free from security's grip.

"Get your filthy hands off her." He growled at the man who was still holding onto you. His hands tore the man away, Bill quickly stepped in between him and the cameraman.

"Get her inside now." Bill nodded toward you.

It took every fiber of Michaels being not to jump the smug guy, but one glance down at you and he pulled you close. He wrapped an arm around you, hand shielding your face as he moved through the crowd easily. People quickly stepped out of his way, seeing what had gone down and seeing the murderous look on his face. He led you into the building. The security that had been hired at the venue quickly led the two of you to a green room backstage, seeing what had gone down.

Michael led you to the couch, carefully kneeling in front of you. Once the door shut he gently pried your hands away from your face.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Everything was quiet now. You didn't know where you were, but you knew it was quiet and it was with Michael. After a moment he took your hands away from your face. Your eyes were squeezed shut, mascara running down your cheeks.

Michael's smooth voice spoke barely above a whisper, "I'm here, baby. Look at me, please. Let me see those gorgeous eyes."

You slowly opened them, your vision slowly coming back into focus. Your eyes settled onto Michael's face, twisted in concern. Your breathing was shallow, your lungs burning for air.

Michael cupped your face, "Baby, breathe with me, okay? Breathe." He took in a long breath, and held it for a second before letting it out. You followed him, breathing in and out slowly until your heart rate had returned to normal. Your bottom lip quivered slightly as you tried not to cry anymore. Michael's heart twisted, "It's okay, doll. Let it out." He pulled you into his arms.

The second his arms wrapped around you, it was like your body let go of all the tension. You melted into his arms, slipping off the couch and into his lap, head against his chest as you cried quietly. It wasn't loud or violent, it was so painful that there was almost no sound at all. Michael held you against him, rubbing your back, and whispering sweet things into your ear.

After you had calmed down you slowly pulled back, sniffling, "How bad is my makeup?"

He took a good look at you. Despite the runny mascara, and the tear stains you looked like a heartbreaking dream. "You're still the most gorgeous creature in the universe."

You choked out a laugh and gently wiped your cheeks. Michael helped you get the mascara off your face, holding your face in his hands afterwards. "I'm so sorry, baby."

"It's not your fault, Michael." You fixed a wrinkle in his suit.

"No but that should not have happened. I am going to have some serious talks with my heads of security as well as the security at this venue. That was unacceptable, I've never in my entire career seen anything like that."

"Mike, it's okay. Really, I'm okay." You cupped his face.

He shook his head, "Like hell that was okay. I couldn't even get to you! Some dick grabbed you, I swear I'll send his ass to jail for touching you like that." His face became stern. It made you smile, seeing how protective he was over you.

"There's no need for that, Michael. I'm sure Michael Jackson screaming at him was punishment enough." You tried to bring him back to earth.

"Not if I have anything to say about it. He's lucky I didn't snatch that fucking camera out of his hands and smash it on the ground."

You grabbed his chin and kissed him, bringing his mind back to the present. "Michael, all that matters is that you got me out of there. I don't want to give them the power of ruining our night."

He nodded a bit, blood starting to cool down as he looked at you. He kissed the tip of your nose and then your forehead. "You're right. Now let's get out there so I can show off my beautiful wife." He stood up, guiding you up with his hand. He walked the two of you out of the room and into the banquet hall. His hand stayed at the small of your back. Before entering the awards room you leaned up and whispered in his ear.

"You're getting something extra special for being so sexy and heroic for me."

Michael turned red and you smirked, giggling to yourself. He finally moved out of your space and leaned against the counter, inhaling the pancakes that were slightly cold now. Before either of you knew it there was a large camera crew in the foyer of the house. You grabbed Michael's hand dragging him into the large room to greet them.

Things went relatively smoothly, you all got set up in one of the side rooms of the house. The woman interviewing you sat in a chair set up across from the small leather couch that you and Michael sat on. There was easily room for both of you to sit and have your own space, but you sat flush up against him, leaning into his side with his arm wrapped around your shoulders. As the crew set up you talked casually with the interviewer. The more Michael knew the more comfortable he felt, he learned she had been doing celebrity interviews for awhile and was more focused on capturing the human side of such big stars. You could feel the tension leave Michael's shoulders as she spoke.

When the camera's started rolling you carefully squeezed his hand, letting him know it was going to be alright. He smiled at you gratefully. Things ran smoothly, the interviewer asked all the typical questions, like how did you meet, when did things become official, all that silly stuff. Then she turned to you, "So, Y/n, what's your favorite thing about your husband Michael?"

You looked at him, and he looked back at you. You scanned his face for a second, just admiring him, before smiling and answering, "My favorite thing about Michael is his soul. I know that's cliche to say, but it really is my favorite thing. He has the kindest soul on this earth, I genuinely believe that. It's like just being in his proximity you can feel how much love he carries for everyone. It's admirable, I've never met someone who cares so deeply for others." Your eyes never left him as you spoke. He smiled down at you, bringing your forehead to his lips.

The interviewer looked like she was going to cry, "And, Michael, the same question for you."

He smiled brightly, "I love how fiercely protective she is over the people she loves. She was the first person to show me that I was worth something, y'know. Before her, I spent so long feeling undermined by everyone around me, I didn't feel like I was worthy of anything I had achieved. But when I met her, she showed me my worth by standing up for me." His eyes lit up as he remembered something, "Oh can I please tell them about that one press conference?"

You laughed, "Really?? You're going to put me on blast like that?"

"Please!!" He begged.

You couldn't say no to him, so you let out a dramatic sigh, "Fineeee."

He got excited and sat up, leaning forwards, a laugh already bubbling in his chest. "So I was at this conference for the Bad tour, and Y/n here was off stage. I was answering questions when someone asked me if I bleached my skin. Y'know I was so shocked for a minute, I didn't know what to say. But this little monster was so mad she came out on stage and started berating the guy." He laughs at the memory, "Oh you were so mad! It was like I could see the steam coming out of your ears." He laughed more after looking at your unamused face.

"I stand by what I called him, that was so out of line." You crossed your arms.

The interviewer leaned forward trying not to laugh, "What did you call him?"

"I don't think I can publicly say on the air what I called him, but come up with the worst thing you can think of and multiply it times 10."

Michael was practically doubled over on your lap laughing at the memory. He sat back up and wiped a tear from his eye. "That was one of the first times I had seen her unleash her full power, it was frightening but incredibly attractive at the same time."

You eyed him, smiling to yourself. The interviewer chuckled, "Alright, I think we should play a little game. I'm going to give you who's most likely to and you are going to point at the person you think falls into that category."

You nodded, ready for a game. It started out playful, most of the time you agreed on what was said.

Most likely to lock themselves out of their own home? Michael.

Most likely to get banned from social media? You

Most likely to clap when their plane lands? Michael.

Most likely to be the first one out on the dance floor? You.

Most likely to make a playlist for the other? Michael

Most likely to get a tattoo of the other person’s name? You (And you did)

But there was one question that sparked a fierce debate.

Most likely to get hit on at a bar?

"Obviously it's Michael." You pointed at him and looked over to find him pointing at you. "Me??"

"Yeah you. Don't act modest, you're young and sexy." He defended his choice.

"Michael, my love, my sweet darling, my angelface. You're literally Michael Jackson, what are you talking about?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well when we were younger you used to get hit on all the time, it drove me crazy." He leaned back on the couch.

"Baby, I'm not the one with fan edits, that would be your fine ass." You smirked as he stilled.

"What? What are fan edits?" He looked so confused, it was adorable.

Both your mouth and the interviewer's mouth dropped open. The woman looked at him, "You've really never seen a fan edit of yourself?"

"No? What are they? Are they bad?" He looked between you both helplessly.

"Oh god no, they're amazing!" You grabbed your phone eagerly. "I have like a whole folder on my phone dedicated to them."

The interview quickly turned into you and the interviewer making Michael watch edits of himself. The more you showed him the more provocative they got. You would make small comments about them, "I like the way they matched your hips to the music in this one, OH look at your hands in this one!"

Michael looked like he was going to short circuit, there was so much he was learning all at once. One being that people had taken clips of him and put them together to a song, two that you apparently knew about this and didn't tell him, three that you had seemingly liked and favorited every single one.

He squinted at the screen, reading the caption on one, "Who is dada?" He looked at you.

You looked back up at him, face so serious, "You're dada." He looked like he was genuinely going to pass away. You and the interviewer bursted into laughter, you fell off the couch, holding your stomach as you cried out with laughter. Michael sat there like a statue, trying to get his brain to work again.

His mind was racing before it came screeching to a halt and he smirked. He looked at the interviewer, "Are there any edits of Y/n?"

You halted on the floor, sitting up immediately, trying to snatch away your phone. The interviewer nodded, "Oh yeah, tons."

"Well I want to see."

"No no no no, this is about you being hot and sexy." You tried to switch the topic back to him.

But it was too late, the interviewer had handed him the phone which now had edits of you playing on repeat. Michael put on his glasses, watching the screen mesmerized.

"I think I get the whole appeal of these things now." He smiled and kissed you.

Nothing could have prepared you for that morning. Nothing. Before you had fallen asleep, everything had been fine. He was by your side, laying in your shared king sized mattress. He was breathing, he was smiling, he was talking, he had kissed you.

You had gone to check on the children when the doctor came in that morning, Michael was still asleep. You saw his chest rising and falling. You had kissed his head and thought nothing of the anxious feeling growing in your chest.

You were in the nursery, gently rocking your 6 month old baby girl, when you heard the doctor's voice shouting nervously from your bedroom.

After that, things were a blur. Your brain had shut out most of the memory, but you knew you had seen him despite the doctors best efforts to keep you from the room. You remembered the paramedics arriving far later than they should have, you remembered the sounds of the hospital, the voice of the doctor as he tried to tell you that your husband was gone.

You think you cried, you honestly weren't sure. You just remembered the feeling of emptiness settling into your chest, the feeling of your heart growing cold.

You refused to go back to the house for weeks, opting to stay with Janet. Those weeks were the darkest weeks of your life, you had lost your husband, the one person who understood you, the person who you had given your life to. And just like that, he was gone. It wasn't fair, nothing about this was fair. Not the fact that he was gone so suddenly, not the fact that you hadn't gone with him, not the fact that you had the children to look after.

You had really done your best to be there for the children, for the baby, Paris, and Prince. You tried to put up a strong front around them, to show them support, but there was only so much you could do.

There were days where you couldn't find the strength to leave the guest bedroom you were staying in. And there were a lot of days where you had wished that you hadn't woken up. But no matter how badly you wanted to be with Michael, you knew you couldn't.

You and Janet stuck together for a long time, leaning on each other for support. But there came a day when you knew you would have to go back to the Ranch, go back into the room to get your things. You had bought a small apartment, far away from all the things that reminded you of Michael. You couldn't live in the house, it would have driven you insane.

Janet kept the kids for the day, as you headed back to Neverland. You pulled off to the side of the road multiple times, trying to regulate your breathing. Since he had left it was like panic had embedded itself in your chest, you were always short of breath, you were always on guard, and you were always on the verge of a breakdown. It didn't help that you were receiving letter after letter from news outlets begging to get a statement from you. The entire family had given statements, but you were silent. Even at the funeral, you hadn't said anything. It took a lot of convincing to even get you to go, but you did, for the children. But you didn't say anything, instead you stood near the back, holding the children tightly, tears falling into a puddle at your feet.

The press took your silence and ran with it, saying that you had never cared for Michael, saying that you were in it for the money. The paparazzi had been stalking you more than ever, and you knew they would be at the gates of Neverland, waiting for your black Cadillac to drive by.

And that they were. There were so many of them, that they completely surrounded the car, trapping you just outside of the house. Their cameras flashed in a frenzy, blinding you from inside the car. Your throat closed up as you did your best to block out their antagonizing questions.

"Are you here to get the rest of his money?"

"Were you conspiring with the doctor?"

"How much money did he leave you?"

"Will you finally drop the act?"

"Are you happy your husband is dead?"

You covered your ears, sobbing into the steering wheel as security tried to get a hold of the crowd.

But the damage was done. The little amount of your heart left shattered into a million pieces. Everything around you blurred as you gasped for air, choking on your own tears and cries. Your sobs turned to screams as you curled in on yourself in the car, clutching your head in your hands.

It was Michael's two heads of security that shook you from your spiral. You jolted at their touch, body shaking as they looked at you with horrified expressions. You had been unreachable for 10 minutes, despite the fact that the reporters were gone and the two men were trying to talk to you.

You looked pale and frail, and they tried to make you go to the hospital, but you refused, saying that if you didn't go into the house now, you never would. They made you get into the back seat as they drove the car the rest of the way, sharing nervous glances with each other.

They stayed by your side while you walked through the house, getting the things you had come for. It wasn't as bad as you thought until you were standing in front of your and Michael's bedroom door. You quietly asked for a moment alone, to which the two bodyguards begrudgingly agreed to.

You stayed in the bedroom for a long time, hand running against the sheets, or the clothes in his closet. You slowly got your clothes, before carefully taking a few of his, the things that smelled most like him. You knew that his scent would fade away soon, but you didn't care. You needed something of his to hold onto. His familiar scent made your head spin, because you could smell him, but you knew he wasn't there.

When you got back to Janet's, you locked yourself away in the bedroom with his sleep shirt.

The next day, the front pages of the tabloids were plastered with your devastating face. The titles called you crazy, out of your mind, insane, a loose screw, anything they could think of they called you it. Janet was furious, but you couldn't find the strength to care.

All your strength had left you the day your husband died.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It had been almost 17 years now, and you were better, but you still weren't healed fully. Things had been up and down, some years were good, and then some years were particularly bad. Especially while raising the baby, those were the hardest years. You were on your own, you were inexperienced, you were lonely, you were depressed, and you were paranoid beyond all belief. The press had still been bombarding you, still trying to get some sort of formal statement. But you were a sealed door, they weren't getting anything from you. These were the same people who mocked your husband, the same people who lied and tried to ruin him, and now they wanted to play the sympathy card. They could all go to hell.

There were days you begged God to bring Michael back, and there were days where you cursed at him for taking Michael away from you. When your daughter got older, she started asking questions about her daddy. Paris and Prince would always go quiet when she asked, and they would look at you. You always did your best to answer her questions without crying, you wanted her to know everything she wanted about her daddy. But it was hard, it was hard when she asked you why he was gone, if he was coming back, and it was hard when all three of them talked about how badly they missed him. You never tried to sugar coat things, you told them it was hard for you too, but that Michael believed all of you were strong, and that he was watching over you all.

Things got better as the press stopped hounding you, of course there was always a letter or two every month, but nothing like how it was before. That was until your husband's biopic had come out. You were proud of everyone involved, especially Jaafar. The premier was the first time you had been seen publicly at an event since Michael's funeral. You didn't dress up all crazy like other people, but you did wear his favorite dress. You thought the movie would be hard to watch, but it made you smile. For the first time in a long time, you felt your husband's presence. It was almost like he was sitting beside you, holding your hand. After the screening you found Jaafar and gave him the biggest hug you could muster, not caring that cameras were flashing behind you. You pulled back and smiled at him softly, "Michael would be so proud of you."

The moment was brief, but there was a lot said in how you looked at each other.

After the movie, it was like the floodgates opened. All those news outlets who had given up on a statement from you were suddenly pounding at your door, staking out your driveway, emailing you, emailing you, sending you letters. You hadn't felt this anxious in a long time, and you were nervous things would get bad again. You relied heavily on a prescribed medication to keep you from spiraling, but since things had been okay the doctor took you off of them. You had been okay for years, and now everything was starting to crash back in.

As much as the thought angered you, you knew how to get them to stop.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After a lot of thinking, you had agreed to a singular interview, and only if they sent you a list of questions and stuck to the ones that you okayed.

And so there you sat, fidgeting nervously in a plush chair under studio lights. Janet was off to the side, there for emotional support.

The interviewer was a younger woman, she seemed nice, she seemed new, so you figured she would be professional, that she would stick to the questions on the page. And for the most part she did. She was polite, she asked about how you and Michael met, what it was like being married to him. And then one of the producers from offstage cleared his throat and looked at the poor girl sternly. She looked at you nervously, giving you an apologetic look.

Your chest dropped, you knew what was coming. You wanted to leave, you wanted so badly to take off out the door, but your body felt frozen in its place.

"There's a lot of speculation about that day, Mrs. Jackson. People want to know the truth. Did you have something to do with your husband's death? Did you marry him to get his money, was the love a whole scheme to become rich?"

Your mouth felt like a desert, you could feel your heart beating painfully in your chest. "No-" you breathed out, eyes stinging with tears.

"Is it true that you went crazy after he died? Were you sent to a mental hospital for help?"

The question struck something in you, and the fear was overrun with anger. "Let me ask you something. If the only person on this planet that truly understood you died while you were in the next room feeding your 6 month old baby would you be okay? A part of my soul died with him that day, do you understand what that's like? Do you understand what it's like to have to stay strong for your children when the person you loved more than life itself was taken from you? And do you know what it's like to be stalked, scrutinized, and bombarded by the same people who tried to tear down that person? No. You don't. My husband was my entire world, and when he was taken from me I was accused of being a part of it, I was followed. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I could barely breath most of the time because my world was taken from me. So do not sit there and act like you know anything about what I went through, or assume that I went crazy. Because if that happened to you, you would have gone "crazy" too." You stood up. "I think we're done here,"

"Mrs. Jackson." She called out.

"No more questions, thank you." You walked straight to Janet, taking her hand and walking out of the studio.

As you got in the car, Janet couldn't help but smile, "That was quite the official statement from you. I don't think I've heard you speak that much in 17 years."

"Yeah well, they can take their shitty journalism and shove it up their ass."

Janet smiled and reached over, grabbing your hand, "I've missed you."

You smiled and leaned your head on her shoulder. "I missed you too."

You walked through the rows and rows of bookshelves in the great library of the palace. No matter how long you had lived in the palace, you could never quite comprehend the size of the rooms. Every wall in the grand room was lined with books of all sorts, new, old, scriptures, poems, stories, records. The ceiling was a beautiful glass dome, letting in all the natural light the sun had to offer, making the room seem more like heaven than a library.

You spent most of your free time here, tucked away between towering shelves, grabbing as many books as you could possibly carry. You found comfort in knowledge, comfort in stories. There was a small area on the second floor of the library that was your personal cove. It was hidden slightly behind two long shelves of scrolls that had ancient texts scribbled deep into the parchment. Behind the scrolls gave way to a small opening where a beautiful stained glass window faced the rising sun. There was a plush bench that connected to the divot of the wall, sitting flush up against the grand window. You could spend hours there and never get bored, and that's what you did. You came up to the window right as the sun began to rise, before the responsibilities of your job fell on your shoulders.

For a long time you had thought that you were the only one that knew of the spot. You figured you must be, because you couldn't fathom someone knowing about the little cove and not spending as much time there as they possibly could. And you were almost correct, almost no one knew of the spot. Almost.

There was a certain young prince who knew of the spot. Michael had been watching you for some time, far longer than you had ever realized. He had realized you had found his secret spot one day after a particularly grueling meeting with his brothers and his father. He was exhausted from all the ridiculous duties that were demanded of him, and he was especially fed up with hearing about the neighboring kingdom's ruler, Diana Ross. After the meeting he had headed straight to the window, a book about different species of animals tucked neatly under his right arm. But to his surprise, he found the bench occupied by you. He didn't know your name at the time, but he knew you were Janet's lady in waiting, and he knew how much Janet adored you. He watched you for longer than he should have.

His eyes traced over your figure, sitting like an angel in the window. The sun shone perfectly through the stained glass, creating a technicolor glow around you. You were too immersed in the book in your lap to notice how ethereal you looked, let alone notice the love stricken prince staring right at you. Michael wanted nothing more than to sit beside you, but he couldn't bring himself to pull you out of the trance the book had placed on you, so he quietly left. He headed straight to Janet's room, demanding she tell him your name.

Janet stared at him for a moment, not happy about her brother barging into her room at such a ridiculous hour and depriving her of her beauty sleep. She rubbed her eyes, sitting up with a groan, "Michael, what are you on about?"

"Your lady in waiting, Dunk. That's what I'm on about. What's her name?" He paced in front of his sister's bed, waiting anxiously for your name.

The exhaustion on Janet's face disappeared in an instant, mischief immediately replacing it. "Why do you want to know?"

Michael let out a whiney groan, "Just tell me!"

Janet sat up in the bed with a fake shocked expression, "Michael! You got a crush on my dear lady in waiting!?"

"No!" He said so quickly that not even he believed himself.

Janet giggled maniacally. "Well then why do you need to know her name? Why ask me, just ask her yourself."

"Well, because I- well she, and y'know I just... well I was going, but she y'know. So yeah." Nonsense was the only thing that escaped his mouth.

Janet stared at him for a moment. "What?"

"Oh nevermind! You're no help." He turned on his heel, storming out of his sister's room and right into you. The force sent you stumbling backwards. Before you could regain your balance, a gentle hand grabbed your waist and pulled you back onto your feet. You looked up at the mysterious person only to find yourself face to face with Prince Michael. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going and I, are you okay?" He looked at you with so much concern it took the air out of your lungs.

The only response you could muster was a small nod. Janet appeared behind him, "Michael who did you- OH! Well if it isn't my beautiful, amazing, did I mention beautiful, lady in waiting, Y/n!"

You quickly bowed, "My apologies your highness, I should've knocked."

Janet rolled her eyes, "Oh please, that was all my brother."

Michael nodded, "Yes, that was completely my fault, and really there is no need to bow."

You stood upright, your face heating up at the interaction. "I was just on my way to wake up Jane- the princess." You quickly corrected yourself.

"Y/n, you can call me Janet around my brother, it's really no big deal. Everyone knows you're like my best friend."

You nodded, eyes looking anywhere but at Michael. He cleared his throat before carefully shimmying out of the room. "I'll go now, apologies again for tripping you." He nodded his head at you and practically raced down the hall to his own room.

You were left utterly confused by the whole interaction, and even more confused when you saw the giant smile plastered on Janet's face. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh no reason!" she responded in a sing-songy tone before pulling you into her room.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The next time you ran into Michael it went a lot more smoothly. He had been working up the courage to approach you in the library for some weeks. Ever since hearing your name he couldn't get it out of his head. He thought about it all the time, in meetings, during his studies, while he roamed the palace, and especially at dinners where he watched you stand against the wall with his other siblings' servants. He had always wanted the other lords and ladies in waiting to be able to eat at the table with the royal family, but he didn't exactly know how his father would take it. So every dinner he did his best not to stare at you the entire time.

But now, standing just 20 feet away from your relaxed figure, he couldn't help but stare. He really had never seen a creature so ethereal, it almost hurt him to look. But there he was, hiding behind the shelves of scrolls, watching you helplessly.

He had decided that today was the day. He was going to man up and talk to you, and not like a royal speaking to a servant, no he was going to talk to you like a human. He was just trying to muster up all the courage before there was no going back.

You can do it. Why are you so nervous? She's a human just like you. Just be yourself, be confident, go for it! You can do it.

Before he could stop himself he carefully stepped out from his hiding spot, walking carefully towards you.

When you heard the footsteps approaching you looked up, expecting another servant. The last person you expected to see was Prince Michael. But there was something different, in this light he didn't look much like a prince. No, he looked more relaxed, natural, less intimidating. It brought a gentle smile to your face.

He smiled back, sitting carefully across from you on the long bench. "Morning."

You felt your stomach twist in carefully. You responded with a breathy "Good morning."

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not, you're allowed to sit wherever you would like. You're a prince. Oh my, where are my manners." You started to get up to bow.

Before you had the change he gently grabbed your wrist, "Please, there is no need for the formalities. And please, call me Michael."

His touch calmed you, making you relax back onto the bench. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that."

"Yes you can, I'm allowing it." He smiled at you.

You couldn't help but smile back and settle right back into your cozy little corner. "Alright then, Michael. Then you have to call me, Y/n."

He nodded, "It's a deal then, Y/n." You both shared a giddy smile, "What are you reading?"

"Oh, it's a book about medicinal herbs. I'm sure it sounds boring, but it's actually quite fascinating. Did you know some people believe that some herbs act as an aphrodisiac and make love potions with them?"

"No I did not, do you believe that they actually work like that?" He leaned closer.

"Mmh," you gave it a thought, "Not really. However, a part of me does think that the idea is quite magical, don't you think?"

He laughed a bit, "I guess that would be kinda magical, but I'd be nervous about the wrong people getting their hands on it."

Your eyes widened, "You're right! I didn't even think about that. Imagine that! Who do you think would be the worst person to get their hands on a love potion?" You leaned in, fully captivated in the conversation.

He didn't waste time answering. "The queen from the kingdom up north." He frowned a bit.

"You mean Queen Diana Ross, right?" You spoke softly. He nodded, eyes losing a bit of light. "I'm sorry, Michael. I think that whole thing is just terrible. I think any kind of arranged betrothal is completely unfair."

He looked up at you, "Really? It seems like almost anyone I talk to is clapping me on the back, saying how lucky I am. It's all about status, all people think about is that I'll become a king."

"And you don't care about any of that." You finished his sentence for him.

"Not at all. Y'know all of my siblings get to find love, none of them have to worry about being married off and having to live somewhere so far from home."

You listened to him carefully. You could tell he didn't get to speak so informally like this often. "I don't understand why all the pressure falls on you, shouldn't it be the oldest?"

"It would be, but Diana asked specifically for me."

"Isn't she much older than you?" You frowned a bit.

He nodded, "Fourteen years older. Y'know I used to have this whole crush on her when I was little, but I was 10! I didn't think it meant I would actually have to marry her." He let out a frustrated sigh, looking out the window.

You watched him for a moment, his big brown eyes didn't look as bright as they usually did, and that sent a pang through your heart. Before thinking, you gently reached over and took hold of his hand, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. His eyes slowly met hers, and they held each other's gaze longer than they should have.

There was a shared sentiment in the small touch, something neither of them had to say aloud. Michael's brown eyes searched hers desperately, he needed to know if she was feeling the same thing he was. It wasn't as intense as his, but he found that small growing allure in her eyes.

You felt him searching, and you meant to shut him out, but there was something about seeing him looking so longingly at you that let him into your heart.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Things progressed naturally from there. Michael came by the library any chance he could. The two of you sat on the little bench reading quietly, or talking about your struggles. You often told him all about the palace gossip that was going around the workers, and he would tell you all about the newest fight between his siblings. The more time you spent together the smaller that gap between you became. You had started out on opposite sides of the bench, but the more you let each other in the closer you sat. It wasn't something you did consciously, in fact you didn't even realize until you were set flush up against him, his head leaning onto yours.

Something subtle had shifted between the two of you. The silent friendship had turned into a silent longing. But neither of you wanted to be the one to cross the line. You certainly couldn't because of your status, and Michael couldn't for fear of the inevitable marriage waiting for him. But the longing was getting unbearable. It was like fate had taken two strings and cruelly tied you to each other.

Michaels presence in your everyday life was something you had grown comfortable with, it was no longer a sweet surprise to see him in the morning, it was a painful expectation.

With each morning, Michael's restraint slowly deteriorated. Each time he caught a glimpse of you walking the halls with Janet, or standing quietly in the large dining room, a crack in his walls grew deeper. He could hardly keep his eyes from following your every move, let alone keep his feelings inside himself. And he knew you knew. How could you not.

You could see his mind try to hold him back from taking your hand in his while sitting in the library, you could see him tighten his lips in a thin line to keep his confession from spilling out. And you were grateful, because you knew if he were to cross the line you would chase him across it.

It started out so innocent. Starting out as two people who could simply let their guard down, could put their titles behind them and just be who they were. But with every intentional graze of the hand, every look that lasted too long, every word left unsaid, it turned from innocent to intimate.

The shared looks across rooms had something stronger than just longing behind them now. It was like a force pulling you towards each other, a force that was painful to stop. It was becoming heavier with each passing day. Each shared space felt thick with want. Each graze of the knee or gently touch of the hand felt magnetic, it felt uncontrollable.

It felt like fighting a fire with nothing but bare hands.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The breaking point came during the annual gala, hosted directly in the palace. This was one of the few nights that all of the lords and ladies in waiting were free from their duties and were allowed to mingle among the crowds.

You couldn't decide if you were going to go. You wanted to, really, but you also couldn't bear the idea of Diana being there, seeing her cling onto Michael. You weren't going to go. You didn't think you could stomach that sight. It was decided, until it wasn't.

You were helping Janet into her beautiful gown when she looked at you. "I can't wait to see what you're wearing tonight, and I know a certain someone who can't wait either." She of course knew about you and Michael, how could she not.

You steeled your face as best you could, "I'm not going tonight."

She turned faster than you could blink, gripping your shoulders tightly, "Like hell you're not going! I won't have it. You are going to this gala, and you are going to look drop dead gorgeous, and my brother is going to die."

"Janet, no. Please. I can't. I don't want to see him with that... that... I don't think I'll be able to enjoy anything with Diana there." You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly.

"Y/n, she's not coming tonight." Janet gently placed a hand on your shoulder.

Your head shot up, eyes wide. "She's not? Why? She always comes to these things."

"She's not feeling well, some sort of sickness. So get your butt into a beautiful dress and make my brother speechless! I'm begging you, the tension is killing me." She pushed you out of her room without letting you get out a word in protest.

You sighed and did as you were told, heart racing the whole time. You put extra care into how your hair looked, making sure each strand was exactly where you wanted it to be. And then there was the dress. Janet had been kind enough to buy it for you, insisting that it was the least she could do since you had spent so many nights helping her dress just right. It was the most gorgeous color, it seemed unreal. The bodice wrapped around your body like pure silk, and the skirt fell like a gushing waterfall, cascading down to the floor. It shimmered beautifully under the candle light, making you seem more like a dream than a girl. You had never felt so beautiful yet nervous at the same time.

With each passing step closer to the grand ballroom your hands shook anxiously by your side. All of your friends had already left for the ballroom, leaving you to walk by yourself. You stood at the top of the gold staircase, looking at the sea of people, most royal. People danced gracefully across the floor, dresses puffing out as girls were spun around.

As you descended the stairs you could feel his gaze immediately. You didn't know where he was in the large room, but you knew his eyes were trained on you.

Michael could sense your presence the moment you stepped into the room. He watched you at the top of the staircase, looking like a genuine piece of art. His heart hammered in his chest as he pushed through the crowd so he could meet you at the bottom of the stairs. He wanted this night with you, he was tired of wasting time, you were going to be his.

As you reached the last stair, your eyes met Michaels as he emerged from the crowd like magic. Smiles instantly lit up both of your faces as you walked towards each other. You met halfway, standing so close your chests almost touched. He stared down at you like you were pure starlight, and you up at him like he was moon.

Nothing was said, yet everything was said. He took a moment before offering his arm, "Dance with me." It wasn't a question, but it wasn't a command. It was a wish. A wish that you happily granted. Your hand sat in the crook of his arm as he led you to the ballroom floor.

People immediately made space for the two of you, watching as the mysterious prince finally danced with someone. It was a known fact that Prince Michael was incredibly hard to dance with, most times he stood by the side watching all of his siblings dance. It wasn't like he wasn't asked, oh boy, he was, but no matter how many girls asked him, he always declined. And now here he was, dancing with someone nobody knew. It was a sight to be seen.

Neither of you noticed the stares from the guests, or the stares from his family. All you could focus on was each other. He placed a gentle hand on your waist, his other hand holding up yours. Your hand rested not on his shoulder but closer to the back of his neck. You could feel his beautiful curls against your fingers. He carefully pulled you closer, and led you in the dance.

Almost as if fate had planned the whole the, the moment the two of you started to dance, the lighthearted music faded into something slower, more intimate. The music moved both of you closer, chests carefully grazing as he led you across the floor. He smiled down at you, and you up at him, noses almost touching. There was that sparkle in his eye, the one you longed to see everyday.

Everyone in the room had faded into the background, it was just the two of you and the music. He laughed lightly and spoke softly into your ear, "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

"I almost didn't" You answered him truthfully. You were so close, you could feel his breath against your skin, it made you lose all ability to hide anything from him.

"I'm glad you did. I was waiting for you." His breath sent a chill up your spine.

"Why?" your hand gripped his jacket tightly.

"You know why." He responded simply.

You bowed your head away slightly, heart aching, "Michael.."

"Look at me please. I need to see your gorgeous face." His nose brushed against the side of your head. You obeyed, looking back up at him. He let out a breath and smiled wider, "There you are."

"Michael?" Your hand moved to the nape of his neck, fingers twisting one of his curls around your finger.

"Yes?" His answer came out breathy, his eyes flickering down to your lips for a second.

"We can't... not in public." You whispered, heart breaking as the words left your mouth.

"But I want to. And I know you do too. I want nothing more than you right now. All that I want is to hold you." His hand held your waist tightly, like he was scared to let go.

"We can't, and you know that. You have a-" you bit your lip, not able to say the word, "I'm not royalty, you could ruin your image."

"I don't care about my image, I care about you." He tried, but deep down he knew you were right. He frowned, swallowing hard before speaking again, "I just feel so close, and still so far."

"I know, god, I know. I want this so bad. I want a happy ending for us." You looked at him sadly.

"Then let's take it. I know it's stupid. I know it's selfish. But I don't care. I would rather have even a few nights with you than nothing at all. We can keep it all a secret, no one has to know. I mean we've been doing that already. I need you more than I've needed anything in my entire life." His confession knocked the air out of you. "Please, this can't be for nothing."

You should have said no. You knew you were only drawing out the pain. But here he was, dancing with you, standing so close you could see all of the individual colors in his eyes. You nodded, "You have me, Michael."

He broke out into the biggest smile, eyes lighting up like the sun. As the dance slowly melted away he whispered against your ear "Meet me in the gallery in an hour." Then he took a step back and bowed. You curtseyed in response and slowly walked to the refreshments table. Everything in your mind was screaming at you for saying yes, but your heart was doing leaps in your chest. And who were you to deny your heart of what it wanted.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The hour dragged on for what felt like forever for Michael. After he danced with you it seemed everyone else had finally recognized the treasure that you were. Guy's just kept coming up to you, asking you to dance, kissing your hand, offering you drinks, chatting you up. He couldn't take it anymore. He knew it wasn't fair of him to say because there were just as many girls lined up to talk to him, but still. His eyes darted to the large grandfather clock every 2 minutes, until finally an hour had passed. He quickly excused himself from a conversation with his brothers, walking directly to the gallery.

As he entered, his breath caught. There you were, standing alone among the hundreds of pieces of artwork. But you were the only piece that was actually devastating to look at. It was unfair. He silently walked up beside you. Neither of you said anything for a long time, you just admired the artwork. You could feel the warmth radiating off each other. His hand brushed against yours for a second, before you reached out for his. Your fingers intertwined with his, the intensity building up with each locked finger. You were breathing heavily, heart practically jumping out of your chest. The air grew thick again, as his hand took hold of yours more firmly. You still hadn't said a word or even looked at each other, but the touch was enough to suffocate the both of you. You feared what would happen if you got closer. You feared that you might actually die if your lips touched his.

Michael couldn't take it anymore. His restraint snapped, his walls came crumbling down, as he grabbed your hand tighter and tugged you into his chest. His hand came down to cup your cheek as he dipped his head down, capturing your lips with his own.

You didn't waste a second, you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer. Michael's other hand grabbed at your waist, pulling you flush against him. Somehow you weren't close enough to his liking, his hand ran ramped around your body. He silently cursed your dress for having so much fabric. Before you even realized, he was walking you backwards until your back hit the wall. The kiss deepened dramatically, you couldn't get enough. It was like a flood breaking through a dam. This was now months of yearning all melting into one kiss.

His mouth moved against yours in a fever, his hands squeezing you to him. Your hand tangled into his hair, the other fisting the collar of his jacket yanking his face closer to yours. His lips held yours captive, before they decided to claim your jaw, then your neck. The feeling of his soft lips bruising the skin of your neck made your knees go weak as you pulled at his hair. He groaned into the crook of your neck, his teeth carefully pulling at your skin lightly. You gasped, pulling back slightly.

"Michael!" you looked at him in shock.

He smiled and laughed to himself, "I'm sorry! I couldn't help it, I just can't get enough of you." He nipped at your neck again.

You tried to remain level headed, as best you could, "Michael- there are people," your breath hitches as he kissed a particularly sensitive spot, "a lot of people, including your parents, right in the other room."

He let out a whine and hid his face in your neck for a moment before looking at you, "But you're right here."

You cupped his face, "And I'll be here for a long time, there's no rush."

He nodded, smiling as you grazed his cheek with your thumb. If he could, he would have stayed there with you forever.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Something changed in Michael after that night, and no one had any real clue what it was. He was happier, he felt more content, his eyes were brighter, he spoke more at dinner, he felt more present in conversations about the kingdom. His father thought that he had finally accepted his fate, but the rest of his family knew better. His brothers knew there was a girl, they just didn't know who. His mother and Janet on the other hand, knew exactly who it was. His other sisters thought that he had finally come to love Diana, which was incredibly wrong.

If anything he began to resent Diana more and more. But at least his mother and Janet knew. Janet knew because, duh. His mother had found out by accident. She had taken a stroll through the library to find her son, and found him cuddled up with you in your little safe haven. Michael laid in between your legs, head rested on your stomach, as you both read silently. Your hand was in his hair, playing with it carefully. The sight was unbelievably tender, and Queen Katherine knew the minute she saw it that her dear son had gotten himself in a lot of trouble. He had gone and fallen in love.

She confronted him about it that night after dinner. Warning him that what he was doing was dangerous. But the way that he talked about you, she knew that there was nothing in the world that could stop him from seeking you out. She could tell from the look in his eye alone that being with you made him so incredibly happy.

And happy he was. He loved finally having you fully. He loved each small kiss on the head, each knowing glance that you shared in the hallway. He loved that you were familiar with his room, and he was familiar with yours. And most of all, he loved you. He would do anything to make you happy. Well almost anything.

No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to tell his father that he wasn't going to marry Diana. It kept him up late at night, even when you were tucked in his arms, breathing steadily, his mind was slowly watching the time run out. And worst, he hadn't told you yet. The arrangement was in a week, and you were completely oblivious.

That is until Janet approached you with a nervous look on her face.

"How are you handling the news?" She asked tentatively.

"What news?" You looked at her confused.

She paled instantly. "He hasn't told you?"

"Janet, told me what?" Your heart dropped before you even heard her answer.

"The wedding, it's in 5 days." She reached for your hand. But you stepped back, vision blurry.

"What? I don't understand, why would he not tell me? That's- 5 days?" Your breathing became sparse.

"Y/n, it's okay. I'm sure he has a plan, I'm sure that's why he hasn't told you. He doesn't want you to worry. Why don't you talk to him." She gently rubbed your arm. You nodded, getting your breathing under control before heading straight for his room, not caring that it was the middle of the day.

You wasted no time knocking, you entered the room, eyes scanning for him. He sat on the edge of his bed, hands in head. His eyes met yours the moment you walked in, and they told you all you needed to know. He had no plan, he wasn't going to tell you. He stood up immediately, walking to you quickly. You backed up, reaching for the doors. "Y/n, wait. Please, love." He grabbed you by the arm, pulling you away from the door.

"Get off me." You yanked yourself free, arms closing around yourself.

"I was going to tell you." He started to explain himself but you shook your head.

"Don't lie to me. You weren't going to tell me anything! You were just going to have me wake up one day and have it be too late!" Your eyes stung with hot tears.

He hated himself for being the cause of your pain. "I wasn't- I wanted to tell you. I just- I didn't want this to end. And I've been trying to find a way to tell my father to call it off but I-"

"Just stop. We both need to stop lying to ourselves." You looked down.

"What do you mean?" his voice cracked.

"We both knew this wasn't going to work. You knew you would never tell your father to call it off, I knew the same. I knew you weren't going to fight for it, and you knew that I wasn't going to push you to. We both knew this would end up like this, so let's not pretend it's fixable." You couldn't stop the tears from falling as you spoke.

Michael watched you silently resign yourself away to being a couple good months of his life. "I'm sorry, I want to fight for this but-"

"But what?"

"I can't" He dropped his head. He expected you to yell at him, to plead with him.

"I know." You whispered.

That hurt him more than anything. It hurt him to know that you understood that he wasn't going to try and stop this whole disaster. He felt like a coward, he felt like he was letting you down.

"I love you." He spoke softly, stepping towards you. This time you didn't step away.

"Don't do this to me." You pleaded.

"I need you to know. You have to know that this time that we spent together was the best time of my life." He grabbed your hands, watching as you shook your head as if that would stop the words from entering your mind. "Please, I need to know if you feel the same."

You couldn't bear to look at him. "I love you too, but I hate that I wasn't enough for you to fight for." You carefully removed his hands from yours.

"Y/n..." He reached for you as you slipped through the door. His heart broke as he watched your figure race down the hall, sobs echoing through the large corridors.

He hated this whole thing. He hated Diana, he hated his father, he hated being royalty, and he hated himself for sitting by idly.

Seeing your broken expression, and how easily you had accepted his inaction stirred something in him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

(Ending 1- ANGST)

The next five days were the most painful days you had ever endured. Michael had tried constantly to speak to you, but to no avail.

You avoided him like the plague, just wanting the wedding to come and go so you could try and move on. You figured if you kept things up with him it would only hurt more when the day came. Maybe it was better that things ended on a sore note. Maybe that would make him easier to get over. But he wasn't. There was nothing about Michael that was easy to get over. Everything reminded you of him.

As it got closer to the day, you became colder, your brain shutting off your emotions in order to protect you. You helped Janet dress for the wedding, her eyes fixed on your blank expression. She had tried to talk to you, but nothing was getting through to you.

It pained Michael to see you so not yourself at dinner. He didn't care if people realized he was looking at you, honestly, Diana could know for all he cared. His eyes remained glued to your devastatingly empty face.

As he stood at the grand altar he could only look at you, standing quietly in the back, eyes straight ahead. He looked at you as the music played and Diana came down the aisle in a white gown. It should have been you in her place. Even when Diana was standing across from him, looking at him expectantly, his eyes wouldn't pull away from your face. He tried helplessly to lock eyes with you, but you had shut yourself away from the world completely.

After you had visited him, he went to his father. He had begged and begged for the wedding to be called off. But things were already set in stone, there was no going back. That didn't stop him from begging his father every day, even up to the moment before he stepped onto the altar.

He finally tore his eyes from you, scanning the crowd to look for his Mother. His eyes pleaded with her, to tell him what to do. But not even she had an answer for him. Panic set into him as the officiant began the ceremony.

It was over. He had lost you, and lost every good thing in his life in the process. His eyes settled back on you, not leaving your face for even a second. Not when he said his vows, not when Diana kissed him, not when he sat at the large table as a celebration roared around him, not when he had his first dance.

Not even when he was in the carriage, leading him far away from you, his eyes only held the image of yours.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

(Ending 2- Happy!)

The next five days were the most painful days you had ever endured. Michael had tried constantly to speak to you, but to no avail. You were trying your best to protect each other's hearts. You weren't mad at Michael, not really. You understood that this would happen, you understood that it was foolish to think otherwise. But still, a small sliver of you had really hoped that some miracle would happen.

Michael was distraught the whole week. He could barely eat, he couldn't sleep, and he looked pitiful. The sight hurt Katherine to see.

Michael laid in his bed when there was a knock at his door. Thinking it was you he sprung out of bed, tearing the door open. "Mother?"

"Michael, I want to talk to you." She stepped into his room and sat on his bed. She patted the other side, signaling him to sit beside her. "You've been very careless with your heart and that poor girl's heart."

He dropped his head into his hands, "I know."

"I saw the way you were when she was around. You love that girl a lot, don't you?" She looked at him.

"More than anything." He said quietly.

"Enough to marry her?"

"I'd marry her in every lifetime, Mother."

"Then if that's how you feel, you fight for her." She whispered back.

"I don't know how. It's so close to the wedding." He cried quietly.

Katherine patted his back, "Mother always has a plan." She smiled.

He looked up at her, eyes hopeful for the first time that week.

But as soon as hope found its way into his heart, it was quickly squashed by his father.

"No. I made a deal with Diana, you're not backing out for some servant girl."

"She's not some servant girl." Michael protested.

"If you like her that much, keep her around for your own pleasure, I don't care. But you're marrying Diana." His dad looked at him sternly.

"No." Michael stood up straight.

"No?" Joseph looked at him.

"No. I won't do it. If you don't call off the wedding I'll leave, and I'll take her with me."

Joseph laughed, dismissing him. "Go on, this discussion is over."

Michael left defeated. At least he could say he tried.

Soon the day came. Michael stayed in his room as long as he could. He angrily fiddled with his suit, it felt like the collar was choking him. He had begged Janet earlier to let him see you, but she had refused, and you weren't in your room. It was like you had vanished. At least he wouldn't have to see your heartbroken eyes at the wedding.

Before he knew it, Michael was standing at the altar. Things felt strange. He hadn't heard a word about Diana the whole day, and his mother and sister were sitting in their seats looking entirely too smug.

The music began to play, and he forced his eyes to look at the door.

The beautiful doors opened up slowly, he saw the white dress first. The same elegant dress that you had worn to the gala, but now a glistening white. His eyes quickly moved up, finding your smiling face instead of Diana's.

He felt everything slow down. He didn't understand what was going on? His father said no, was this some sort of cruel joke? But a quick glance to his mother, and her confirming nod, told him this was indeed real.

You stepped down the aisle with as much grace as a swan gliding across a lake. He couldn't believe his eyes. There you were, in all of your beauty, walking towards him. He didn't wait for you to get to the end of the altar, he stepped down and grabbed your hand, guiding you up the stairs. His eyes watered as he held your hands. You smiled and reached up, gently wiping the tears from his eyes and whispering a gentle, "Surprise."

He couldn't contain the smile that spread across his face. This was real, you were real, and you were in front of him, dressed in white. He pulled you close, hands gripping yours as the officiant said whatever long winded nonsense behind him. You smile back, eyes meeting him.

Everything melted away, until it was just the two of you, sharing a look that said nothing in the world mattered more than the person standing in front of you. You barely registered the words "Kiss the bride." Except Michael wasted no time pulling you into his arms and kissing you passionately in front of everyone.

He pulled away after a long moment, and rested his forehead against yours. Flowers rained around them and the guests hollered, but all he saw was you. "I told you, I'd be here for a long time." You held his face in your hands, giddy from the surprise.

"I'm never letting you go again." He kissed your nose.

"You won't have to." You whispered and pulled him into another romantic kiss.

OTW!Michael: When the two of you start dating he's hesitant to invite you to the studio while he's working. He always nervous that you won't like his music or you'll get bored.

OTW!Michael: Can't help but watch you from the booth, eyes tracing over your face carefully determining how you feel about the music. He gets jittery when he knows you're listening to him running through his songs.

OTW!Michael: Always makes sure you're comfortable, asking through the sound system if the couch is soft enough. He asks if you're hungry or thirsty. He always seems to have your favorite drink stocked in the fridge.

OTW!Michael: When things get hard for Michael, you're always there to kiss his cheek or tell him he's doing a good job.

Thriller!Michael: Starts getting more comfortable with you hanging around the studio. You become a integral part of the space, your presence always calming him down when he gets frustrated.

Thriller!Michael: Who winks at you everytime he records or re-records PYT. Before each punch in he calls to you from the booth, "This is for my very own pretty young thing." And gives you a wink. You always get flustered

Thriller!Michael: Gets thrilled when you start asking him questions about how things work. He'll spend hours teaching you different mechanisms and techniques that he and quincy use. Always smiles when he sees you light up after Quincy let's you hit the big red start button.

Thriller!Michael: When things start to get stressful he always sits closer to you on the couch. If he and Quincy are butting heads he's the first thing he reaches for. He'll either grab your hand or your thigh, like your his anchor. You always squeeze his hand and make sure he's okay, often stepping out into the hallway with you.

Thriller!Michael: Who always always always includes you in the recording of each song in someway. Has you do small harmonies or has the your voice humming the instrumental lightly.

Bad!Michael: He starts asking you more about how you feel about his demo's. He trusts that you've been around long enough to know what may be missing from his songs.

Bad!Michael: Get's way more flirtatious in the studio, always smirking at your or getting you worked up before he locks himself in the sound booth.

Bad!Michael: Session's become way longer, often going long into the night and into the early morning. You refuse to leave until he does, making sure that you're with him through all of the stress.

Bad!Michael: The two of you often curl up on the couch together, taking quick power naps after pulling all nighters working. He pulls you on top of him, wrapping you up in his arms.

Bad!Michael: Gets a lot snappier with everyone in the room, including you. You know it's the pressure of following the success of Thriller, but when he snaps at you for playing around you can't help but deflate slightly. He always apologizes afterwards and makes it up to you by treating you to a nice dinner.

Dangerous!Michael: You're now a vital part of the studio. Things don't feel right when you're not there, like a piece of him is missing. When you're not there he has a harder time focusing, his mind wandering to thoughts of you. Quincy has called you plenty of times begging you to come to the studio so Michael can get at least one take done.

Dangerous!Michael: You've now moved from the couch in the back to sitting at the mixers right next to Quincy. After spending so many years there, watching, observing, and learning, Quincy trusts that you know how to run some of the sessions.

Dangerous!Michael: When Michael has an idea while the two of you are at the ranch he wakes both of you up and drags you both to his home studio.

Dangerous!Michael: When he first started waking you up you were very grumpy and not happy at all. But you soon got used to his bizarre sleep schedule and found his passion admirable.

History/BotDF!Michael: You both try your best to not be stuck in the studio while making this album. You start to prioritize going out into the world and experiencing things together. But you're always ready to drop everything and go to the studio if Mike gets a good idea.

History/BotDF!Michael: When the two of you do go to the studio you always make sure things are exactly how he likes them. You dim the lights to his liking and always ALWAYS have orange juice on standby.

History/BotDF!Michael: Now that you've started helping out with making the albums you and Mike get into fights more often. Some might think that it puts a strain on your relationship, but it's the opposite.

History/BotDF!Michael: If there is a particularly bad fight, you both take a day or two to sort things out on your own before making up.

History/BotDF!Michael: You both want what's best for the other, and sometimes you need a reminder of that.

History/BotDF!Michael: On the rare occasion that he does an interview, he always credits you for helping out with the process of making the albums.

Invincible!Michael: Michael loves to say that he's been working on this album from the moment he laid eyes on you. When he first told you he was dedicating the album to you, you cried.

Invincible!Michael: This is by far the most nervous he's been when making an album, he's always looking to you to see if you like what you hear.

Invincible!Michael: Ask you to come into the sound booth with him so he can get a good look at his muse.

Invincible!Michael: Despite how freaky some of the lyrics are, you know that he's a gentleman at heart. He always checks with you to make sure you feel respected before giving the greenlight on some songs.

Invincible!Michael: Yall make out a lot during the process of this album. And I mean A LOT.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You were exhausted. Your coworkers had left the kitchen a mess, leaving you to clean all of it up before the owner came in the next morning. You had half a mind to call their homes and demand they get their butts back to the Sweet Shop and help you, but you didn't want to deal with the hassle.

The shop had closed at 11, it was now an hour past and you were at the home stretch of finishing up. You wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse into your bed, in fact you had planned to have a chill night, to have a relaxing night after work. But no, no here you were, mopping the floor like it had personally attacked you.

You muttered angrily about how you were going to chew out the people working the shift before you when there was a knock at the glass door. You jumped slightly, who in their right mind was here at this hour. You turned and saw Bill standing outside the door.

A bit of anger washed away as you smiled at the close family friend. You expected to see his wife, Gail, beside him, but no it was just him. Weird. You quickly unlocked the door, smiling up at the man. "Bill? What are you doing here so late? Where is Gail?" You brought him into a quick hug. Bill and your father had been friends since childhood, and he was like an uncle to you.

He hugged you back, "Hey there, duck." He used his little nickname for you. "Sorry for this... but I have a favor to ask." He pulled away and stepped to the side to reveal a sleek black car parked in front of the shop. You knew that car. That car was his work car.

You looked at him painfully, "No no no no, don't do this to meeeeee. I was just about to finish mopping." You pouted a bit, trying to avoid his pleading eyes.

"Just this once, I swear. Look, the kid hasn't eaten all day, and I know if I drop him off at home he'll just go straight to bed."

You bit your lip, still thinking.

Bill quickly threw in something he knew you would like, "I'll buy you that new mixer you really wanted."

Your eyes shot to his, "The pink one???" You got a little giddy. He nodded. "The pink one with the white accents and different whisks??" You had to confirm.

He nodded again, "Yup, I swear on it, duck."

You smiled widely, hugging him tight, "Thank you thank you! You can tell him to come in!"

Bill hugged you back and looked at the car, giving Michael a nod. Michael quickly got out of the car, and raced into the bakery. "Bill, you're an absolute life saver."

"Not me, Joker. You should thank her." He nodded his head at you.

Michael turned and looked at you. The two of you locked eyes and for a moment you forgot all about the mess you were left with, or how tired you were. He smiled at you, that charming grin. "Thank you..." He waited for your name.

"Y/n." It came out quieter than you meant. Michael let out a tiny breathy laugh, eyes still holding yours.

"That's a sweet name."

Bill eyed the two of you, "Go on and tell her what you want so she can head home soon."

You both snapped out of whatever trance was put on you. Michael looked at the big menu above the counter, eyes scanning. "Gosh, it all sounds so good. Bill, what do you recommend."

"My wife and I typically get cookies, or sometimes they have ice cream in the summer."

Michael nodded, and looked at you, "Do you guys have ice cream right now?"

"Well, it's the middle of summer, so yeah." You teased him. He laughed a bit, head ducking down for a second.

"Then, I'll take strawberry ice cream with as many toppings as you can add, and like 5 chocolate chip cookies." He looked back up at you with a smile. You nodded and moved around the back. You scooped three large scoops of ice cream and loaded them with sprinkles, whipped cream, fruit, and syrup. Bill and Michael were now sitting at one of the little tables. You came and gently placed the bowl of ice cream down in front of him before looking at Bill.

"Do you want anything, goose?"

"Goose?" Michael questioned, looking at you with a smirk. Your face heated up, and stepped away.

"Let me go get those cookies for you." You quickly left.

Michael turned to Bill looking to him for an explanation. Bill smiled. "Her Pa and I have been friends since childhood, so I've known her since she was a baby. When she was a toddler her favorite game to play with me was Duck Duck Goose, and we played it so much that she started calling me Goose. And I call her Duck."

Michaels smile somehow grew as Bill told the story. He leaned back to get a better look at you again, something in the back of his mind told him that there was something about you. Like he could feel that this wasn't the last time he would be in this shop. You came back moments later with the cookies in a small brown paper bag. You handed it to Michael, your fingers brushing his as he took it. It felt so sweet, like a toothache. His eyes met yours again, both of you were slightly red in the face.

You lead the two men to the door, hugging Bill goodbye. "Do not forget about the pink mixer you promised me." You warned him playfully. He smiled, and hugged you back. Michael watched, making a mental note of what you said. Bill pulled away and told Michael he was going to start the car. Michael stayed back for a moment and you looked at him, "It was really a pleasure to meet you Michael."

"You as well," His eyes widened and he reached for his wallet, "I'm sorry, I almost forgot to pay you." He fumbled quickly.

You laughed a bit and put your hand on his, stopping him, "It's okay, really."

"No I insist, I've kept you far later than needed, the least I can do is pay."

"Michael, please. You're real good to my uncle, and that's payment enough." There was something so gentle behind your eyes. Michael couldn't stop his heart from swelling up. He nodded and put his wallet away, instead taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"I'll see you around, Y/n." He smiled and left you standing in the doorway, cheeks red as roses. As he got in the car he waved one last time to you before taking off down the road. You cleaned up the rest of the shop with nothing but a stupid smile on your face.

As Bill drove Michael back home, Michael couldn't help but think about you. Call him crazy, but Michael knew immediately what that feeling in his chest was. He had never believed that love at first sight could exist, at least not until now. He was in your vicinity for all but 20 minutes and he was absolutely smitten. He hadn't felt this certain about anything or anyone in all his life.

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As Bill dropped him off at Hayvenhurst he looked over at Michael in the passenger seat and locked the doors before he could get out.

"Michael, you know you mean a lot to me. You're like a son to me. But she means just as much. If you hurt her you will regret it."

Michael nodded seriously, "I won't. You know me, Bill. I wouldn't hurt any girl, especially a girl like that."

Bill nodded and unlocked the door, wishing Michael a goodnight.

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When you came into work the next day one of your coworkers immediately pulled you to the back. There on the table sat the pink mixer with a big white bow and a note attached. You smiled at Bill's thoughtfulness and grabbed the card.

Thanks for opening your doors up for me and thank you for the ice cream and cookies. Everything was so sweet that I'm looking forward to coming back. I hope you like the mixer.

-M

P.S. I'm not talking about the treats.

A gentle smile spread from your lips as you tucked the note into your purse.

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Michael came by almost every night. You always told him that if he kept eating only sweets he was going to get a sugar crash. He always shrugged it off and told you he just had a strong sweet tooth that came out late at night. But you were the sweetness he was craving so badly. The more time he spent with you the more he felt addicted.

He started coming to the shop even when he was up late at home, despite the fact that the store wasn't exactly close to Hayvenhurst.

He would show up outside the shop's glass windows, a wide smile on his face as you let him inside. He would sit on the counter as you moved about the shop, either cleaning or preparing things for the next day. He watched you work with an intensity you could feel trailing your every move.

Michael's friendship meant a lot to you, you greatly appreciated that despite how busy he was he always found a way to come and visit you. Even if it was only for a minute or two, seeing him smile at you like you were the best thing on the earth became your favorite part of the day.

Conversation flowed naturally between the two of you, both of you listening to the other with such pure intention that it made the other actually slow down and think about what they were saying. You had never done that before. You had never really given much thought to the way that you spoke to other people, or the things you said. But with Michael you did, and not because he was this big celebrity, but because you wanted him to understand your words fully.

One particularly late night you were prepping from frosting that needed to chill overnight and Michael stood close behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist and he rested his head on your shoulder, watching you work diligently. He had come up behind you and hugged you, and he truly meant for it to be strictly friendly, but then he didn't pull away. And you didn't tell him to.

He listened to the beat of your pulse as you worked, it beat steadily, and somehow that made him fall for you even more. Because he knew that you were comfortable around him, he knew that this kind of touch was something you both wanted. He rested there, head turned slightly into the crook of your neck, for a while. And then he got an idea. He moved one arm and stole a piping bag from beside you.

"Michael!" You turned to face him as he ran to the other side of the counter, ducking behind it.

You quickly got your own, knowing exactly what was about to go down. You leaned over the counter and squeezed the bag hard, making the icing fly onto him. He gasped and jumped up, retaliating immediately. Icing was flying left and right, and when the bags were empty you both decided to grab fistfulls of icing and fight each other playfully. You grabbed a glob and smeared it all over his chest. In turn he grabbed you and hugged you to him, smearing it all over your body. You both laughed and screamed as the other tried attacking the other. You yelped as he smeared some onto your cheek.

When the icing ran out you were both covered in icing, and the floor of the shop was sticky. The two of you breathed heavily, looking at each other with sickeningly sweet smiles.

Your eyes traced his face admiring him as he stood there. You quickly glanced down to his lips. You blushed and walked to the back, grabbing two rags. You returned and handed one to him. You expected him to clean off his own face, but instead he grabbed your arm and pulled you back, carefully cleaning off a large spot on your cheek. His hand moved the rag gently across your face, easing the icing off. "There, now I can see your pretty face again."

You smiled and took the rag, carefully cleaning off his face. Your touch was just as gentle as his. Your hand stayed on his cheek as you looked up at him. He smiled and looked down at you, "I missed a spot." His eyes moved to your lips as his hand settled on your waist.

You both pulled into each other at the same time, lips meeting gently. He could taste the frosting on your lips as he kissed you. Your hand rested on his shoulder as you held him close. It felt like a movie cliche, the kiss ignited fireworks between the two of you. It was like you fit together like two perfect puzzle pieces. You were made for each other. The kiss stayed sweet, but there was an unmistakable passion behind it that made your head spin.

Michael pulled away a smile etching onto his face. "You're a real sweet girl, y'know."

You smiled up at him, "I could say the same thing about you."

He laughed and hugged you. "We should clean up now that I've successfully trashed your place of work."

You laughed with him and looked around. Yeah this was going to be a nightmare. "We should, but I want to kiss you again."

That was enough said for him, he pulled you right back to him. A calmness settled over his mind. You were exactly what he was craving

You were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and he couldn't get enough.

Somehow he got even more red in the face. "Right, yeah. I knew that. I was just, I heard you singing from the hallway, and I wanted to get a clearer shot of your vocals."

It was your turn for your face to turn red. "That's very sweet of you... did you like them?" You were nervous to hear the answer.

He nodded. "Yeah, they're different. In a good way! I mean Epic doesn't really sign rock singers as much as they do Pop, but I see why they jumped at the chance to get you."

Your skin felt hot, "Wow, that's, that's quite the compliment coming from you."

He smiled, opening his mouth to respond when Quincy stuck his head into the room. "Applehead, you're on company time, let's go. You can flirt with the pretty girl later, but right now we need you in the booth." He disappeared, leaving both you and Michael nervously looking at each other.

"It was really nice talking to you, and hearing you sing of course." He smiled and stepped towards the door. Now was your chance, what is there to lose other than a bit of a little bit of your dignity? The worst thing he could say was no.

"Michael, do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?" You blurted it out before you could talk yourself out of it.

He froze at the door and looked back at you, "Yes!" he practically shouted it and then cleared his throat, "I mean, yeah that would be fun. I'll pick you up when you're finished recording for the day." He smiled and stepped out the door

"How will you know when I'm done? Should I call you, or tell Frank?" You followed him to the door, standing in the frame.

As he continued down the hall towards his studio he looked at you over his shoulder, "Don't worry! I have my ways."

You smiled and shut the door, feeling like a silly high school girl again.

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As promised, Michael picked you up from the studio, or rather Bill had picked the both of you up and drove you to an arcade Michael loved to go to.

Before getting out Michael gave you a big scarf, some glasses, and a ridiculous hat. And he put on the fakest looking mustache, a newsboy hat, and a letterman jacket with the biggest popped collar you had ever seen. You looked at him "Seriously? Why do I need a disguise? I don't even have any songs out yet."

He shrugged, "I thought we could look silly together, but if you don't want to..." He trailed off taking the nerdy glasses he gave you.

You immediately grabbed them back, "Gimme the dang glasses."

He laughed hard looking at your disguise, and you in turn laughed at him. Every time one of you got composed, the other's continuous laughter would cause another round of giggles. You were both doubled over, holding your stomach as your abs burned from all the laughing.

Bill looked back at the two of you from the front seat. "Are you two going to laugh the whole time or are you actually going to go into the arcade?"

Michael nodded and opened the door finally, holding your hand and helping you step out of the car. The arcade was surprisingly pretty empty save for a few groups of kids running around wildly while their babysitters sat looking too exhausted to debunk your disguises.

And so began a night of fun and deadly competition. You and Michael were both fiercely competitive, especially when it came to the pac man machine tucked in the back.

You both stayed huddled in the corner of the arcade with bright blue slushies and a small thing of popcorn. You had a bright blue tongue practically the whole night, and got multiple brain freezes, but that didn't stop you from somehow beating Michaels high score on the game. The second you won you jumped up and down whooping, just absolutely hooting and hollering.

"BOOM! In yo face, mister 'oh i have the high score in pac man and no one could possibly beat me!' Well guess what?! You just got schooled! WOOOOOOOOO!" You taunted him.

Despite the loss, he grinned at you as you jumped around him and took a victory lap around the arcade. He smiled and thought to himself as he watched your lips curve into a wide smile.

Oh she's bad news.

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You and Michael had been going very steady for around four almost five years now. He was in the height of his second album Thriller, and you were still riding off the success of your first album. It was 1984, and he was set to go on tour with his brothers in July. It was now early February.

After a year and a half of dating, you both decided hiding from the public wasn't worth the hassle anymore and announced your relationship through Epic.

The reaction was very mixed, some people loved the relationship, and others despised it. You knew it wouldn't be easy, you knew there would be a lot of talk about your relationship with Michael. And you had stayed strong and by his side no matter what was thrown in your path.

You had stuck out Joseph Jackson's disapproval of the relationship, stuck out rumors of other women being involved with Michael. Your relationship could handle a lot.

But there were some things that it just couldn't hold up.

You knew how badly Michael wanted children, children of his own. And you wanted more than anything to be able to give him that. You wanted that domestic life with Michael. You wanted a home that you could call your own, a horde of little kids running around, a home full of love.

Two weeks ago, right before the Pepsi commercial accident, you had broken the news to Michael.

You had been having a lot of trouble with your period, and you couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was wrong. And one trip to the doctor had confirmed it. It was unlikely that you would ever be able to have children.

Breaking the news to Michael was one of the hardest things you had ever had to do. You invited him over to your home, and sat him down with a glass of orange juice. Michael could tell there was something going on. You had been unusually quiet the whole day, and as you sat across from him your hands trembled and legs bounced nervously.

He reached across the table and grabbed your hand, "Baby, what's going on. Talk to me."

The term 'baby' immediately caused you to break into sobs, your head falling into your hands. Michael rushed to your side, pulling your hands away, trying to get you to look at him. You just couldn't. You didn't want to see the heartbreak on his face when you told him.

He did his best to soothe you, still not knowing what was going on, but he knew it was serious. You took a shaky breath and grabbed his hand tightly, willing yourself to look at him. "Michael... I can't- I went to the doctor... he said I likely won't ever be able to have children, at least not safely." Speaking the words out loud made you sink even further into despair.

Michael froze, face unreadable as you apologized over and over. He looked like his whole world was crumbling down. First this unwanted tour with his brothers, and now this.

His hand slipped from yours.

Not out of anger with you, you knew that. But you knew this wasn't easy news for him to hear. He sat back on his heels, still kneeled beside you. The room was silent except for your broken sobs that poured from you the longer he sat quietly.

You could see the light had drained from his eyes, and you couldn't help but blame yourself. You loved him so much, you wanted to give him the world, you wanted to give him all that he deserved, and now you couldn't.

He slowly stood up, still deathly quiet. You couldn't even hear his breathing. He grabbed his coat. You stood up, grabbing for his hand, "Michael, please don't go. Please." you begged him.

"I'm sorry, I just.. I need to think." He slipped out the door before you could respond. Gone. Gone just as quickly as he came.

You sank against the door, holding your knees to your chest as you sobbed. "I need you."

Michael stood outside the door, eyes brimming with tears as he listened to your distraught cries. He wanted to go back in, he wanted to be there for you, but he felt like his body physically wouldn't let him. He should have been stronger, you needed him. You were hurting, he knew it, could hear it. But his legs and arms were locked in place, unable to reach back out and open the door. He was ashamed of how cowardly he was being. So instead he went home.

You thought he would call you. But night after night the phone line stayed silent. No matter how many times you had tried to call him, you never got through to him.

The sudden absence of him from your life threw you into a quiet spiral of hatred and longing. You wanted him so bad to walk through your front door and take you in his arms. But you just as badly wanted to scream and yell and cry at him for leaving you like that. It wasn't like he was the only one that wanted children. You did too, you had always wanted to be a mother. Losing both the love of your life and the ability to have children all in the span of a day almost sent you over the edge. You barely left your house, barely left your room, you couldn't stomach eating anything. You felt like you were drowning in the loneliness of your broken heart.

You didn't hear from Michael until two weeks later when Janet called you. Michael was in the hospital, and he needed you. If you had your best interest in mind you would have hung up the phone.

"What hospital is he at?"

Janet told you he was in the process of being transferred to Brotman Memorial Hospital. You got in your car and drove without a second thought.

When you got there you didn't care how much of a wreck you looked, all you cared about was hearing that Michael was okay. Janet met you at the entrance and brought you into a long hug before taking you to Michael's room. You stood outside the door, waiting nervously while Katherine talked to Michael. Janet held your hand tightly, knowing you both needed someone to hold onto. Joseph came down the hall, immediately spotting you and looking over your sad appearance. You could see the disgust written on his face, and normally you never let it get to you, but you couldn't find the strength to brush it off. You suddenly became all too aware of the large bags under your eyes, the tangles and knots in your hair, and the large oversized shirt that belonged to Michael.

Katherine stepped out of the room a few minutes after and nodded to you. You took a breath and quietly stepped into the room. The sight of Michael stung your heart. He looked utterly lost and defeated.

"Michael?" You spoke his name softly, moving with uneasy steps to his bed.

He looked to you, all light drained from his once bright eyes. "You came."

"Of course I did." You settled into a chair beside his bed.

"I didn't think you would." There was a sharp bite to his words, one that stung you sharply.

"That's not fair, Mike. And you know it."

Silence settled into the air, the kind that choked you with unease.

You decided to be the one to break it, "I'll always be here for you, Michael."

Wrong choice.

"No you won't." He sounded so sure. So distant.

"Yes, I will." You fought back.

"This isn't going to work." He spoke harshly.

Your breath caught, "You don't mean that, you're on a lot of pain medication."

"I mean it." He shot back, "It's not going to work. I'm about to go on tour, you have your second album coming up, I'm working on my third. I'm trying to save us both a lot of pain in the long run."

"Then I'll push back my album, Michael please. Don't do this." Tears attacked your eyes.

"You should go." He wouldn't look at you.

"No. No, you don't get to throw this away without looking me in the eye. Do not hide from me. Look me in the eye and tell me it's over. Look me in the eye and break my heart." You weren't going to let him be a coward.

His jaw clenched and he looked at you. Eyes glossed and distant. "You broke mine first. It's time for us to get on with our lives before it becomes too hard."

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. As soon as he saw that sad look on his face he knew he was making a mistake.

He knew he was pushing you away. He knew he was being too harsh. He knew he was breaking you, but he figured it would save you in the long run. He figured you deserved better, someone who could care for you without running, someone who could hold you when you cried.

You swallowed hard and nodded once, standing up and going to the door. You looked back at him, "I really hope you find what you're looking for Michael."

His heart stopped, hearing you say those words. He felt his world colliding in on itself. "Wait, wait, wait. Baby, no. I'm sorry. I don't mean it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please just wait."

But you were gone. No anger, no hatred, no hysterics, just quiet broken acceptance.

Now that you had been the one to leave, Michael understood how much pain he had caused you. He wanted to take everything back, he would have given his soul to turn back time somehow. But he couldn't and you were gone.

He kept calling your name, pleading for you to come back, even though he knew you were probably leaving the hospital just as broken as he was.

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Michael changed after that. Everyone could see it. There was always a small spark missing. No matter how many hit songs, how many sold out shows, adoring fans, broken records, none of it could replace what you gave him.

He tracked your success over the years, quietly and discreetly doing what he could to promote your music career without it being tied to his name.

He rarely spoke about you in public after that. He made sure interviewers knew that the topic of you was off limits, he made sure that you wouldn't ever have to be tied down to his name.

He had spoken about you in an interview once, not directly. The interviewer had asked about a recent performance of his that was catching a lot of people's attention. He had performed She's Out of My Life as a surprise at one of his concerts. When he originally recorded it for Off the Wall he didn't have anyone in mind, the song was just emotional. But as he sang the song all he could think about was you, how much he missed every inch of you. He didn't even get through the first verse before he started crying. To everyone in the audience it was clear that singing this was wrecking him emotionally, which is why the press were up in arms about it. Everyone wanted to know who had this effect on Michael Jackson, and no one suspected you because you and Michael hadn't been together in years. "Who were you thinking about when you sang that song, Michael?"

"I was thinking about this girl who I hurt beyond repair. Y'know, this girl, I haven't seen her in a long time, at least not in person. But, she was just everything to me, and I was.. y'know a real jerk to her. I miss her a lot, and uh, I don't think that feeling will ever go away." It didn't take long for people to connect his words back to you. And after that he swore he wouldn't bring you up publically ever again.

But in private. There wasn't a day where he didn't say your name. Whether it be to himself, to his animal friends, to Janet, to Bill, to Quincy, Michael never stopped talking about you. You plagued him.

Almost everyone had begged him to reach out, to get closure so he could stop dragging it out. But he couldn't. His brothers tried to set him up with girls, Janet tried taking him to your house, Bill had even rung your phone and stuck it in front of Michael. But each time he found the strength to call or knock on your door, he couldn't. All he could remember is how he stood outside of the door as he listened to your sobs. All he could think of is how badly he had failed and hurt you. So he would put the phone down, or he would walk back to the car with his head hung low in shame. The cycle was vicious.

He had watched an interview of you one time, you had been asked about your dream home. He immediately recognized the look in your eye, it was the same one he got when he thought of you. You perfectly described the home that the two of you had dreamt up together. A safe haven, a place full of magic and childlike wonder. You said you had always wanted a zipline that could take you across the house, and had wanted a large pool.

He looked out the window of the Neverland Ranch, eyes finding the zipline immediately.

The interview continued playing on the TV. He tuned it out as he looked over the Neverland Ranch imagining what it would be like with you there, until a question caught his ear.

"And what are your thoughts about the things being said about Michael Jackson?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You never got over Michael. Not even a little bit. You didn't even try, there were no hookups or boyfriends you knew wouldn't last. There was just the memory of Michael.

Lately it was getting harder and harder to ignore his name. There were ridiculous headlines, stupid conspiracies that followed him everywhere. You were sick of it, he was a good man. He had done so much for so many people and got relentlessly bullied in return. That's why when you were sent over a list of questions for an upcoming interview, you gave the okay to a certain question.

"And what are your thoughts about the things being said about Michael Jackson?"

You sat up a bit, "I think it's stupid really, absolutely ridiculous."

"Really, you don't think any of it is true?"

"No. Not a bone in my body believes the things people say about him. He doesn't bleach his skin, and he most certainly doesn't endanger children."

"You say that with such a conviction, why?"

"Because I knew him. I saw the little things he did that no one else saw. I spent 4 beautiful years with him, and not one time did I ever get the impression that he was this bad person that the media makes him out to be. And if people don't like that, then they need to touch back in with reality."

The interviewer was practically bubbling over with joy. You knew that you were supposed to stay calm, answer the question with a clear head, but you just couldn't. "It sounds like you still have strong feelings towards Mr. Jackson."

Your blood ran cold, you froze in the chair. The lights around you were suddenly too bright, and you could feel all the eyes lingering on you. Your manager quickly stepped in, helping you stand up and ushering you off screen, "I think we're done here, that was not an approved question."

You moved slowly, head fuzzy. There it was, that feeling. That feeling of Michael's arm wrapped around you. It felt so comforting yet so cold at the same time.

You couldn't let this keep controlling you. You didn't care if people knew anymore. You didn't care if he knew. You could not keep pretending that you didn't long for him every second of every day.

When you got in the car with your manager you looked to her, "Release it."

She said your name carefully, watching you with unease, "Do you really think that's the best-"

You cut her off "No, I don't. But I don't care. It's my song. I don't care if the label drops me, I don't care if the press runs my name through the mud. I can't do it anymore. I have held all of this in for over a decade. Release the damn song, and dedicate it to him."

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Janet was the one to call Michael when the song was released. "Michael, turn on MTV right now."

"Janet, I'm a little busy right now."

"I don't care, Mike, turn it on." She demanded.

He obliged, turning the channel to MTV. He was met with your gorgeous face.

You stood there beautifully as the band started to play around you. You spoke into the mic with that voice he missed so much, "This song is for the love of my life."

His eyes were fixed onto you, like nothing else in the world mattered.

How could I forget your pretty face?

When you go to places

Do you think of me?

Please think of me

It felt like you were staring at him through the screen. He slowly sank into the large armchair that sat in front of the tv. Despite the years that had passed, your voice sounded just as youthful as it was that time he snuck in to listen to you. You looked like yourself, like this song was a release of your true self, the person that you had kept hidden secretly after everything had happened. It wasn't polished, it wasn't this super rock star, it was you. The girl that he knew, the girl that he never really stopped loving.

The ache hit him just as hard as it did that day in the hospital.

I have built a house where I wait for your return

I only want you to be mine and not a lesson learned

And I will wait and wait and wait until this city burns

I will wait and wait and wait and live on what we were

You blinked back the tears that stung your eyes as the song slowed down.

Michael wanted nothing more than to reach through the screen and pull you into his arms, holding you and promising you forever. He knew now that neither of you had ever forgotten the other. You both had sat in loneliness for so many years. So many years that could have been spent together had one of you just reached out to the other.

Had he not been a coward, you could've been there while Neverland was being built, you could have been there with him at the 1988 Grammys holding his hand when Bad got snubbed. You could've been there while he recovered from the accident. But instead he had pushed you away, and pushed you both into years of quiet defeat.

He wasn't going to waste anymore years.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Now that it was all out there, it was time to try and finally get a move on with your life. Sure the tabloids were blowing up, sure your record was pissed as hell, but a weight had been lifted off your chest.

You sat in your small town home, it was quiet. The quiet used to bother you, but you had grown so accustomed to it, you welcomed it like an old friend. You had thought that by now you would have been settled down, maybe had a few kids, but you don't always get what you want.

A sharp knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts.

You stood and grabbed a baseball bat. You weren't expecting anyone, and especially not this late at night. You quickly slung the door open, bat ready. But the second you saw him, the bat dropped to the ground. There he stood, hair in dark beautiful layers, wearing a crisp black suit. Your breath left your lungs.

"Michael.."

He looked different from how you had seen him on TV recently. Like he had gained something. Like a spark had ignited in him again. And the spark was strong.

He didn't waste a second, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a deep kiss.

You had dreamt of this so many nights, what you would do if this had happened. Sometimes you dreamt you would yell at him, other times you would cry, sometimes you would freeze. But you didn't do any of that. You met his passion as if it was second nature. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in closer. The two of you stumbled back into your house, him kicking the door shut behind him. His hands roamed you fiercely, you felt like your whole body was on fire. He just wanted to feel you, to remember exactly how you felt under his hand. You tugged carefully at his hair, as he grabbed your thighs. He hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. This kiss broke into a hug as you two stood in the middle of your house. He held you so tightly you could barely breathe, or maybe that was the adrenaline wearing off. Wordlessly he carried you to your couch, sitting down with you in his lap. The two of you sat there, holding onto the other, scared that if you let go the other would disappear.

Tears flowed freely down your face as you finally pulled back. "You got my message?"

He nodded, wiping away the tears from your cheek. "I did. I'm so sorry. Baby, I'm so sorry. For everything. For leaving you when you needed me, for ignoring your calls, for my words at the hospital. I was a coward, and I thought running was the best option. But I realized soon after that I'm not really living if I'm not with you." His voice broke as he continued, eyes filled with shame and regret, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I never deserved you. And I know I don't deserve your love and forgiveness, but God I want it so bad. I want you back, I want back what we were. And hearing that song, I couldn't keep myself away anymore." He moved from the couch, kneeling in front of you. His large hands wrapped around your legs as he begged you for forgiveness.

You didn't know what to feel. This man had left you at the lowest point in your life, and now here he was years and years later. You really didn't know whether to smack him or kiss him again. You were hurt, God of course you were. But he was Michael, he was your Michael. The Michael that you had heard built a home for you. You sniffled, "Why didn't you call, try to fix things?"

"I figured you either hated me, or I had hurt you too much that I would mess up again. I thought we would both move on. I was selfish and couldn't live with the idea of you actually hating me. I didn't want to call and here you tell me to leave you alone, I didn't want to call and hear the voice of another man. I thought I would die if I had actually thought you moved on." He looked up at you from his knees, eyes glossy.

The sight broke your heart. You knew you had every right to be furious, to turn him away. But that was a choice that your heart just wouldn't let you do. Instead, you cupped his face, "There's no moving on from you." Your forehead pressed against his.

The two of you sat there, breathing in the other. The room was filled with gentle breaths and repeated cires of guilt before Michael took your hands in his, "Come home with me. I have everything we wanted. The rides, the magic, the zipline and the pool."

You melted, "But Michael, I can't give you what you really want."

He shook his head, "Yes you can. There are plenty of children out there that deserve a loving home. That changes nothing about how I feel for you or for our future kids."

You brought his face back to yours, kissing him deeply.

"Let's go home."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Years later, the two of you sat lazily at the large pool. There were children swimming about like crazy. You had 5 beautiful children, and one little angel baby. You had managed to have one biological child with Michael, and happily welcomed the sweet girl into the family.

You found yourself in the latter scenario. You were absolutely fuming at the man standing in your shop, walking around like he owned it. Four of his children stood around the shop looking at you apologetically as Joseph Jackson went on and on about how ridiculous of a gift flowers were. You watched him angrily from your spot behind the counter, foot tapping impatiently.

"I don't see the appeal of a gift that's gonna die in a week. It's idiotic." He picked up one of the premade bouquets, looking at it with disinterest before putting it down harshly. A few of the flowers lost some petals from the force, and that just made you even angrier.

You were very familiar with the Jackson family since your small shop was on the corner of Encino Commons. The store had been your mothers before she had passed, and you had taken it on as a way to stay close with her. The Jacksons always came to your shop if they needed flowers, mainly the girls came by to make sure their rooms smelt nice. You loathed the few times Joe had come into the shop. He always stuck up his nose, said it smelt too girly, and made comments about what a waste of money flowers were. He didn't care that you were standing not even five feet away from him.

Today he had brought along four of his boys, Marlon, Jackie, Randy, and somehow he had managed to make Michael tag along. They quietly walked around the shop, looking embarrassed by their fathers behavior. Each of them kept sending apologetic glances your way. You didn't fault them, honestly. You quite liked the boys. They always came to your shop to get flowers for whichever girl they were taking out, especially Michael. He came in the most often out of all the Jackson's, it was practically every Sunday morning that you saw him now. You'd be lying if you said you weren't jealous of whatever lucky girl Michael was showering with flowers.

Finally, Joe settled on a smile bouquet of red roses. You rung them up silently, just wanting him out of your shop. He watched you as you did, it made you nervous. He looked like he was going to say something when Michael stepped up behind him with a large bouquet of bright tulips. You smiled at him, "More flowers for your girl?" you teased him playfully.

He stilled slightly, face bright red. Joe eyed him, "No. Michael doesn't have a girl."

Jackie didn't waste the opportunity to tease Michael. He quickly stepped up and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Nah, Mickey here just can't seem to get a girl. He takes the flowers to hospitals and orphanages." You knew Jackie was poking fun at him, but the thought of it melted your heart a little.

Michael pushed Jackie off him, glancing at you with embarrassment. His eyes quickly found the floor. As you wrapped up both arrangements you looked back over to Michael. "I think that's very thoughtful of you, Michael." You handed him his flowers, before handing Joe his.

Michael glanced back up at you shyly and gave you an appreciative nod. Your heart swelled, the image of him taking all of those flowers to those kids.

The Jackson's left the shop quickly after that, leaving you to your shop with a smile that stayed the whole day.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Your week continued, getting busier the closer it got to mothers day. The day was bitter sweet for you. Your mom was your rock, she was your person. You both shared a love for flowers and the beauty in nature. Your dad had always said you got your best qualities from her. Your gentle touch, your kind heart, your soft spoken nature, all from her. And when she passed you took over the shop with no hesitations. You had always wanted to, you knew from a very young age that it would be yours one day. You just didn't realize it would be this soon. You remembered the warm mornings you spent with her in the shop, the way she let you make your own silly arrangements, the way she let you cut the ribbon for the bows. All of those memories wrapped up in this shop, it made you feel like you were still with her. She had been gone a little over a year now, and with Mother's day approaching, you felt her spirit in the shop more than ever before.

It was not the night before mother's day, and your shop was just about to close. Luckily, most people had gotten themselves together and you weren't being bombarded with last minute arrangements. So instead you sat at the counter, carefully arranging a bouquet that you would take to your mothers grave tomorrow. You took your time, wanting it to be perfect. The small group of flowers consisted of daisies, white roses, and pink carnations. You knew the meaning behind the pink carnations, it was a way of saying I miss you. You arranged and rearranged the flowers, placing foliage in different spots then hating it and starting all over.

You had been so focused you hadn't noticed Michael walk in until he spoke softly. "Those flowers giving you a hard time?"

You looked up quickly, grabbing your heart. "Michael, oh God, you scared me. How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to see you redo those like three times." He smiled a bit, hands casually placed in his pockets.

"Yeah, they're being difficult. I wasn't expecting you, you usually come on Sunday's." You carefully moved the flowers to the side of the counter.

"Oh yeah. Well tomorrow's Mother's day so I can't come in at my usual time, but I still wanted to go to the orphanage tomorrow. So, y'know I thought I could get the flowers a little early." He rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Why are you going to an orphanage tomorrow? Shouldn't you be spending time with your mother?" You leaned on the counter, intrigued by the man in front of you.

"Yeah, I mean I am. Mother and I are spending the whole morning together. But I wanted to go to the orphanage because... Well I figured tomorrow might be a hard day for a lot of those kids. I just want to cheer them up if I can."

You melted onto the counter slightly, your breath practically being taken from you. His sentiment brought a tear to your eye that you quickly wiped away. "That's... that's just the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

He smiled a bit, "Are you doing anything special for your Mother tomorrow?"

The question hit hard. You glanced over to the flowers you were working on, tears pricking your eyes again. "She uh... She passed away a little over a year ago, so I'm taking some flowers to her grave, and I'll.. probably spend some time there."

"Oh, Y/n. I'm sorry, I didn't know." You could hear the heartbreak in his voice.

You sniffled and wiped your tears quickly. "Don't be sorry. It's okay, really. You didn't know."

He face palmed himself, "That's why you were working so hard on those flowers. God, I'm such a schmuck."

That brought a laugh to your lips, "You're not a schmuck, Michael. Anything but one. I don't know any schmucks that bring flowers to children in hospitals and orphanages."

He smiled at your laugh, and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Would you.. want some help with the flowers? I mean I know I'm no florist or anything, but I know a little bit about flowers, I mean not as much as you do of course. I just thought-"

You broke into a small giggle, stopping him from continuing his rambling. "Yes, Michael. I would love your input. You are an artist after all, I'm sure you have a great visionary eye." You carefully lifted up the small gate that separated the two of you. He stepped behind the counter with you.

Michael was surprisingly very knowledgeable when it came to flowers, particularly the meanings of them. You had thought that it was a coincidence that he had chosen tulips (which meant get well soon) to bring to the children at the hospital. But you were wrong, he knew exactly what they meant, even if the kids didn't.

As you rearranged the bouquet the two of you spoke casually to the other. He talked about the reasons he started going to hospitals, and even told you about some of his upcoming musical projects. You told him about random things in turn, like how when you were twelve you were stung by a bunch of yellowjackets and now you're terrified of almost any flying insect. Which was unfortunate for you, because you worked at a flower shop.

Even when the two of you had finished your mom's arrangement Michael stayed longer. The conversation was comfortable, easy. You could feel your heart opening up to Michael with each random Disney fact or silly dance move. How the hell was he still single?

Around midnight Michael finally looked at the clock and hopped off your counter. "I should head home."

You nodded, "Alright, Michael."

"This was really refreshing. You're a great person to talk to." He smiled at you.

"You are too, and you're more than welcome to come by and talk my ear off if you need."

His smile widened, his dimples showing themselves on his cheeks. "I'm gonna hold you up to that offer."

"I really hope you do." You couldn't stop yourself from smiling just as wide as he was. "Tell your mother I said happy mothers day." You walked him to the door.

As he stepped out he looked to you, "Tell yours I said the same," for a moment you thought he had forgotten, but he quickly added, "And if you need to talk to anyone tomorrow, please call me."

"Michael, I don't have your phone number."

He quickly stepped back in and over to the registrar, plucking a pen from behind the counter. You watched as he quickly walked back over to you and took your arm in his grasp.

He gently wrote his number onto your arm.

He capped the pen and headed back out the door, "You do now, so please use it. I'm serious."

Before you could even respond he was in the car with Bill and driving away.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You didn't plan on calling Michael the next day. Really, you didn't. You told yourself you would be fine, that there would be no need to call him. But as you drove away from the grave site you felt like your heart had a large hole in it. Your dad was out of town on a business trip, and you arrived home to an empty house. You hadn't realized how alone you felt until the silence of the foyer greeted you coldly.

You moved around the house trying to keep yourself busy so you didn't have to acknowledge the horrible feeling, but there was only so much you could do before the loneliness caught up.

You were determined to stay strong, but then you caught sight of the carnations that sat on your vanity. They were both you and your mom's favorite flower. It just so happened that red ones were a symbol for love, and pink ones a symbol for longing.

Before you could stop yourself you grabbed the telephone and rang Michael's number. You had made sure to write it down on a piece of paper the second you got home last night.

The phone picked up immediately. "Hello?" Michael's sweet voice carried across the line.

"Hey, Michael.... I decided to take you up on your offer."

"I'm glad you did. Truthfully, I've been waiting for you to call all day."

Your heart fluttered.

You spent almost the whole night on the phone with him. You twirled the chord of the phone around your index finger as Michael found more and more ways to make you laugh.

Each time Michael heard your radiant laugh echo through the phone he felt a swell of pride and a longing to hear it again. And when he heard your voice start to grow slower his heart almost came out of his chest.

Your eyes were growing heavier by the second, Michaels angelic voice slowly lulling you to sleep. You felt bad, you wanted to stay up and talk, not fall asleep.

"If you need to go to sleep you can, I'll be right here." His voice spoke softly in your ear.

"No no, I'm not tired." You denied the idea.

"It's okay. I won't hang up if you don't want me to." He promised.

You were about to deny that you were tired again, but stopped yourself. "You mean it? You'll really stay on the phone with me?" The words quietly left your mouth.

"Of course I will. I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise." His voice was gentle, you felt like you were being cradled by him.

"You're a really really great guy, Michael." You couldn't stop yourself from continuing as sleep welcomed you. "I hope you find someone who treats you the same."

Michael stayed quiet for a moment, making sure you were asleep before speaking quietly into the line "I already have."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Michael came by the shop much more frequently after that. Even when he had no plans to visit a hospital he still came by just to talk with you. And when he wasn't able to come by the shop he called you.

You had spent many nights on the phone with Michael, often taking turns lulling the other off to sleep.

He had become part of what you expected in your daily life. You looked forward to his little visits to the shop. The more he visited the more he became intertwined with the shop, he would help you out with things like water the flowers, sweeping up fallen petals and leaves, cutting ribbons. In turn you had started going with him to the hospitals, he introduced you to the children as his flower girl.

You loved watching him talk to those kids, it brought such a warmness to your heart, that you couldn't help but fall for him quickly. Michael fell just the same. He would watch you talk to the little girls at hospitals about all kinds of flowers and what they symbolized. He could see the way you talked to them with such passion, with such love.

Bill nudged him one day, "Tell her how you feel, Joker."

"What if she doesn't feel the same, I don't want to ruin what we have going on." His eyes followed you as you tucked a daisy into a little girl's hair.

"Trust me, Joker, it won't ruin things at all." Bill patted his shoulder. "I've seen the way she looks at you."

Michael looked at him quickly, eyes wide. "How does she look at me?"

"The same way you look at her."

Something about that struck Michael. He looked back over to find you already looking at him. You smiled and waved gently. His feelings settled deep into his bones and certainty took hold. He knew he wanted you, and you wanted him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You were confused. You thought things between you and Michael were going good! You thought that there was a connection between the two of you. But then he started asking about what kind of flowers to get a girl. Your heart had stopped the first time he brought it up.

"So, someone's finally caught your eye?" You tried to hide your disappointment in the question.

He nodded quickly, "Yeah, and I wanna make it official already." He smiled wide.

"Wow, this must be a really special girl."

"Yeah, she is." You couldn't see his eyes on you.

That was earlier this week. You felt miserable. Just yesterday he had come in excitedly, announcing that he was going to ask her tomorrow, aka today. You sat sadly in the flower shop, mind imagining him asking out the beautiful girl as you sat alone in the shop. He was probably asking right now. You swept up the shop to keep busy, trying to get your mind off of Michael.

As if on cue, Michael strode through the door. The biggest smile on his face. Great, she said yes. You looked up, "She said yes?"

He shook his head, "Nah, I haven't asked her yet."

"You should probably go soon, it's getting late." You placed the broom back in the storage closet.

When you came back out Michael was standing in the middle of the shop, a big bouquet of red carnations mixed with daisies and green foliage. He was smiling like an idiot. "Y'know you never asked me the name of the girl."

You blinked, heart beating against your chest. "I.. I didn't want to know... I thought it would make me more jealous." You slowly stepped out from behind the counter.

"Well, ask me now."

"What's the lucky girl's name?" You tried to hide a smile.

"Y/n. And she's the kindest girl in the world. She's absolutely perfect. She makes me laugh, she's got the sweetest smile, she's great with kids, I feel like I'm on cloud 9 with her." He stepped closer.

You melted, watching him with a smile. "Michael."

"I got these cuz' I know they're your favorites. Oh and the daisies mean new beginnings, and loyalty. I wanted the flowers to say that I really like you, and I'll cherish you with all of my heart." He placed the flowers in your arms.

You smiled at them then back up at him. You quickly stepped closer, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. His arms slid around your waist, holding you close to his chest. The kiss was sweet, it was new, it was full of desire and absolute devotion.

He slowly pulled away, looking down at you with sweet eyes. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Of course I will, Michael."

He smiled and pulled you into a generous embrace.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Without fail, each week, Michael made you a bouquet of carnations.