chloe

You had just stepped into the shared mansion of Michael and yours. The house was quiet, the only sound cascading the house was the howling wind outside. It had been a draining day for the most part. Michael had been in the studio all day. You on the other hand had been at work, getting lectured by your boss all day. You worked at a corporate company as one of the head bosses assistants.

Your job wasent that hard. All you had to do was take orders from rude older men. They all treated you like shit. The other day one of them called you a slut. It was like a slap in the face. You didn’t want to tell Michael because.. well, he would be fuming.

You sighed, as you stepped into the house locking the door behind you. Luckily you had the day off tomorrow, and Michael wasn’t going to be home until late hours of the night. So you had time to let all the frustration and sadness out.

You moved like a robot to your shared bedroom with Michael. Peeling off your clothes, changing into comfortable ones. Taking off your makeup, and putting on your skincare. Finally getting into bed, and letting all of your tears fall.

It was 10:45 pm, Michael had just gotten dropped off at home from the studio. Saying his goodbyes to Bill, he walked to the front door. He was so excited to see your face, the same face he hadn’t seen in hours. He missed you so much, he couldn’t wait to get into the house and hold you all night like you were gonna disappear.

Upstairs, you had been crying for hours. Your tears had stopped falling and you were blankly staring at the wall next to you. You were so drained, and tired you didn’t even notice what time it was. You didn’t even hear the front door rattling open, and the sound of Michael calling your name.

He walked up the stairs, confused why you hadn’t answered him or even ran down the stairs to greet him. He saw the bedroom door cracked open, and could make out your back facing the door.

“Honey?”

He called out, softly. He walked into the bedroom, still not noticing your extremely puffy and red eyes. When you heard Michael you quickly put the blanket over your face, it was quite embarrassing for him to see you like this. You hated to be seen as vulnerable or broken. Michael’s eyebrows turned downwards, seeing your unusual behavior.

He moved closer to the bed, the stuff he was carrying was quickly dropped on the floor near the door. Then, you felt the blanket being tugged down slowly. You covered your face with your hands, almost about to cry out of embarrassment. You knew you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be crying in front of your boyfriend. It was just the fact that you had been crying about something so little compared to the issues and problems he endured.

“Angel, move your hands please..”

He was practically whispering at this point. Your sigh came out shaky, yet you moved your hands down your face. Avoiding any type of eye contact with him. He almost gasped, seeing your face. His mouth open slightly, as if he was going to say something yet stopped himself. Your lips that always had a smile out on, were downturned slightly chapped. Your doe eyes were red, damp from tears. Your beautiful apple cheeks, were a deep red from crying since you got home. The face that always lit up when seeing him, was somber. Your eyes couldn’t meet his, you were utterly embarrassed.

“Who did this to you.”

His tone was dark, angry. Finally, you made eye contact with him. He got a full picture of the sadness that covered your eyes. You got a full picture of the blazing eyes. He was pissed. Actually pissed was an understatement, he was livid. You shook your head in response, moving your face to his in the pillow next to you.

“Mikey..”

He realized that he could figure out the bastard that made you this sad later. Right now, he needed to comfort you, and show you love. His angry face fell, turning into something more empathic. He sat on the bed next to you, moving your body to face him.

“Please don’t hide your face from me, let me hold you.”

Your body turned, sitting up slightly laying in his lap. You couldn’t cry, not because you didn’t want to. It was the fact that you had no more tears left to cry. He rubbed your back, muttering small praises to make you feel better. You were so drained, from the tears, to the fact that you had to go back into work Sunday and face the cycle all over again.

Michael didn’t question you for 30 minutes, waiting for you to initiate the conversation and explain what happened for you to be this distraught. You had finally calmed down enough to speak clearly without choking up.

“I bet your wondering why I have been crying.”

You almost laughed, it sounded ridiculous that you had been crying and he hadn’t even know why. He nodded looking down at you, moving some hairs out of your face.

“Well, I’m gonna try and say this without crying- but basically I’ve had a horrible week at the office. The guys there are so incredibly mean, they always have something to say. The other day one of the guys called me —“

You stopped yourself, closing your eyes. You really didn’t want to tell Michael what the guys had been saying to, and about you. Yet it was getting out of hand and if you didn’t stop it. The comments would only get worse. His eyes darkened, hearing you stop mid sentence.

“What were they saying?”

His voice was hoarse, hearing was practically filling up with anger again.

“They called me a slut- I mean it was out of nowhere and so rude, just because of what I was wearing to work that day.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Scared that he would judge you for being called such. He moved your head off his lap slowly standing up. You finally looked at him, meeting his eyes through your closet mirror. His eyes were dark, the usual light brown was now a deep shade of brown almost black. You knew Michael didn’t play about the ones he loved, again, especially you.

“Where are you going?”

You questioned, now standing behind him. He was changing into more casual clothes instead of the pajamas he had on before.

“I’m gonna show your dick of a boss to never call a woman that again.”

He left the house, not before calling a few of his loyal security guard to pick him up and take him to the place you worked at.

Safe to say your boss never truly looked you in the eyes again.

a/n: not proof read :///

Michael made the tiniest strangled sound. Immediately his head tipped back with embarrassment, curls tumbling across his forehead. “Don't say things like that..”

“Like what?” she asked, all faux innocence and sparkling eyes.

“Those cute names when you're being..” He swallowed hard. “..dirty.”

A grin tugged at her lips. “I think you like it.”

Michael shook his head too fast to be believable. “N-no! I’m a gentleman.”

“Liar.” Her fingers hooked lightly into his belt loops now, teasing without actually pulling. The anticipation alone had him squirming beneath her touch, one leg bouncing nervously while he tried very hard to avoid looking directly at her.

It didn't help that she looked beautiful like this.

Too beautiful, and the thought escaped before he could stop it.

“You're too pretty to be down there..” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Messin' with something so.. perverted.”

She blinked up at him, trying not to laugh. “Perverted?”

Michael groaned softly and buried his entire face in both hands this time. “Please don't make me repeat stuff.. I’m really shy..”

The sound of her laughter was gentle, fond. She leaned forward just enough for her cheek to brush against his knee affectionately, and Michael nearly folded in on himself from the sheer tenderness of it.

“You’re shaking, Mikey..” Her hands left his belt slowly.

For a second Michael thought maybe she'd noticed how overwhelmed he was getting. The poor boy could barely breathe correctly anymore, all flushed cheeks and twitching thighs and nervous little laughs muffled behind his hands.

But then she reached for one of them.

Michael peeked through his fingers just in time to see her guiding his larger hand into her lap, her own looking impossibly small wrapped around it. Long fingers. Elegant fingers. The kind that belonged behind piano keys beneath stage lights.

“Mama..” he whispered, already embarrassed again.

She ignored him completely and instead, she turned his hand over gently and pressed a kiss to the tip of his thumb and Michael visibly melted.

Another kiss landed against his index finger.

Then his middle.

Then the next.

Slow little kisses. Unhurried and affectionate enough to make his pants feel unbearably tight. Michael stared down at her in stunned silence, lips parted slightly while heat crawled all the way down his neck. This was almost worse than the teasing because it was too sweet. Way too sweet.

His thighs shifted restlessly beneath her as she kissed the tip of his pinky last, eyes never leaving his face once— she was watching every single reaction bloom across him in real time.

Michael tried to hide again instinctively, but she still had his hand still holding him there. Her gaze dropped briefly and she took his longest finger gently between her lips, and Michael forgot how to breathe for a solid three seconds because all he could focus on was her mouth.

The softness of it. The shine of it. The way her plush lips looked wrapped around his finger while she looked back up at him through her lashes. She started sucking, bobbing her head up and down on the digit as her tongue swirled a little too good around the flesh.

Michael sucked in a shaky breath so suddenly it almost sounded painful. His free hand immediately covered his face again, utterly overwhelmed.

“Hoh, God..” he laughed weakly into his palm, voice trembling around the edges. His thighs tried to cave inward again, only stopping because she was still between them.

And she looked entirely too pleased about that fact.

This time her hand slid upward, fingers disappearing into the curls at the nape of his neck gentle and possessive in the softest way possible. She tugged him downward carefully, and Michael followed without resistance, folding toward her like he was helpless against gravity whenever she touched him like this. One of his hands caught against the mattress beside her head to steady himself.

He looked unbearably pretty up close with his flushed cheeks, heavy lashes and hips parted slightly from nervous breathing.

And still shy. Still hiding little fragments of his face from her whenever she looked at him too lovingly for too long. Her thumb brushed along his jaw and Michael's eyes fluttered shut the second her lips met his.

When she pulled back barely an inch, his eyes opened slowly. Dazed. She smiled at him so fondly it nearly finished him off right there. “Can I make you feel good, my angel?” she asked softly.

He ducked his head immediately, forehead nearly falling against her shoulder while a breathless giggle escaped him in pure embarrassment. “You already are..” he mumbled shyly.

Moments of movement and shuffling pass before Michael's breathing is completely uneven now.

Every inhale came sharp through parted lips, every exhale trembling back out because he couldn't quite steady himself anymore. His face stayed turned away half the time, curls falling over his eyes while little helpless sounds kept slipping from him no matter how hard he tried to swallow them down.

“Mm.. mm—baby.. baby—” The words barely even sounded intentional. More instinct than speech as his fingers flexed uselessly against the sheets beside him before curling tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. A second later they were in his hair instead, tugging lightly at the curls near his temple while he whines under his breath in disbelief. A completely overwhelmed sound, genuinely not able process how good this felt.

Her tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his pretty mauve flushed brown tip, the wet warmth of her mouth enveloping him completely. Her small hands grip his base firmly, matching the rhythm of her mouth’s movements.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut again, brows pulling together while another soft moan escaped him, quieter this time. Almost ashamed of itself with pink flooding across his cheeks, lips parted helplessly and chest rising too fast beneath the open collar of his shirt.

Every little reaction crossed his face openly before he could hide it. And god, he kept trying to hide it. Every time a sound slipped out, he’d duck his head immediately afterward, one hand covering his mouth like maybe he could physically stop himself from making another. It never worked.

“Please..” he whispered at one point, though it didn't even sound like protest. More like he was overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of being wanted this way.

Her mouth is filled with the prettiest cock she’s ever had— slender but long, with a graceful curve that hits the back of her throat perfectly. And such a precious shade of cooked honey, the head thick and smooth. His pelvic area is impossibly smooth, completely hairless and perfectly groomed. She can see every detail of his erection without obstruction; the way his shaft rises from the clean shaven pelvis as her hands run over his smooth pubic bone, feeling how soft the skin is stretched tight over the area.

Another broken little moan caught in his throat.

Michael swallowed hard afterward, eyes glassy when they fluttered open again. He looked almost distraught from pleasure alone now.

“This is so..” He exhaled shakily, unable to finish the sentence.

Dirty.

Dirty and deply intimate in a way that made his stomach twist itself into knots. Michael looked almost painfully pretty like this. Completely unraveled by tenderness and desire all at once. Every soft sound leaving him admittedly was very pathetic and he couldn't understand how he’d ended up here at all. With a beautiful girlfriend who likes, no—loves him enough to put his.. thing in her pretty mouth. They’ve been intimate before this, but he’s still so shy when they do fool around he’s just like this every time. He hasn’t even seen what in between her legs looks like yet but he’s felt it before with his fingers.

A particularly shaky moan slipped out of him then, and he immediately groaned afterward biting the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I can't hold it.. I can't hold it..” he mumbled weakly against his skin, mortified. But even then his thighs trembled.

Michael’s breath stutters as his entire body tightens for a brief, helpless second before he loses whatever shaky control he’d been holding onto. He sits up almost involuntarily, pulled by instinct more than thought and immediately folds forward over her, shoulders hunched, curls falling around his face as he cradles her head with both hands. He’s cumming.

“Lord—have mercy..”

His fingers press gently into her hair, careful not to mess it up too bad while his forehead dips close. He tries to steady himself against her, a soft broken sound caught in his throat, as he stays there feeling her tongue roll against the underside of his dick. He.. doesn’t quite know how to come back down from the intensity except by holding on.

And that’s what he does until he bashfully lets her pull away, a big flirty smile on her face as she wipes the corner of her mouth.

“What? Don’t look at me like that..” His little accent is thicker now.

“We’ve been dating for months and you’re still so precious! Come hereeeee~! ♪ ” She chirps going in to tickle him, to which he preemptively starts screaming.

The argument afterward had not gone.. well. Mostly because it stopped being about jealousy almost immediately—that would’ve been easier. Instead it became about disrespect. About spending an entire evening standing in a room full of people while another woman monopolized her boyfriend’s attention. About feeling invisible and like a second choice. About Diana acting like she possessed a claim on Michael that nobody else was supposed to fucking question. Then, Diana made the catastrophic mistake of questioning her right back. Michael doesn’t remember every detail because the second the tension started rising, his survival instincts kicked in and his brain effectively left the building. But he remembers (Name) asking if she could maybe have five uninterrupted minutes with her own boyfriend. He remembers Diana not appreciating the tone. He remembers trying to smooth things over then—the drink in (Name)’s hand found itself splashing in Diana’s face before Michael had to physically pick up and pull her away while another nearby did the same with Diana.

Now Diana is on one side of the club pretending none of it happened. His girlfriend is on the other side pretending he doesn’t exist.

And somehow Michael is the common denominator in both disasters.

After spending nearly fifteen minutes pacing around the bar (like a condemned man awaiting execution), Michael finally orders her favorite drink. Then orders another because his hands are shaking badly enough that he drops the first one. By the time he starts walking toward her booth, he’s rehearsed approximately seventeen? different apologies and forgotten every single one of them. His girlfriend notices him immediately but she simply chooses not to acknowledge it. Michael stops beside the table and waits. Nothing.

“Hi.” Silence. “Hi,” he tries again, somehow sounding even more nervous the second time. Still nothing then carefully, he sets the drink down in front of her.

“..I got this for you, baby..” That finally earns him a reaction: she looks at the glass. Then at him and back at the glass. A smile appears and Michael’s stomach immediately drops to the floor. Because it’s not her happy smile. It’s the smile. The one that means she’s about to make him suffer.

“Oh.” One word as she picks up the drink and studies it thoughtfully before slowly lifting her eyes back to his. The smile widens.

“Oh,” She says again. “Finally remembered who your girlfriend is?” And just like that, every apology Michael spent the last fifteen minutes rehearsing evaporates completely.

Michael just stares at her. Which, unfortunately, is probably the worst possible thing he could be doing right now. He just.. stares. Partially because he's terrified and genuinely, sincerely terrified in a way that feels ridiculous considering he’s a rising star, one would think very little scares him. But he’s staring mostly because she’s angry, and he's never actually seen her like this before. Not really—not directed at him. Usually when she’s upset, there’s still something soft underneath it. Its huffy, pouty, there’s some visible crack where he can see his way back in. Tonight there isn’t. Tonight she’s sitting across from him looking completely unimpressed, completely unaffected by his presence, and somehow so damn beautiful. She’s beautiful everyday, yeah. But right now? Whew. Her eyes seem darker, her posture straighter and there’s a confidence that feels like she owns the entire nightclub and everyone inside it. Michael knows he should be apologizing. Knows he should be speaking. Knows he should be doing literally anything other than staring at her. Instead, his brain completely betrays him by noticing how pretty she looks when she’s mad.

The silence stretches longer than it should and her eyebrow slowly lifts. Michael continues staring.

“Hello?” Nothing. “Michael?”

His brain finally restarts with all the grace of a car refusing to turn over. “Pardon?” The second the word leaves his mouth, she lets out a short laugh and leans back against the booth cushions.

“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You're not even listening to me.”

Michael immediately opens his mouth to argue before deciding against it. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Then she gestures casually across the club toward Diana and smiles in a way that makes every survival instinct in his body activate at once.

“Please go back over there before I drag that old bitch.” Michael’s eyes widen and his gaze instinctively flickers toward Diana before snapping right back to his girlfriend. Huge mistake. She catches it immediately.

“Oh, don't worry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.” And suddenly Michael understands that this isn’t really about Diana at all—or at least entirely. It’s about spending an entire evening making his girlfriend feel unwanted while he floated around Studio 54 like he didn’t even have one. The realization settles heavily in his stomach, and for the first time all night, he's no longer scared of her being angry. He’s scared because she has every right to be.

(Name) stares at him for another few seconds before letting out a long sigh and sliding out of the booth. Michael immediately straightens because the fact she's standing up usually means a decision has been made, and Michael has a horrible feeling he isn’t going to like it. She smooths down her outfit, picks up her purse, and points directly at him.

“I’m leaving.” She says and Michael blinks.

“Okay..” He nods.

“You can stay if you want.” His face falls instantly. “But,” She continues holding up a finger, “I’m changing the locks if you do.” The statement confirms he is, in fact, still very much in trouble and (Name) watches the realization happen in real time. His shoulders sink. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Then without a single argument, he simply stands up and follows after her immediately with no hesitation. He’s trailing along a few steps behind like a giant, miserable puppy that knows exactly why it’s being punished.

(Name) makes it approximately ten feet before glancing over her shoulder and finding him still there looking guilty and pathetic. Looking like if she left him alone in Studio 54 for more than twenty minutes he’d probably just stand in the corner thinking about life. The sight nearly breaks her resolve. Nearly.

“That's what I thought,” She says, reaching back and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and Michael doesn’t even protest. If anything, he seems relieved to be collected. (Name) rolls her eyes and starts steering him toward the exit while he obediently follows along behind her. They’re halfway across the club when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

“Well, look at this.” Quincy appears out of nowhere, drink in hand and a grin already spreading across his face as he takes in the scene before him. (Name) with one hand on Michael’s collar. Michael following behind her with all the dignity of a man being escorted out of kindergarten. Quincy immediately starts laughing.

She brightens instantly. “Hi, Q!” she calls cheerfully, as if she isn’t actively dragging her boyfriend through the middle of Studio 54. “We're leaving!”

Quincy glances at Michael and at the hand attached to his collar. “I can see that, sweetheart.”

She nods enthusiastically. ”Early too!” And behind her, Michael closes his eyes for a brief moment as Quincy nearly doubles over laughing.

“What’d you do, Mike?” Quincy asks.

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Michael mutters.

“He knows what he did,” She answers at the exact same time, giving his collar another tug toward the door and Quincy laughs even harder. Michael wishes the floor would open and swallow him whole.

The walk to the car is painfully embarrassing for Michael but she saves him from the embarrassment of the paparazzi because releases his collar the second they step outside, but somehow that’s worse. At least when she was dragging him around, she was touching him. Now she’s just walking beside him with her purse tucked under her arm and her expression fixed firmly ahead. The night air is cooler than inside the club, carrying away some of the heat and noise of Studio 54, but none of it helps the growing sense of dread sitting in Michael’s stomach. When the car finally pulls up, he nearly lunges for the door handle, rushing ahead to open it for her before she can do it herself. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture beyond sliding into the seat without a word and Michael follows a moment later, settling beside her as the door shuts and the city begins moving past the windows.

The silence inside the car feels louder than the music had.

(Name) sits with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and one leg thrown over the other, looking out the window because she’s suddenly become fascinated by New York traffic. Michael glances at her once.. then again. Then a third time. Every few seconds his eyes drift back toward her before darting away when she doesn’t react. He lasts maybe five minutes before finally giving up. Slowly and cautiously, he reaches across the seat and rests his hand lightly on her knee.

She just refuses to look at him.

“Lovey..” Michael says quietly. No response.

“I’m sorry.” His thumb moves against her knee. “Will you look at me?” Nothing.

“Please? What can I do?” The worst part is how sincere he sounds. He’s not making excuses or defending himself. He’s just being her Michael. Soft and sweet and looking so genuinely miserable that she can physically feel her resolve beginning to crack down the middle. She hates it. Hates how easy it is when he uses that voice. Hates how his eyes get all sad. Hates that she still wants to forgive him..

So instead she turns her head slowly and narrows her eyes at him. Michael immediately brightens.

Big mistake.

“Don't,” she warns and his smile falters. “You are going to massage my feet until your hands hurt.”

For a moment he stares at her then relief washes across his face so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. “That's it?”

Her eyes narrow further and Michael wisely corrects himself. “I mean.. yes. Absolutely. As long as you want.”

“Good.”

“Okay."

“And I'm still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“Very mad.”

“I know, lovey.”

She turns back toward the window, fighting the smile threatening to appear on her face and a few seconds later, Michael’s hand quietly slips from her knee into her hand.

This time she lets it stay there.

The second she lets his hand stay in hers, Michael immediately gets hopeful in that cutie way he gets when he thinks he might still be forgiven. She doesn’t even have to look at him to feel it. Its the little glances he keeps sneaking at her and the way his thumb moves against her knuckles. She keeps her gaze fixed out the window acting like she hasn’t noticed any of it even though she absolutely has.

The quiet doesn't last long.

“..Can I have a kiss?” Michael asks, voice softer than it already is because he’s testing whether the ground is stable again. (Name) closes her eyes for a second like she’s physically bracing herself, then finally turns her head toward him. The look she gives him is unreadable, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning across the space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It’s brief, barely even a second, and the moment it’s over she’s already pulling away and turning back toward the window like nothing happened. Michael goes completely still beside her for a second then lets out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.

“I got a kiss,” he says softly, and she immediately groans and hides her face in her hand.

“Don’t start,” she warns, but her voice isn’t nearly as firm as she wants it to be. And Michael, still holding her just leans back in his seat with a smile that makes it very clear he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

By the time they get back to her apartment (he pays for), the argument has started to lose its intensity. She kicks off her shoes the second she walks in and Michael follows her in without a word, already looking for ways to make things right without overcomplicating it.

A few minutes later she’s settled on the couch with one leg tucked under her, a cigarette resting between her fingers as she leans back into the cushions, watching him move around the room. Michael eventually ends up sitting on the floor in front of her, carefully taking her feet into his hands and he starts massaging slowly, thumbs pressing into her arch. She doesn’t look at him at first, just exhales smoke toward the ceiling, acting like she’s still mad, but her foot relaxes in his grip anyway, betraying her before she can stop it.

Michael glances up at her once, then keeps going when she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it from her anyway.

(Name) doesn’t look down at him right away. She just takes another slow drag from her cigarette, considering it for a second longer than necessary, then finally tilts her head slightly in his direction with the faintest trace of a smile pulling at her mouth. And Michael, still on the floor with her feet in his hands, keeps massaging like he’s already accepted whatever verdict she decides to give him.

Michael keeps working his thumbs into her feet and she lounges back into the couch like she’s testing how long she can stay annoyed before it dissolves on its own. She finally speaks without looking at him, voice light but still edged with something he knows better than to fully relax around.

“I dunno,” she says, exhaling another thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Do you think I should still be mad?”

Michael pauses for half a second, hands still resting around her ankle. Then he looks up at her properly, curls a little messy, expression soft and painfully earnest.. that look always makes her anger feel less solid than it should. “Yes,” he says immediately, then corrects himself just as fast, “I mean—no. I mean.. I think you were right to be mad.”

That earns him a look.

So he keeps going, “I was stupid,” he admits, thumbs resuming their slow pressure like he needs the movement to stay grounded. “I should’ve been with you more. I didn’t mean to.. make you feel like that.” His eyes flick up again, searching her face carefully, like he’s trying to read whether he’s losing her in real time. “But I.. also really don’t want you to stay mad at me.”

(Name) watches him for a moment, cigarette still between her fingers, expression unreadable in a way that makes his stomach tighten slightly. Then she tilts her head, studying him like she’s deciding something she hasn’t fully committed to yet. Michael doesn’t move, he just waits there on the floor with her foot in his hands.

Finally, she lets out a small breath through her nose, something almost like a laugh buried in it, and leans her head back against the couch.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she says, not quite forgiving him but not holding on to the anger either. Michael lets out a relieved breath he clearly didn’t realize he was holding and immediately goes back to massaging.

“But you’re definitely putting that mouth to work tonight.”

AUGUST 18, 1979

the moment you step out of the car, the late afternoon sun settles over you like a soft blanket, warm enough to make your skin glow but gentle enough that it doesn’t feel overwhelming, and you take a slow breath as you look up at the jackson family home, the big white house standing quietly against the bright california sky. the driveway feels familiar beneath your feet, the scent of the neighborhood drifting around you in a mix of jasmine, sun‑warmed pavement, and the faintest hint of chlorine from the backyard. you shift your overnight bag higher on your shoulder, feeling the strap press into your skin as you take a moment to steady yourself, not from nerves but from the strange flutter that always comes with stepping into michael’s world, a world that is loud and loving and full of movement in a way that contrasts with the calm you feel whenever you’re alone with him. you smooth your hand over your clothes even though you already checked yourself in the mirror before getting out of the car, and then you start walking up the driveway, each step slow and steady as the house grows larger in front of you.

you knock lightly even though you know you don’t need to, and before your knuckles even leave the door it swings open to reveal marlon standing there with a towel thrown over his shoulder, his hair damp and his grin wide enough to make you laugh under your breath. he steps aside immediately, waving you in with a dramatic sweep of his arm as he says "you’re here, finally, everyone’s out back" in a voice that’s already buzzing with energy. the cool air of the house washes over you as you step inside, the familiar scent of the jackson home wrapping around you in a way that makes your shoulders relax. you hear voices drifting from deeper in the house, laughter echoing faintly against the walls, and somewhere in the mix you catch the soft sound of michael’s voice, not loud enough to make out the words but enough to make your chest warm. you adjust your grip on your bag and follow marlon down the hallway, your footsteps soft on the polished floor as he leads you toward the backyard.

the moment you step outside, the brightness hits you again, sunlight bouncing off the pool in shimmering ripples that dance across the patio and the walls of the house. the backyard is alive with noise, the kind of playful chaos that only happens when all the brothers are together, and you take a moment to take it all in. towels are scattered across lounge chairs, floaties drift lazily across the water, and someone’s music is playing from a speaker near the sliding door, the beat soft and steady beneath the sound of splashing and laughter. tito is sitting at the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, talking to randy, who’s floating on his back with his eyes closed like he’s pretending to be asleep. jackie is near the grill, flipping something that smells good enough to make your stomach tighten with hunger, and he glances up when he hears you, giving you a warm smile before turning back to what he’s doing.

you set your bag down on one of the lounge chairs, the fabric warm from the sun, and you take a moment to settle yourself, brushing your hair back from your face as you look around the yard. everything feels familiar but still a little overwhelming, the noise and movement swirling around you in a way that makes you feel both welcomed and slightly out of place, the way you always feel when you first arrive before you’ve had a chance to settle into the rhythm of the house. you slip off your shoes and place them neatly beside your bag, letting your toes sink into the warm concrete as you stretch your shoulders, the sun settling comfortably across your back. you can feel the tension of the drive slowly melting away, replaced by the easy comfort of being somewhere you’ve been countless times before, somewhere that feels safe even when it’s loud.

you’re still taking everything in when you hear footsteps behind you, softer than the others, familiar in a way that makes your heart lift without you even turning around. you don’t need to look to know it’s michael, the quiet presence that always seems to move differently from everyone else, and when you finally turn your head he’s already there, standing a few feet away with his dark curls slightly damp and his eyes warm in the sunlight. he’s wearing a simple white tank top and loose shorts, nothing flashy, just him in the most natural way, and the sight of him makes something inside you settle completely. he gives you a soft smile, the kind that feels like a greeting only meant for you, and he says "hi baby, you got here okay?" in a voice that’s gentle and warm, the kind of tone he only uses when he’s talking to you. he doesn’t rush toward you or pull you into anything, he just stands there for a moment, letting you arrive, letting you breathe, letting you settle into the space before anything else happens.

you walk toward him slowly, your steps steady and unhurried, and he tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, his eyes soft and full of quiet affection. "i put some towels out for you already" he says, nodding toward the lounge chairs, "and there’s food if you’re hungry, jackie’s been cooking all afternoon". his voice is calm, steady, familiar, and the way he speaks to you makes your chest feel warm, not from excitement but from the comfort of being with someone who knows you well enough to make everything feel easy. you nod, giving him a small smile, and he reaches out to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch light and gentle before he steps back to give you space again.

you take another slow breath, letting the atmosphere settle around you, the noise of the brothers fading slightly as you focus on the feeling of being here, being with michael, being in a place that feels like a second home. you sit down on the lounge chair, the fabric warm beneath you, and michael sitting down on the chair next to yours, close enough that you can feel his presence but not so close that it feels overwhelming. he leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and he glances at you with a soft smile that makes your shoulders relax completely. "take your time" he says quietly, his voice barely above the sound of the water, "we’re not doing anything yet, just hanging out". and with that, the last bit of tension leaves your body, replaced by the calm certainty that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

you sit there for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun soak into your skin as the noise of the backyard swirls around you in a way that feels distant and gentle, like background music instead of something demanding your attention. michael stays beside you, quiet and steady, his presence grounding you more than anything else could. he doesn’t rush you or pull you into the chaos of the pool party, he just sits there with his hands resting loosely on his knees, his curls catching the sunlight in soft glints of gold. every so often he glances at you, not to check on you in a worried way but in that calm, familiar way he always does, like he’s making sure you’re settling in at your own pace. you breathe in slowly, feeling the tension from the drive fade completely as the atmosphere of the house wraps around you, warm and lived in and full of the kind of comfort that only comes from being somewhere you’ve been welcomed into again and again.

after a few minutes, michael leans slightly toward you, his voice soft as he says "your stuff can go in my room whenever you want, i cleared space for you", and the simple thoughtfulness of it makes your chest warm. he says it casually, like it’s nothing, but you know he must have done it earlier in the day, probably before the party even started, making sure there was room for your bag, your clothes, the little things you always bring when you stay over. you nod, giving him a small smile, and he returns it with one of his own, gentle and warm, before standing up and offering you his hand. you take it, your fingers slipping easily into his, and he helps you up from the lounge chair with a soft steadiness that makes you feel even more at ease. he picks up your bag with his free hand, holding it effortlessly as he leads you toward the sliding door that opens back into the house.

the moment you step inside, the cool air brushes over your skin again, a welcome contrast to the heat outside, and the familiar scent of the house settles around you like a quiet reminder that this place has become something close to a second home. michael walks ahead of you down the hallway, his steps light and unhurried, and you follow him past framed photos on the walls, old awards, and little pieces of the family’s history that you’ve seen so many times they feel almost comforting. he pushes open his bedroom door with his shoulder, the hinges creaking softly, and the room looks exactly like you remember it, warm and tidy with soft sunlight spilling through the window and landing across the bed in a golden stripe. he sets your bag gently on the edge of the mattress, turning to you with that same soft expression he always gets when you’re in his space, like having you here makes the room feel more complete.

you take a moment to look around, letting your eyes move over the familiar details, the neatly stacked records, the books on his nightstand, the jacket draped over the back of his chair, and the small things that make the room feel like him. you place your shoes beside your bag and smooth your hands over the bedspread, feeling the soft fabric beneath your palms as you settle into the space. michael stands near the dresser, watching you with a quiet fondness that isn’t overwhelming, just steady and warm, and he says "you can change in here if you want, i’ll wait outside" in a tone that’s gentle and respectful, giving you space without making a big deal out of it. you nod, and he gives you a small smile before stepping out of the room, pulling the door almost closed behind him but leaving it open just enough that you can still hear the faint sounds of the backyard drifting through the house.

you open your bag and pull out your swim clothes, laying them neatly on the bed before changing at your own pace, the quiet of the room giving you a moment to breathe and settle fully into the day. the fabric is cool against your skin as you slip into it, and when you’re done you fold your regular clothes and place them carefully on the chair beside the dresser. you take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your hair and smoothing your hands over your bikini top and shorts before stepping back into the noise of the backyard. the sunlight catches on your skin, making everything look soft and warm, and for a moment you just stand there, letting the calm of the room settle into your bones.

when you finally open the door, michael is leaning against the wall across from his room, his arms loosely crossed and his head tilted slightly as he looks up at you. his eyes soften immediately, not in a dramatic way but in that quiet, familiar way he always looks at you, like he’s happy you’re here and nothing else matters. he pushes off the wall and walks toward you, his voice warm as he says "you look pretty", and the simplicity of the compliment makes you smile. he reaches out to take your hand again, his fingers curling gently around yours, and together you walk back down the hallway toward the backyard, the sound of laughter growing louder with each step.

when you step outside again, the brightness hits you just like before, but this time it feels easier, like you’ve already settled into the rhythm of the house. the brothers are still scattered around the pool, talking and splashing and teasing each other in the way they always do, and the moment they see you and michael walking out together, the noise shifts slightly, not in a dramatic way but in a warm, welcoming one. marlon waves at you from the water, tito gives you a nod from the edge of the pool, and jackie lifts the lid of the grill to check on the food, glancing over his shoulder to say "you two hungry yet" with a smile that’s easy and familiar. you squeeze michael’s hand gently, and he squeezes back, guiding you toward the lounge chairs again as the afternoon settles into something calm and comfortable, the kind of atmosphere that makes you feel like you can breathe deeply and stay as long as you want.

the brothers are still scattered around the pool, their voices rising and falling in bursts of laughter and playful teasing, but none of it feels directed at you or demanding your attention. it’s just the background noise of a family that’s used to being loud together, and you let it wash over you as you settle deeper into the lounge chair. jackie flips something on the grill, the smell drifting across the yard in a warm wave that makes your stomach tighten with hunger, and he calls out "food’s almost ready" without even looking up, his voice carrying easily over the water. tito dips his feet back into the pool, humming along to the music playing from the speaker, and randy floats lazily on his back, drifting in slow circles like he’s perfectly content to stay there forever. everything feels unhurried, like the whole afternoon has stretched itself out just for you to settle into it.

michael turns his head toward you, his curls brushing lightly against his forehead as he studies your face with that quiet attentiveness he always has. "you okay, baby?" he asks softly, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond the two of you, and the way he says it isn’t worried or pressing, just gentle and warm, like he wants to make sure you’re easing into the day in your own time. you nod, giving him a small smile, and he returns it with one of his own, the corners of his mouth lifting in that soft, familiar way that always makes your chest feel lighter. he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly against your knee, a simple touch that feels grounding rather than demanding, and then he leans back again, letting you breathe and take everything in without rushing you into anything.

you take a slow breath, letting the warmth of the sun settle across your shoulders as you watch the water ripple in the pool, the light catching on the surface in shimmering patterns that dance across the patio. the breeze lifts your hair gently, brushing it across your cheek, and you tuck it behind your ear as you let your eyes wander across the yard. everything feels peaceful in a way that’s rare when the whole family is together.

after a while, he shifts slightly, turning his body toward you a little more as he says "if you want, we can sit by the pool instead", his voice soft and thoughtful, like he’s offering you an option rather than a suggestion. you nod again, appreciating how he always seems to know exactly how to move at your pace, and he stands up slowly, offering you his hand once more. you take it, your fingers slipping into his easily, and he helps you up from the lounge chair with that same gentle steadiness as before. together, you walk toward the edge of the pool, the concrete warm beneath your feet, and you sit down beside him, letting your legs dangle over the edge as the cool water laps softly against your skin.

the brothers barely glance over, too caught up in their own conversations and games to pay much attention, and the lack of focus on you feels strangely comforting. you dip your toes deeper into the water, the coolness spreading slowly up your legs, and michael sits beside you with his hands resting on the edge of the pool, his posture relaxed and open. he looks out at the water for a moment before turning his head toward you again, his eyes soft and warm in the sunlight. "i’m glad you’re here" he says quietly as he kisses the back of your hand, the words simple but full of meaning, and the way he says it makes your chest feel full in a slow, gentle way that settles deep inside you.

michael leans slightly toward you, brushing his shoulder against yours as he murmurs "i’m gonna run inside for a second, i’ll be right back", his voice warm and casual, and you nod, giving him a small smile as he stands up. he squeezes your hand gently before stepping away, disappearing into the cool quiet of the house. you stay where you are, letting your feet sway gently in the water as you watch the sunlight dance across the pool, the warmth of the afternoon settling comfortably around you. the breeze lifts your hair again as you glance around the yard. everything feels peaceful, unhurried, familiar. you lean back on your hands, stretching your legs a little deeper into the water, and for a moment it feels like the whole world has slowed down just enough for you to breathe. but then you hear footsteps approaching, light and quick across the concrete, and when you look up you see jermaine walking toward you with a grin that’s a little too bright, his hair still dripping from the pool as he pushes it back from his forehead. he stops beside you, planting his hands on his hips as he tilts his head and says "you’re awfully quiet over here", his tone playful but edged with something else you can’t quite place. you smile politely, not thinking much of it, and he drops down onto the concrete beside you, letting his feet slip into the water with a splash that sends cool droplets across your legs. he leans back on his hands, turning his head toward you with a grin that feels a little too focused. "you know, you always look so calm when you’re here" he says, his voice softer now, and you nod, keeping your expression neutral as you look back at the water.

before you can respond, marlon appears on your other side, sliding into the space beside you with a smoothness that feels almost rehearsed. he nudges your shoulder lightly with his own, his grin wide and teasing as he says "michael’s lucky, you know that", his tone light but his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your stomach tighten. you shift slightly, not wanting to be rude but feeling the sudden closeness of both brothers pressing in on you. marlon dips his hand into the water, flicking a few droplets toward you with a playful smirk as he adds "if he ever messes up, you know where to find me", and even though he says it like a joke, something about the way he looks at you makes your breath catch. jackie calls out from the grill, his voice carrying easily across the yard as he says "you two leave her alone, she just got here", but he’s smiling as he says it, not realizing how close they’ve gotten, how their attention has shifted in a way that feels different from the usual family teasing. randy leans a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours as he says "we’re just talking, nothing wrong with that", and marlon laughs under his breath, his eyes still fixed on you in a way that makes your pulse quicken. you try to shift away subtly, but the edge of the pool keeps you in place, and the sudden intensity of their attention makes your chest tighten with discomfort. you glance toward the house, hoping to see michael coming back, but the sliding door remains closed, the sunlight reflecting off the glass in a way that hides whatever’s happening inside. jermaine nudges your knee lightly with his own, his grin widening as he says "you should come in the pool with us, we’ll keep you company", and marlon adds "yeah, we’ll take care of you", his voice low and teasing in a way that makes your stomach twist. you force a small smile, trying to keep things polite without encouraging anything, but the closeness of their bodies and the way their eyes linger on you makes it hard to breathe evenly.

and then the sliding door opens.

you don’t hear it at first, but you feel the shift in the air, the sudden quiet that falls over the brothers as their eyes flick upward. you turn your head slowly, your heart thudding in your chest, and there he is. michael stands in the doorway, his hand still on the handle, his hands damp from washing them, his expression frozen in a way you’ve never seen before. his eyes move from jermaine to marlon to the space between them where you’re sitting, and something sharp flickers across his face, something protective and wounded and unmistakably jealous.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he just stands there, his jaw tightening slightly, his eyes darkening as he takes in the scene in front of him. the brothers shift uncomfortably, their earlier confidence fading under the weight of michael’s stare, and the air between all of you thickens in a way that makes your breath catch. michael steps forward slowly, his movements controlled but tense, and the closer he gets, the more you can feel the heat of his jealousy simmering beneath the surface, quiet but powerful, the kind that comes from love rather than anger. he stops right behind you, his eyes softening only when they land on your face, and he says your name quietly, his voice low and steady, but there’s something in it that makes your heart twist. "come here, baby" he murmurs, and even though the words are gentle, the emotion behind them is anything but calm.

he leads you a few steps away from the pool, not far enough to make a scene but far enough that the brothers’ voices fade into the background, replaced by the soft hum of the afternoon and the faint splash of water behind you. he stops near the lounge chairs, turning to face you fully, and for a moment he just looks at you, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. his hand stays wrapped around yours, warm and steady, and he takes a slow breath before speaking, his voice low and controlled but edged with something sharp. "were they bothering you" he asks quietly, and even though the words are soft, the tension beneath them is unmistakable, a quiet storm gathering behind his calm expression.

you shake your head gently, not wanting him to think you were uncomfortable even though the brothers’ closeness had made your stomach twist. michael watches your face carefully, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he reads the truth in your expression, and he steps a little closer, his free hand lifting to brush a damp strand of hair away from your cheek. his touch is gentle, but the emotion behind it is anything but calm, and when he speaks again his voice is even softer, almost a whisper. "i didn’t like how they were looking at you", he murmurs, his eyes flicking briefly toward the pool before returning to yours, "not when i wasn’t out here with you". the honesty in his voice makes your heart twist, not because he’s angry but because he’s hurt, protective in a way that comes from loving you deeply and wanting you to feel safe.

you squeeze his hand gently, grounding him, and he exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a little as he looks at you. the sunlight catches on the curve of his cheek, the soft line of his jaw, and for a moment he looks younger, more vulnerable, like the jealousy surprised him as much as it surprised you. he glances toward the pool again, his eyes darkening when he sees marlon and randy pretending not to look over, and he turns his body slightly, positioning himself between you and them without even thinking about it. "they shouldn’t be crowding you like that" he says quietly, his voice steady but firm, "not when you’re my girl". the words aren’t loud or dramatic, just simple and honest, and the way he says them makes your chest warm in a slow, steady way.

he turns back to you fully, his hand still holding yours, and he steps closer until your bodies are only inches apart, the warmth of him settling around you like a shield. his voice softens again, the tension in it easing as he looks into your eyes. "i’m sorry" he murmurs, "i didn’t mean to leave you out here alone like that". you shake your head gently, and he lets out a breath that sounds like relief, his shoulders loosening as he leans his forehead lightly against yours for a moment, the contact soft and grounding. the noise of the backyard fades around you, replaced by the quiet steadiness of his breathing, and for a moment it feels like the two of you are standing in your own small world, separate from everything else.

when he finally pulls back, his expression is calmer, but the protective edge in his eyes hasn’t faded completely. he glances toward the pool again, his jaw tightening just slightly when he sees the brothers still watching from the corner of their eyes, and he slips his arm around your waist gently, guiding you back toward the lounge chairs with a quiet certainty. "stay with me" he says softly, his voice warm but firm, "i want you close". and as he leads you away from the edge of the pool, the brothers shift awkwardly, their earlier boldness gone, replaced by the unmistakable awareness that michael saw everything.

the air between all of you changes, slow and heavy, and you can feel the tension settling into the afternoon like a quiet storm waiting to break.

the sun has dipped low by the time everyone starts packing up, the warm glow fading into a softer evening light and the moment michael closes the bedroom door behind you, the quiet settles around both of you like a heavy blanket, soft but full of everything he’s been holding in. he doesn’t let go of your hand, not even for a second, his grip warm and firm as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens it. he turns toward you slowly, his expression tight with jealousy and frustration, but underneath it all there’s something vulnerable, something that makes your chest ache. he steps closer, his voice low and warm as he murmurs "i didn’t like what happened out there", and the way he says it tells you he’s been replaying it in his head ever since he walked back outside.

you reach up and touch his cheek gently, your thumb brushing across his skin in a slow, soothing motion. "michael… i’m okay", you say softly, your voice steady and calm, "i wasn’t interested in anything they were doing". he closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch like he needs it, his breath leaving him in a slow exhale that sounds like he’s been holding it in for too long. when he opens his eyes again, they’re softer but still full of emotion, and he shakes his head slightly as he whispers "they shouldn’t have been that close to you… not when you’re with me".

you step closer, your hands sliding up his arms until they rest gently on his shoulders, grounding him. "look at me", you say quietly, "i'm here with you... and you're the only one i want". the words hit him instantly. his whole body softens, the tension in his shoulders melting as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. he smiles shyly.

he holds you like that for a long moment, his arms wrapped around you with a quiet intensity that makes your heart flutter. when he finally pulls back, he cups your face gently in both hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in slow, tender strokes. "i love you", he murmurs, his voice soft but full of emotion, "and i don’t ever want you feeling uncomfortable because of them". you place your hands over his, your fingers curling around his wrists as you whisper "i love you too, michael… and i wasn’t uncomfortable because of them".

he lets out a breath that sounds like relief, his shoulders loosening as he pulls you into him again, this time guiding you toward the bed. he sits down first and gently pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist with a quiet desperation that makes your chest warm. he rests his forehead against your shoulder, his voice low and frustrated as he says "i’m still mad at them… they know better", and you can feel the tension in his body as he speaks. you run your fingers slowly along his back, soothing him, and you whisper "michael... i’m right here, and nothing happened to me."

he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that makes your stomach flutter. he cups your cheek again, his touch gentle and warm as he murmurs "you mean everything to me", the words quiet but full of truth. he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there before pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you as he whispers "i’m not letting you go tonight… not after all that".

you giggle softly, his arms wrapping around you with a warmth that feels like home. he shifts you gently, guiding you down onto the bed with him, but he never loosens his hold, keeping you pressed against him as he pulls the blankets over both of you. the room is dim now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp, and the quiet hum of the house fades into the background as michael settles beside you, his body curled around yours protectively.

he tucks his face against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as you turn slightly, his arms tightening around you in a slow, steady squeeze. he presses one last gentle kiss to your temple, his voice barely above a whisper as he murmurs "i love you, baby… so much", and you whisper it back, your words melting into the quiet of the room. and for the rest of the night, he holds you close, his jealousy fading into warmth, his anger fading into softness, his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let you go.

and he doesn’t.

♡ he keeps your letters folded in the inside pocket of his jacket and rereads them on the plane, tracing your handwriting with his thumb, especially your name or the way you sign off, like it anchors him when everything else is moving too fast. on long flights, while everyone else sleeps or talks quietly, he stays still with the letter in his hands, staring out the window like he’s trying to imagine you somewhere in the clouds just out of reach.

♡ he calls you after shows even when he’s exhausted, voice low and warm, like he’s trying not to disturb the calm that comes after all the noise. there’s still adrenaline in him, but it softens when he hears you. he’ll sit on the edge of the bed, loosening his clothes, eyes half closed as if your voice is the only thing that’s slowing his thoughts down. “i wish you were here… it’d feel better with you,” he says like it’s the simplest truth in the world, not something heavy or dramatic, just obvious to him. sometimes he’ll go quiet after that, not because he has nothing to say, but because he’s already where he wants to be. on the line with you.

♡ he gets this big smile when he sees your name on the caller id, like it interrupts everything else in the best way. even if he’s in the middle of something, hair still damp from rehearsal, people still around him, he’ll pause like it doesn’t matter anymore. it’s immediate, that shift in him. his voice changes too, softer, lighter, like he’s been given permission to relax. he doesn’t try to hide how happy it makes him, either. it shows in the way he answers, like he’s been waiting longer than he admits.

♡ he asks what you’re wearing, because he likes to picture you clearly while he talks.

♡ he keeps trying to take cute photos to send you, but they never come out the way he wants because he’s always moving, always caught between places, never still long enough. he’ll look at them afterward and sigh a little, almost embarrassed, but he still mails them anyway with a little scribble on the back like “i tried baby.”

♡ he teases you on the phone when he’s feeling playful, saying things like “you’re probably forgetting all about me, huh?” and then immediately gets shy and adds “i’m just kidding… i miss you.” he adds quieter, like the truth slipped out before he could catch it and now he’s just letting it stay there.

♡ he keeps a photo of you tucked behind the mirror in his dressing room. before every show, he kisses the corner of it for luck. sometimes he touches it lightly, not dramatic, just a small pause before everything begins, like he’s reminding himself what he’s coming back to.

♡ during late night calls, he’s usually sprawled across a plush hotel bed, the covers a tangled mess around his legs, the room dimly lit by a bedside lamp. he’d tell you about the roar of the crowd, the sweat, the electric current, but then his voice would drop, becoming intimate, private.

♡ he's got a habit of tracing the lines of his own body as he speaks to you, particularly when the conversation turns suggestive. his fingers might glide over his chest, down his abdomen, lingering just above his hips. a low, involuntary hum would sometimes punctuate his sentences, a quiet, almost unconscious expression of his longing.

♡ he leaves his hotel curtains open at night because he likes imagining you looking at the same moon. he’ll whisper “goodnight, baby” to the window like you can somehow hear him.

♡ in a quiet moment, he details exactly what he’s going to do to you the second he gets through the front door. where his kisses will land first. how he won’t let you speak for a very, very long time.

♡ he always asks about your day first, even when he’s tired, even when he has things to do. he listens like it matters more than anything he did that night. he hums softly when you talk, little affirmations that he’s still there with you, still following every word. if you mention something small, he remembers it later, bringing it up days after like it stayed with him the whole time. he doesn’t just hear you, he holds onto you through the details.

♡ he gets nervous when he thinks he’s calling too much. “am i bothering you?” he asks softly, even though he’s the one who’s lonely in a hotel room. there’s a pause after he says it where he almost wishes he didn’t, but he always listens carefully for your answer, like it decides everything. and of course he never is.

♡ he would ask you if you’re eating well and resting, not in a controlling way, but in a deeply caring one. it’s always the first kind of concern that comes out when he misses you most. “promise me you’re taking care of yourself,” he says gently, like it’s something important he can’t fix from a distance but still needs to say anyway. his voice softens when you reassure him, like that alone is enough to ease something in him he didn’t fully realize was tense.

♡ he would talk to you while doing vocal warm‑downs. he always cooled down his voice after shows, humming gently. you’d hear those soft little notes while he talked to you about his night.

♡ on stage, he becomes even more precise. if he misses you badly that day, it turns into control. sharper spins, tighter timing, a little more intensity in his gaze when he hits the spotlight. the audience thinks it’s just the magic of the bad tour, but backstage he leans against a wall afterward, catching his breath like he’s been running from something he can’t name. someone offers him water and he takes it with a quiet thank you, but his mind is somewhere else.

♡ there are nights in hotel rooms where he just sits by the window, lights off, watching cities pass below like they belong to someone else. he presses his forehead to the glass sometimes, quiet, almost childlike in his loneliness. he doesn’t call it loneliness though. he calls it missing work, missing sleep, missing focus. but when your name shows up in his mind, everything else gets quieter around it.

♡ he gets strangely specific about missing you. not just “i miss you,” but little details. he misses the way you would interrupt his thoughts when he got too inside his own head. he misses the exact timing of your voice when you said his name. he misses how normal things felt around you, like he didn’t have to be a stage version of himself to exist correctly. little things remind him of you.

✧˖°🧡☼⋆｡˚🍊⊹₊✧˖°🧡☼⋆｡˚🍊⊹₊✧˖°🧡☼⋆｡˚🍊⊹₊✧˖°🧡☼⋆｡˚🍊⊹₊✧

During these extra rehearsals the two of you grew closer. You talked comfortably with each other when you took water breaks. You learned a lot about Michael that you really wouldn't have guessed, like the fact that he was incredibly sassy. You learned his affinity for Disney, especially Peter Pan. You had found out that he was learning to sign things to his monkey, Bubbles, a fact which you found hilarious. He found out an equal amount about you. How you had gotten into dance, the kinds of trouble you got into as a child. He had learned you got extremely competitive when it came to any and all board games. You both had bonded over the movies you watched as children, your admiration for famous dancers such as Gene Kelly, Sammy Davis Jr. and Martha Graham.

There was a comfortability that had settled between the two of you. An ease that fell into place naturally. It happened so fast that you didn't even realize it was there until you were standing close to him talking about what felt right. You both stood there, arms crossed, deep in thought. It wasn't until he casually shifted his weight into you, leaning against your side, that you even took notice of the closeness you shared. Heat quickly took hold of your face, and your mind drifted from the dance to the man beside you. A small smile grew from your lips as you glanced over at Michael. He was so deep in thought, eyes searching the room for what he needed. You watched him for a long moment, finally taking the time to admire his features. His curls fell so perfectly against his forehead you could help but want to reach out and brush them back. You noticed the slight curve of his nose, the small amount of eyeliner he wore on his bottom water line. The way his brows furrowed in thought. God... he truly was the most beautiful man on the planet. His eyes continued to scan the room before landing on you. His brows relaxed as his eyes searched yours. You both knew what the other was looking for, but deep down you also knew neither would admit it... at least not yet. As he looked at you he broke into the biggest smile.

"I've got it." His eyes stayed glued to yours.

"Yeah?" You smile up at him.

He nods, shifting closer "Yeah." His voice comes out in a lower breathy tone. He looks more sure, like he knows exactly what he wants. You see all of his thoughts passing through his eyes, you feel his own heart beating in his chest. The space between your bodies grows small and smaller by the second. You can feel your chest growing tighter, your heart rate picking up.

"Then show me." Your voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes drift down to your lips. His hands which previously had rested on his hip, slowly drift to the sides of your waist.

His fingers feel soft against your skin, the silver rings that don his fingers are cold against your hot skin. He gently runs his thumb over your waist.

The air around the two of you takes on that electric feel you had felt the first time you had danced together. It stole the air from your lungs as your eyes searched his for any hesitance. You didn't find any, only clearity.

He gently tugs you towards himself.

As if on cue, the studio doors open, the two of you jumping away from each other as fast as possible. Your face heats up even more as you turn away to hide the obvious blush that takes control of you. He cleared his throat and greeted two of the dancers that had walked in. They smile and greet him, oblivious to the moment they had walked in on. Without another work Michael excused himself from the room, leaving you standing in painful embarrassment. Your mind raced a mile a minute. God you almost kissed Michael Jackson. No, Michael Jackson, who was technically your boss, almost kissed you. Your heart tightened as you watched him flee the room. You knew it was stupid, stupid to feel so upset that he had left, that you had both jumped away. But it hurt to see him leave like he was embarrassed to be caught in such a state with you, with just another dancer. You shook your head, trying to get rid of all those thoughts, you had rehearsal, you needed to be focused.

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Rehearsal moved surprisingly quickly. Michael wasn't one to let things consume him when it came to rehearsing. He had things he needed to get done and nothing was going to stop him.

But there were moments.

Moments when he would glance at you through the mirror. He saw nothing but intense focus in your features. Just like him, you were determined to not let whatever had happened take away from your passion. He admired that, he found it oddly attractive if he was being completely honest with himself. Your desire to keep going despite what was going on around you was something Michael knew all too well. Your eyes stayed straight ahead, you couldn't look at him. This small detail shook something in Michael. He didn't like that you wouldn't look at him, that there was clearly something that was running through your head that he had put there.

But he had a rehearsal to run, so each time he saw you he tore his eyes from your figure. He would talk to you about it later, after rehersal.

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Later never came.

As soon as rehearsal ended, you were the first out the door. You didn't do that, Michael knew that. He had grown used to talking with you comfortably after rehearsal ended, talking quietly about things he thought went well, things that didn't, etc. But you were gone before he could even wipe the sweat from his forehead.

'It's fine, it's no big deal. I'll see her tomorrow. Yeah. We'll talk tomorrow.' Michael thought to himself.

Wrong again.

You showed up for your early rehearsal. You sat there pulling all of your things out, patiently waiting for Michael. You slipped your heels on and sat. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then thirty. Your stomach dropped with each passing minute.

He wasn't coming.

You tried shaking off the disappointment you felt. It was fine, even if he wasn't there to dance, you were. You stood and quickly walked to the center of the floor, running through everything with as much focus and precision as possible. You quickly fell into your own world again, but it felt different, not having Michael there. You had grown used to his presence while you danced. And just like it was there, it was gone again. Despite the absence, you carried on. You had danced your whole life without him, you would be fine... Caught up in your head, you lost track of your spot while spinning. Your heel caught the end of your pants sending you toppling over, landing roughly on your palm. A yelp launched from your lungs, as you cradled your wrist to your chest.

"Y/n!" You heard his footsteps before you saw him. He moved across the room within seconds, kneeling down beside you. One of his hands rested on your back, helping you sit up as you nursed your already swollen wrist. "Here, let me see." He carefully took your hand, holding it as if it were crystal china. He held the wrist in his hands like it was his own heart, like it was the most fragile thing on earth. His fingers hovered just above the growing bump, his eyes examining it like a piece of art. He pressed down ever so slightly, earning a hiss from you as you tried pulling it back. "We need to get you to first aid, can you stand?" he looked at you nervously.

"I hurt my wrist, not my leg." You tried to laugh, hoping it would block the tears that threatened to fall. You used your other hand to push yourself up to standing. Michaels hand hovered behind you in case you needed help.

Your wrist throbbed, you could feel your heartbeat radiating from it. Michael led you quickly to the first aid station. You thanked him shortly and walked in, eyes glossy. He followed into the small room.

The room was small, too small for the two of you plus a nurse. He was asked to step outside while the nurse checked your wrist.

He waited outside. Leaning against the wall, foot bouncing anxiously. Why did he feel like this? You were fine, it wasn't anything serious, you were going to be fine. So why did he feel his heart in his throat?

You came out of the room within fifteen minutes. Your wrist was wrapped tightly, while your other hand held an ice pack to it. He pushed off the wall instantly. "Are you okay?"

You nod "Yeah, it might be sprained, but it's fine. It's just a little tender." You looked anywhere but at him, and God he hated that.

There was silence. It wasn't the comfortable one you had grown used to. There was something left unsaid in the silence. You both wanted to talk, but your mouths stayed shut. Michael looked around nervously. "Rehearsal is about to start."

You nod. "We should head back then."

He nods, and the two of you walk back in silence. As you approach the rehearsal space he speaks suddenly. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there this morning. I was caught up in something... I thought my manager had contacted you." He looks to you for a reaction.

Your eyes drift towards him for a split second before looking forward again. "That's alright. I got in a little bit of practice before I fell." You laughed half heartedly. You reach to open the door to the room, when he carefully stops you.

"Wait, about yesterday.." he trails off nervously.

"It's okay, Michael. I get it." you assure him.

"You do?" he looks surprised.

You nod "I'm just a dancer, it's... You're just trying to get the dance down."

His brows furrow, "What? No- no that's not it. And you're not just a dancer."

"Michael please- you were embarrassed yesterday." You frown, looking down.

He gently lifts your chin up to look at him "I wasn't embarrassed by you. I was nervous to be found like that with you when we aren't even- we don't even know what we are. The last thing I want is for other people to figure it out before us." he cups your face, eyes searching yours. "You're quite the girl, yknow." He smirks at the blush that spreads across your cheeks.

"And you're quite the guy, Michael." You smile up at him, chest tightening again.

"Say, I'd love to take a girl like you out. Would you want to get dinner with me after rehearsal?" He smiled more confidently, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear.

You nod, a bright smile breaking onto your face. "I would like that very much." You reach up and gently push back his beautiful curls.

He smiles so wide that you see his dimples. He kisses your non-injured hand. "I'll be thinking about it all during rehearsal."

You laugh "Oh please, we both know there's nothing you think about other than dance when you're in that room." You tease him.

He leans down, lips close to your ear. "You're right, the way we dance together when we're alone is all I think about. You keep me very very focused in that room." He stands back up, a smirk planted on his face as he watches you take in his words.

You shove at him playfully "Well if you want to see some of my own moves, there's plenty more for you to find." You drift closer to him as you talk.

"Oh? And when can I see these other moves?" He leans in, your noses brushing slightly.

You lean in like your'e about to kiss him, and pull away at the last moment, opening the door to rehearsal.

As you walk in you look over your shoulder "Patience is a virtue."

He smiles and shakes his head, laughing lightly, and follows you in.

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Your cab arrived at the large studio precisely when you wanted. Not too early, but not too late that you would feel rushed. You entered the blacked out double doors and found your way to a large rehearsal room, one much like the rooms you had learned to dance in when you were small. A large mirror that spanned a whole wall, the floor half wood and half marley. There were five other dancers that you recognized from the call backs already in the room, two looking sick to their stomachs in nervousness, and three looking a little too confident. As you set your things down, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning you found a tall woman with big blue eyes smiling at you.

"I remember you from the last call-back, you danced amazing!" she smiled at you politely, a smile which you returned.

"Thank you, that's so kind of you! I remember you too, you dropped into the splits at the end of the improv section." You laughed a bit at the memory of people's reactions.

She nodded with a laugh "Yep, that was me. I'm Ash." She held out her hand. You shook it with a smile, happy to have a friend so soon.

"Y/n, it's really nice to formally meet you." The two of you spoke quietly while stretching together as more dancers piled into the room. The room filled with a mix of nervousness and fortitude. The more people that walked in, the tighter the air became, everyone waiting for him.

8:30 AM sharp

The doors opened and you could feel the air get sucked out of the room, everyone's attention turning towards him.

Michael Jackson.

He smiled as he stepped into the room, his signature black loafers paired with white socks, strolling in with ease. He got to the front and took his glasses off. God, those eyes... They were the perfect dark brown. People quickly moved to the front, everyone trying to be front and center, hoping he would take interest in them. You smiled and joined slowly, taking a spot closer to the back where you could see him properly.

"I want to thank you guys for being here today, for sticking through the process of getting here, I know it's not easy." he laughs a bit, and in turn people laugh with him. "I trust you all remember the dance from the last round of auditions, if not that's alright, we're gonna go over it today. Y'know, just so I can get a feel for how this group moves together." he nods a bit, scanning the crowd. For a moment his eyes meet yours, those beautiful dark eyes staring into yours. His brows twitch for a millisecond before he continues, "I have a good feeling about this group." His eyes slowly pull away from you as he turns and gets ready to go over the dance. Everyone spreads out, the front line clogged up with people who want to impress him. You stay closer to the back with a clear shot of his whole body. You had a good feeling about today.

After reviewing the dance for exactly thirty minutes, he splits the room into four groups of four. He had wanted to see the groups go over the dance on their own so he could watch each of the dancers, see what was clicking, and what wasn't. You and Ash were split up, her being in group three, and you in group four.

"Alright, I would like for each group to go twice. I want two staggered lines, and for you to switch who's at the front the second time, understand?" he looked around the room, people nodded and answered enthusiastically. He nodded, "Alright, group one you're up."

Slowly the groups each went through the dance, until finally you and your group stepped up. While the other three tried to figure out who would be in the front first, you stayed in the back line, eyes closed, the dance flashing through your mind. One of the guys finally conceded and joined you in the back. Michael watched in amusement for a moment, his eyes lingering on you. The music started, and you took a deep breath.

You know this dance inside and out, no one is here. It's just you, and the music, and the feeling. Breathe. You thought to yourself. You took a deep breath and let it out, your eyes opening, a smile plastered on your face as you settled into the opening position.

The second you heard the queue of the music your mind settled into a state of comfortability. Your feet and legs moved with smooth yet sharp precision, your upper body isolating itself like it was second nature. And in a way it was. In a way, your body had become so intertwined with the moves that it moved in a way that required no concentration. Everything, and everyone else blurred around you. Now it was just the music, your body, and your soul, all moving together as one. There was no disconnect, if anything the air around you felt electric, it felt thrilling, it felt like magic. As the music faded, everything else came back. The heat of the person next to you, the heavy breathing of yourself and the other dancers, the man at the front watching you. You looked over at him, his eyes already on you. There was a softness to his face, a glow that the two of you shared silently.

He gave you a nod. "I..." he started and shook his head "I'm going to change it up for this group." he walked towards the four of you. He carefully looked at the two in the front "Head to the back for me, and um, you what's your name?" he looked to the dancer standing next to you.

The guy lit up "I- James." he smiled widely.

"Good job James, I want you to stay in the back again, okay? Doesn't mean you did bad, I just want to try something. Is that okay?" Michael reassured him as James' face fell.

"Of course-" James stayed put.

Michaels gaze returned to you again "And you are?"

"Y/n." you responded with a small smile.

He nodded for a moment, and gently repeated your name to himself. You liked the way he said your name, it felt right, it felt natural. Michael thought so too, because he couldn't stop thinking it to himself. "Y/n, I want you in front this time, and uh, you know Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers dance in Top Hat, and the dip they do?" as he asks the question you nod, the dance playing through your head. "Good, good." He paces in front of the group. The dancers on the side lean in, watching him work. His eyes move around the room, as his brain searches for the right idea. He stops in front of you once he's got it. "Alright I want you all to do the dance as normal. Y/n, you are going to take center, until the last chorus. I want to try something where I join you in the front, and I want you to just... follow my lead until the end where we're going to do something similar to the dip from Top Hat, can you do that?" he looks at you.

You smile and nod, "Yes, I can do that, Michael."

He smiles back and nods "Great, alright, top of the music." he steps to the front again. The music starts and you quickly fall into the rhythm of the music again. Just like last time, your body syncs with the music and the air around you heightens. The last chorus approaches and Michael quickly slides beside you, grabbing your hand. Your eyes lock onto his.

The room drowns out again, but it was different. You had become accustomed to just a life that you shared with just the music, and now, Michael had entered that world. You follow his lead as the music moves the two of you together. You find yourself in an orbit with him, your bodies following the others. The movements pull the two of you together, a tension building as the song slowly builds. He spins around you with ease. You draw his hat from his head to yours with a smirk. He catches your hand and spins you out before whipping you back into his arms and low into a dip as the music slams to a stop.

The room remains silent for a beat. Michael pulls you back up from your waist, his eyes holding yours for a long moment... too long. He breathes shallowly for a moment, his arm still wrapped around your waist. The moment breaks as the other dancers clap excitedly. The two of you step away, gentle smiles on your faces as he looks down for a second and then back up at the others. He walks back up to the front and motions everyone to come back onto the floor. People pile back on, reclaiming their spots on the floor. You take a deep breath and step to the back once more. Michael clears his throat.

"Great work today. I'm very pleased with what I saw today. Tomorrow we're going to start really working, so come in prepared and ready to dance. Nice work." He nods and dismisses everyone.

You walk over to your bag, carefully taking a sip of water. You sit and slowly remove your heels, putting your street shoes back on as Ash rushes to your side. She begins talking excitedly about your dance with Michael. Her words fade out as you catch his eyes from across the room. He licks his lips and smiles as his head drops for a second before looking back up at you. He stands next to a large muscular man, whom you can only assume is his body guard. His eyes pull away from you, and you smile to yourself as you tie your shoe laces. People slowly file out of the room, and soon it's just you and two other dancers. As you zip up your bag, you hear footsteps behind you. You stand and turn with your bag on your shoulder.

Michael stands in front of you, his hands awkwardly tucked into his back pockets. "Y/n- you... you did really well today."

You smile brightly "thank you, you did too." you nudge his shoulder playfully.

His grin widens, "Y'know, I really liked what we did out there today. I want to keep working on it. You have an atmosphere to your dance that I've not seen before. I'd really like to work with you."

You blink, slightly taken aback "Thank you- that... It means so much. But- we already do work together?" your confusion makes him chuckle a bit.

"I mean one on one."