abby ✰

“You Don’t Have To Be Scared Of That”

The house in Encino, California, was strangely quiet for it to be ten o'clock on a Friday night. Usually, whenever you and Michael came back to Hayvenhurst after a date, finding a moment alone was nearly impossible. Janet always seemed to have friends over, laughter echoing through the hallways. Katherine was constantly calling for one of her children to help her with something, and somewhere in the house at least two of the Jackson brothers were bound to be arguing over something neither of them would remember by morning.

But tonight was different.

The house that was normally so full of life and noise felt unusually still. The Jackson siblings were all off doing their own things, and Katherine and Joseph were out as well. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was just you and Michael.

The quiet should have felt strange, but instead it only made you more aware of him. Every glance lingered a little longer, every smile felt a little warmer. This was the most privacy the two of you had ever had, and the atmosphere between you felt almost electric.

With the house being so quiet, you two decided to do the only thing you knew how to do: watch a movie.

“You can pick the movie, honey."

"Michael, it is your house, you pick."

"Fine. We can watch Peter Pan."

You smiled to yourself, already knowing that was exactly what he was going to choose.

Peter Pan had always been Michael's favorite story. He related to the boy who never wanted to grow up, who escaped into imagination when the world became too complicated. While most people saw a simple children's movie, Michael saw a place where magic still existed and childhood never had to end.

You understood why.

For as long as you'd known him, there had always been a quiet innocence about him. He found joy in things most people outgrew long ago, holding tightly to the wonder and imagination that made him who he was. And knowing how much of his childhood had been spent working, your heart always ached a little when he talked about Peter Pan.

It wasn't just his favorite movie. It was a reminder of the childhood he wished he'd had. The thought tugged at your heart for a moment before Michael's voice gently pulled you back to the present.

"Do you want me to make popcorn?" he asked softly.

"Yes! I saved room at dinner so I could eat some," you replied.

"Okay, baby. I'll be right back," he said, pushing himself off the couch and standing. Just as he was about to leave, he gave you a quick peck on the lips.

You didn't know what had come over you that week, but the mere feeling of his lips flicking quickly on yours like that made your stomach flutter. He had always given you butterflies and made your heart race, but lately it had felt more intense.

And Michael felt it too.

When he pulled away from the quick kiss, you immediately missed the warm softness of his lips against yours. You reached up and grabbed the white V-neck shirt layered beneath his red flannel, intending to pull him back for another kiss, but you quickly stopped yourself just before your lips could meet again.

Instead, your gaze drifted to his eyes.

The moment you looked into them, with him standing above your seated frame on the couch, your heart nearly stopped. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you felt your face begin to flush.

"I love you."

The words slipped out before you could think.

Michael laughed—not at you, but at the way you said it. The confession had tumbled out of you so suddenly, so breathlessly, that it caught him off guard. It wasn't the casual, familiar "I love you" the two of you exchanged every day. It sounded deeper than that, as though the words had been sitting in your heart for far too long and had finally found their way out.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he replied in a register of depth that seemed reserved only for you, only for the quiet moments you shared together.

"No, like... I really love you, Michael."

"I know," he replied, slightly confused but making sure you knew he meant it.

You reached up and cradled his cheek before giving him another kiss. It lasted longer this time.

Your lips met a few more times, slowly and tenderly, each kiss lingering just a little longer than the last. It felt as though every kiss ignited a warmth that spread through your chest like sunlight breaking through after a storm.

"Baby..." Michael murmured as he gently pulled back.

"Hmm?" you replied, backing away slightly so you could look up into his eyes. The movement reminded you once again of his towering frame as he leaned over you from where you sat on the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you?" you replied, slightly confused.

He let out a breathy laugh.

"I know that, silly. But why are you kissing me like you won't see me again for months?"

You didn't know how to respond. Honestly, you didn't even know what had come over you.

So you simply said, "I don't know. I'm sorry."

The words came out quietly, tinged with embarrassment.

You broke eye contact and looked at the floor, a habit you'd developed in childhood whenever your parents made you question your actions.

Michael noticed immediately. He knew that look better than anyone. After all, his own childhood had been filled with moments like that because of his father.

He lowered himself and sat back down on the couch beside you, settling against the right side of your body.

"You do not have anything to be sorry about," he replied, gently rubbing circles against your left shoulder blade. "What's going on?" he asked softly, as though you were something fragile that might shatter if handled too roughly.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words refused to come.

How were you supposed to explain it?

The love you felt for Michael was unlike anything you had ever experienced. It had woven itself into every part of your life so naturally that you hadn't even noticed how deeply it had taken root until now. Somewhere along the way, he had become your favorite person, your safest place, the first person you wanted to tell everything to.

The realization hit you all at once.

Your vision blurred as tears gathered in your eyes.

"Hey, hey," Michael murmured, immediately turning toward you. His free arm, wrapped all the way around your frame pulling you into his chest.

"I'm okay," you said, though your voice wavered.

"No, you're crying."

A small laugh escaped through your tears.

"I know."

He reached over and took your hand in his.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

You looked down at your intertwined fingers before finally whispering, "I just love you so much that it scares me sometimes."

For a moment, Michael simply stared at you. Then his expression softened in a way that made your chest ache.

"Oh, baby."

His thumb brushed across the back of your hand.

Michael's expression softened even more.

"You don't have to be scared of that," he repeated gently. "Loving somebody isn't supposed to make you feel alone. If anything, it means you've got somebody standing beside you."

A few tears still slipped down your cheeks, and Michael carefully brushed them away with his thumb.

"And I'm not going anywhere," he continued softly. "You hear me?"

You nodded, though another tear escaped.

Michael gave a small, sympathetic smile.

"Hey, none of that." He gently tilted your chin upward so you would look at him.

"You don't have to carry everything by yourself. If something's bothering you, if you're scared, if you're happy, if you're excited—you tell me. That's what I'm here for."

Your eyes filled again, but this time the tears felt different.

"I know,” you whispered.

"Good."

He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead before pulling you into another hug, holding you close while rubbing slow circles against your back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The quiet house seemed even quieter now, wrapping around you like a blanket. Michael simply stayed there beside you, letting you settle against him until her breathing finally evened out.

"You know something?" he asked after a while.

"What?"

"I think you're stuck with me."

A small laugh escaped your lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

That finally earned the smile he had been trying to coax out of you.

"There it is," he said softly. "I was wondering where that smile went."

You rolled your eyes, but you could not stop smiling.

Michael squeezed your hand once.

"Now," he said, standing up, "if I don't go make that popcorn, you're gonna start blaming me when the movie starts."

You laughed and shook your head.

"Maybe."

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about."

A few minutes later, he came back balancing a large bowl in his hands. The familiar smell of butter filled the room as he set it on the coffee table and lowered himself onto the couch beside you once more.

The opening music of Peter Pan drifted through the living room after he started the movie.

The house remained quiet around you.

You leaned comfortably against his shoulder while you watched, and Michael automatically reached over to adjust the blanket across both of your bodies. It was such a familiar gesture that neither of you thought about it.

As the movie continued, Michael's fingers found your hair.

They always did.

He absentmindedly twirled a loose strand between his fingers while watching the screen, occasionally smoothing it back behind your ear, sending chills down your spine. The simple gesture was calming, and before long you felt yourself relaxing completely.

The worries that had seemed so overwhelming earlier gradually faded into the background.

Every now and then Michael glanced down to make you were okay. Each time he did, he found you looking calmer than before.

By the middle of the movie, neither of you were paying much attention to Peter Pan anymore.

The warmth of the blanket, the quiet house, and the comfort of being together made your eyelids heavy.

A soft smile crossed Michael's face when he noticed you were nearly asleep against him.

The movie was still playing quietly in the background, but he knew neither of you were really watching anymore.

Carefully, so he wouldn't disturb you, he reached for the remote resting on the coffee table.

The room fell silent as he switched off the television.

Only the soft glow of a nearby lamp remained.

For a moment, Michael simply sat there, looking down at you resting peacefully against him. Earlier in the evening you had been crying, overwhelmed by emotions you didn't know how to explain. Now, finally, you looked calm. Safe. Content.

Michael adjusted the blanket around both of you one last time before settling back against the couch.

You instinctively moved closer in your sleep, and he smiled to himself.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he gently pulled you nearer so you wouldn't end up uncomfortable during the night.

Then he pressed a soft kiss against the top of your head.

"I love you," he whispered.

The words were barely louder than a breath.

He wasn't even sure you heard them.

But somehow, your expression softened even more, because even going in and out of sleep, you still heard that.

Michael smiled.

Soon afterward, his eyes finally drifted shut as well.

The house remained quiet around you, the popcorn forgotten on the coffee table, the television dark, and the worries of the day far away.

And there, curled up together beneath the blanket, you slept peacefully through the rest of the night.

A/N: