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To many people, Michael was just a sweet and shy young man. Timid, careful, and gentle. So soft-spoken at times, you'd probably have to lean into the television set just to make sure you heard him clearly. Largely attributed to his boyish charm, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that some of his fan viewed him as someone fragile and who must be protected.

‘Oh just look how gentle he is with all those animals he has!’

‘Aww, he's so quiet and shy'

‘I bet he wouldn't even hurt a fly!’

Although all those statements may be true, it seems like everyone forgets that he grew up with eight siblings. And being the third youngest, he was far from fragile. Far from quiet and far from shy. To say he simply had a playful side would be an understatement—you learned this during one of your many times at the Jacksons’ home. “Oh, hey, Jan” grinning down at his youngest sister Janet as she stood in the doorway with a smile. Michael often made it a point to greet you at the door, often sitting outside on the steps waiting for you like a lost puppy—so seeing her in place of her brother was a pleasant surprise

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“Did Mikey mention I was coming?” you hesitated to ask in fear of looking dumb, hands clasped in front of you as you fiddled with your bracelets. Janet simply rolled her eyes while shaking her head, “Yeah, but he’s too busy gettin’ his tail whooped to answer the door” she giggled while moving aside to let you in the house.

Your brows furrow in confusion, parting your lips to question what she meant before being met with the sounds of shouts and heavy thumps the moment you stepped inside. Familiar voices added to the commotion: “C’mon Mike! Just tap out!” Tito called through his laughs, watching as Michael and Marlon wrestled on the floor of the large living room. “Nah-nah, give’em a chance!” Jackie waved off Tito, leaning forward on the couch in anticipation to which one of of little brothers would win.

“See,” Janet crossed her arms as she leaned forward against the back of the couch. “Absolutely tore. up.” Laughing as she shook her head at the sight. Michael was so consumed in his ‘fight’ with Marlon he hadn't even noticed you were there. “Shut up, Jan!” Michael huffed without even turning his head to face her as he struggled to regain his footing, his large hands roughly gripping onto Marlon’s shoulders to shove him back. “C'mon Mike, ya girl watchin’ you now” Marlon whispered to Michael, using his eyes to point at you as you stood next to Janet behind the couch.

Michael only glanced over his shoulder at you with that same playful grin before mushing his brother in the face, pushing him away with a strong, stiff arm. “Aw, what? You jive.” Marlon stumbled back, watching Michael throw away their match for his lady. The rest of his brothers groaned and complained as if someone pulled the plug on their favorite show.

Originally, he was embarrassed. Afraid that you might have been affronted by his aggressive and childish ways. Apologizing for acting like a ‘boy’ and not a ‘man’, but this was something you quickly dismissed, reassuring him that playing around with his brothers was not something he ever had to apologize for or make an excuse for. And it wasn’t long after that conversation that you both began roughhousing youselves. Obviously, not to the same extent he and his brothers would but you made sure that he knew that you could handle a little horseplay

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“Michael-.. Hey!” You tried your hardest to sound irritated, but couldn't be bothered to stifle your giggles. The two of you had been laid opposite of each other across his bed, both of you deep in your own worlds as you both read. That was until Michael got bored—playing with the hem of your pants leg, tracing shapes along your calves, and every once in a while, he’d drag his finger along the bottom of your foot causing you to snatch your foot away every time. “What?” he smiled innocently despite your glare, waiting for you to turn your head back around and slowly lower your foot before wrapping his hand around your ankle. Mercilessly tickling the bottom of your foot as you squealed.

“MICHAEL! PLEASE!” You struggled to wiggle out of his grip, practically flailing around like a fish out of water—screaming for him to show you mercy. “You want me to stop, but you keep laughin’” He couldn't help but tease, giggling at how dramatic you were but Michael was well aware of the torture he was inflicting on you. So much so that you would think that he wouldn't dare pick that fight with you.

But, so be it.

You wrapped your arm around his legs, hugging yourself close while still trying to release your ankle from his grip. Pinching at his thighs before reaching to tickle his foot once you notice he clearly wasn't letting up. Michael erupted into high-pitched laughter, struggling to keep his grip around your ankle yet refusing to fold under the pressure. From any other part of the house, the two of you probably sounded like wild hyenas the way you were laughing and hollering. If anything, y'all probably looked even crazier.

The both of you were red in the face with laughter, tears pricking at your eyes. Michael’s legs were thrashing in a desperate attempt to get away until he felt his heel graze against something. Something that said, “Ow!” Michael’s eye shot open, immediately letting go of your ankle and scrambling to sit up. “Wh-what happened? Did-did I kick you?” he hovered over you closely, his voice already rattling in fear. Worried he might have given you a black eye or worse.

“See, I told you, we need to stop roughhousing.” Michael sighs, a sentence he found himself saying every time one of you got hurt while playing around. Despite the both of you being clumsy, you guys never seemed to learn your lesson, no matter what got bumped or scraped. “Let me see it..” he gently held your wrist so he could get a clear view of your face. “Mikey, I’m fine” despite it all, you still couldn't help but laugh. The heel of his foot had connected with your cheekbone, leaving it slightly red and swollen.

“Oh god..” Michael instantly crumbled; he felt horrible. “Michael, it's o-..”

“‘M so sorry. Please forgive me, oh god, “his hands flew up to grip at his thick coils, slightly pulling at his afro. “I-i’ll get you some ice!” and before you could say anything else, the boy was already halfway down the stairs.

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“Mikey, I promise, for the last time, it's fine.” You chuckled softly, gently playing with his fingers while his other hand held an ice pack to your cheek. “Everyone probably thinks that I abuse you…” he muttered, lifting the ice pack slightly so that it doesn't get too cold on your cheek. “Or that we can't stand each other” you smirked, nudging him in an attempt to lift his spirits. “Remember that one time I accidentally busted your lip?” you were able to laugh now, but thinking back on it you felt just as bad as Michael does now. If not, worse.

Michael couldn't help but crack a slight smile at the memory, “What are we gonna say for ourselves if one of us ended up breaking a bone or somethin’?” You paused, giving his question some thought. Placing a gentle peck on his pouted lips before giving him a smile, playfully shrugging your shoulders.