Could you write something with reader and Michael being best friends since childhood, he has a crush on her and proposed to her a few times but each time she said they're only friends and hes more like a brother to her, she also dates other guys over the years and Michael is very upset. Thriller or bad era and maybe happy end where reader finally falls too? (Lowkey inspired by the song friends😌)
Look my way || Thrad Michael x Bsf! Reader ||
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"Will you marry me?" Michael asked quietly in the middle of movie night.
You blinked at him. "...Marry you?"
He nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
You and Michael had been best friends ever since his family moved to Los Angeles. You were inseparable. Where one of you went, the other followed.
To you, he was your platonic soulmate.
To Michael, he always wanted more.
"Yeah..." he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Will you?"
You smiled so softly it made his heart ache.
"Michael..." You reached over and squeezed his hand. "We don't have to get married."
His smile faltered. "I'll always be your friend."
You mistook his proposal for fear rather than love. Ever since Thriller had turned him into the biggest star in the world, loneliness had settled into his life in ways no one seemed to understand. You thought he was asking because he was afraid of ending up alone.
You wanted to reassure him. Instead, you broke his heart.
It wasn't the first time he'd asked.
Over the years, Michael had proposed more times than either of you could count. Sometimes with a dandelion, sometimes with a handwritten letter. Once with a paper ring he'd folded during rehearsal.
Every time, your answer was the same.
You didn't want him believing you were going to leave him,that he needed to officially pin you down just to keep you around.
You were staying. Not because he was Michael Jackson. Simply because he was Michael.
The sort of person who could make you laugh until your stomach hurt, who listened as though every word you spoke mattered. He held your hand without shame, made room for you wherever he went, and somehow always made you feel like the most important person in the room.
To you, that had always been enough.
Michael could only press a gentle kiss to your cheek in thanks.
But deep in his heart. He wanted more.
He noticed everything about you, and there wasn't a single thing he didn't love.
He loved the way your eyes crinkled whenever you laughed, the way your voice softened when you spoke to him, and the way you could make even the most ordinary day feel special.
He loved how fiercely you cared for him, never once making him feel overlooked or misunderstood. He loved that you matched his energy without hesitation, that you'd climb trees with him one afternoon, then happily spend the next wandering through the neighborhood with Louie, talking about everything and nothing at all.
He loved the quiet moments just as much as the loud ones. Most of all, he loved you.
Michael wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans before quietly asking, "Can you spend the night?"
You smiled and nodded. "Sure." His heart skipped. Any extra moment with you felt like a gift. He wanted to spend as much time by your side as he could. He wanted you to know that he loved you exactly as you were.
Without thinking much of it, you rested your head against his shoulder.
Michael glanced down at you and nodded. He was too shy to trust his own voice.
The warmth of your body against his made his heart pound so loudly he was convinced you could hear it. His cheeks burned, and he silently prayed you wouldn't notice.
After a long moment, he gathered every ounce of courage he had and pressed the gentlest kiss to the top of your head.
You simply smiled, already half-asleep. When you realized you were beginning to drift off against his shoulder, you sat up with a sleepy smile.
"I think I'm gonna head to the guest room now..."
Michael nodded, trying not to sound disappointed.
"Of course." He smiled softly. "I got you new bedding. It's a lot softer than the old one... I hope you like it."
He always remembered the little things.
"Thank you, Mikey..." you whispered.
Leaning over, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
His cheeks flushed a rosy pink.
"...G-Goodnight," he mumbled shyly.
You quietly made your way toward the guest room, already knowing the route by heart after spending countless nights at his house.
Just as you reached the hallway, you heard soft footsteps behind you.
You turned around. Michael stood there, nervously rocking back and forth on his heels. "Going to bed too?" you asked.
"Y-Yeah..." He hesitated before rubbing the back of his neck. "But... I wanted to ask you something."
"...Would you maybe..." He looked everywhere except at you. "...sleep in my room tonight?" His voice became almost embarrassingly quiet.
"My bed's bigger." He quickly held up his hands. "I won't do anything, I promise. I just..." His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "...wanted to be close to you."
You couldn't help but smile. "But what about the new bedding you bought me?" you teased. "How am I supposed to try it?"
Michael let out a sheepish laugh, his ears turning red.
"I-I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck again. "It's not like the bedding's going anywhere."
You waited for him to catch up.
His face lit up so brightly he nearly skipped to the bedroom, hurrying ahead to open the door for you like it was the most important task in the world.
You both climbed beneath the covers.
Careful not to make you uncomfortable, Michael quietly placed a pillow between the two of you, creating a respectful little barrier.
The gesture made you smile.
"Goodnight," he whispered.
Within minutes, your breathing slowed into a peaceful rhythm.
Michael kept his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep for just a little longer before cautiously opening them.
His gaze drifted to you. There you were...
The moment felt intimate, yet somehow completely innocent. He didn't look at you with longing born from desire.
He looked at you the way someone looks at a wish they never quite believe will come true. He wondered if you'd ever know just how much space you occupied in his heart.
Smiling to himself, he reached over only far enough to feel the skin of your cheek with his thumb.
"Goodnight..." he whispered again, so quietly that only the darkness could hear.
He lay back down and closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep. It lasted all of thirty seconds. His eyes fluttered open again, instinctively drifting toward you.
A small smile found its way onto his lips. Every few minutes, he stole another glance, as if he needed to reassure himself you were really there.
He couldn't understand how one person could be so beautiful. How simply being near you could make his heart feel so impossibly full.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
His eyelids grew heavy, and he finally surrendered to sleep. The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was your peaceful face.
And the first thing he hoped to see when morning came...
The next morning arrived quietly, the first rays of sunlight bleeding through the blinds and spilling across the room.
As soon as the warmth brushed against his face, Michael groaned and turned onto his side, pulling the blanket up a little higher. For a brief moment, he managed to drift back to sleep.
A sleepy giggle reached his ears.
His eyes flew open. He turned his head toward you, only to find you blinking awake with puffy eyes and hopelessly messy bed hair.
You looked half-asleep, your face still soft from sleep.
God...How could someone be so beautiful?
Even in the earliest hours of the morning, with sunlight spilling across your face and sleep still clinging to your eyes, Michael couldn't imagine anyone more beautiful.
He smiled to himself. He hoped he'd get to wake up to this for the rest of his life.
"Good morning," you said, stretching your arms over your head as you yawned.
Michael could only look at you in awe.
He couldn't look away, even if he wanted to. He couldn't even fall back asleep despite having a reputation for being extremely difficult to wake up.
You remembered you had a date planned for today, so you told Michael you were going to head home.
"I'm gonna get going, okay? I have a date planned."
Michael's heart sank. "...A date." He forced a small smile. "I hope you have fun."
You slipped out of bed, the excitement evident on your face, and Michael couldn't help but smile. You looked so beautiful when you were happy, even if it hurt knowing he wasn't the reason for it.
"Michael..." you called, turning back toward him. "Could you help me pick out my outfit?"
He nodded, already climbing out of bed. "I'd love to!" A grin spread across his face. "Let's go together!"
Once the both of you got to your home, you had spent the last hour getting ready, standing in front of the hallway mirror as you adjusted your outfit one final time. Michael sat on the couch, pretending to flip through a magazine.
"You think this looks okay?" you asked, smoothing out the fabric of your dress.
His head snapped up almost immediately.
"You look..." He swallowed. "You look beautiful."
You beamed. "Really?" He nodded without hesitation.
The smile you gave him made his heart ache.
"Thanks, Mikey!" You hurried over and kissed his cheek before grabbing your purse. "Wish me luck!"
The front door closed and silence settled over the house. Michael stared at the door for a long time.
He imagined another man making you laugh. Pulling your chair out for you. Listening to your stories. Walking you home.
He hoped he treated you kindly. He hoped he remembered to compliment your smile. He hoped he noticed the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.
He hoped he made you feel safe, because you deserved nothing less. A shaky breath escaped him as ge felt tears rimming his eyes.
He was heartbroken. Sad that someone else got to discover all the little things he'd been in love with for years.
He glanced toward the clock.
"I hope she's having fun." He meant it, however it didn't stop his chest from hurting.
After your date, he dropped you off at home, and the first thing you did was head straight for the phone.
It only rang once before Michael picked up.
At the sound of your voice, Michael immediately perked up.
"Hey! So... how'd your date go?"
Michael frowned, noticing the dullness in your voice.
"Just fine? What happened?"
You stayed quiet for a moment, absentmindedly fiddling with the phone cord.
"It just... wasn't how I expected it to go, really."
"He was nice, but..." You paused. "I guess there just wasn't a spark."
Michael's heart ached. Not because you hadn't fallen for another man. But because you hadn't enjoyed yourself.
You had looked so beautiful when you left that morning. He had wanted you to feel just as special as you looked.
"I..." He hesitated, his palms suddenly growing sweaty. "I could take you out."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
You blinked. "It's so late... and you're a busy guy."
He swallowed. "I want to." His voice was quiet but sincere.
"You looked really beautiful today." He smiled to himself. "I'd hate for that to go to waste on a boring date."
A smile slowly spread across your face. "...As long as you don't mind."
"I don't." He smiled. "I never could."
Michael took you to an arcade filled with fun digital games and little competitions.
After winning game after game, he proudly handed you a stuffed ladybug with giant sparkly eyes.
"Here," he said, holding it out to you. "Now you'll always have a ladybug with you."
You tilted your head, accepting the plush.
"Why would I need a ladybug with me all the time?"
He smiled shyly. "They're good luck." He gave a small shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious under your gaze. "I just... thought it'd be nice."
When the arcade finally closed, Michael drove you back home.
He held your hand the entire walk to your front door.
"Thank you, Michael." You smiled warmly. "You always know what I need."
He looked down at his feet shyly before meeting your eyes again.
"Of course." A small smile tugged at his lips. "I'd do anything for you."
The way he said it made your heart flutter. Before you realized it, your eyes drifted down to his lips. You had unknowingly stepped a little closer to him.
Michael's breath caught in his throat when he noticed. His hand immediately grew clammy.
He could only manage a nervous filler word as he held his breath. You leaned in and closed the gap between your lips
It was nothing more than a short kiss.
Neither of you knew what it meant, but it felt right.
Michael could only nod, mumbling something that vaguely sounded like "goodnight" in return.
He stood there, watching as you stepped inside your house. Before closing the door, you turned back and offered him one last small wave.
He smiled and waved back, his heart still racing from the kiss.
The last few nights had been quiet. Michael had been busy with the overwhelming success of Thriller while also beginning work on his next album.
He wanted to hear your voice. He wanted to call you. But he was too nervous.
What had that kiss meant to you?
And for a little while, he didn't want to know. The answer came before he was ready.
You called him one afternoon, your voice as cheerful as ever, to tell him that the same man who hadn't given you any sparks on your first date was now your significant other.
Michael's heart ached. The kiss, to you, had been nothing more than a fleeting moment.
"I'm... really happy for you."
After hanging up, Michael slowly placed the phone back on its receiver. The house suddenly felt much quieter than before.
He looked down at his hand.
It was the same hand that had held yours only a few nights ago.
He let out a small, humorless laugh.
"...Guess I read too much into it." He couldn't bring himself to go back to work.
Instead, he sat down in his chair, his mind slowly beginning to drift. Even in the quiet of his thoughts, they always found their way back to you.
To the scent of your hair.
To the color of your nail polish.
To the feeling of his hand resting gently on your waist as he kissed your pretty lips, a kiss that had apparently meant absolutely nothing to you. While his whole world had shifted.
He couldn't do much after the phone call. He simply went upstairs to his room and gently closed the door behind him.
He lay on his bed, curling into himself as he thought of you. He curled up even tighter, the mattress sinking beneath his weight.
The painful feeling of loneliness settled deep into his bones, as though it had been waiting for him all along.
He knew, logically, that he hadn't lost you. You were still his best friend. You still called him. You still trusted him.
But deep in his heart, the loneliness he had always carried came rushing back, aching with every beat of his heart.
For a fleeting moment, an ugly thought crept into his mind. He hoped every genuine act of kindness, every ounce of love he had ever given you, would linger in your heart long enough to haunt you.
It was a cruel thought. A selfish one.
He hated himself for it almost as soon as it crossed his mind.
He let himself sit with it for just a moment.
He had always felt as though something was missing inside him, something everyone else seemed to have.
And now...Someone else had his whole world.
The thought settled over him, slowly numbing his mind.
As small tears of hurt soaked into his pillow, he slowly tried to convince himself to accept it.
Even though, deep down, he wasn't okay with it.
He was the way he was because, growing up, he had been laughed at whenever he cried or got upset.
Even now, he could still feel the phantom stares.
He could still hear the laughter. They were all going to laugh at him.
He'd done nothing but wait.
Wait for you to look his way.
He felt so embarrassed. Embarrassed that he had convinced himself you'd love him back. Embarrassed that he'd ever believed he could have you.
Part of him wished he'd never told you anything about himself. Another part wished he'd told you even more.
He knew he couldn't move on from you. You still held his heart in your hands. And for now, that was okay.
The heaviness didn't just weigh on his chest. It weighed on his mind, his legs, his back. Until he felt stitched to the mattress.
He had always been afraid of being alone.
But now, another thought slowly crept into his mind.
Who had ever been afraid of losing him?
He wished he'd never felt that glimmer of excitement if it only meant feeling this agonizing disappointment.
If he always expected the worst, then the only surprises left would be the good ones.
His thoughts slowly fogged over, and his dry, tired eyes eventually drifted shut as exhaustion finally settled in.
You didn't know when it started. You only knew something had changed. You caught yourself waiting for the little things he used to do without thinking.
Waiting for him to kiss your cheek before you left. Waiting for him to ask if you wanted to stay the night. Waiting for him to jokingly get down on one knee with some random object in his hand and ask, "Will you marry me?" just to laugh when you rolled your eyes and called him ridiculous.
But he never did anymore. At first you thought he was just busy. Thriller had become something much bigger than either of you could have imagined, and with another album already in the works you figured his mind was elsewhere.
But even when he did have time, he didn't ask. He still called you. He still smiled at you. He still listened to every word you said with the same gentle attention he always had.
Yet there was a distance you couldn't explain. It wasn't cold. It wasn't cruel. It was almost respectful?
Like he had quietly taken one step back without telling you. One afternoon you excitedly showed him a new dress you'd bought, expecting the usual reaction.
He looked up from what he was doing and smiled warmly. "You look beautiful."
That was it. No flushed cheeks. No stumbling over his words. No looking away because you had caught him staring. Just a simple compliment.
You thanked him and smiled back, but as you walked away your chest felt strangely heavy. You couldn't understand why. It wasn't until another date ended with you feeling disappointed that you realized what was missing. You picked up the phone and called Michael like you always did. He answered on the first ring.
He listened. He told you that you deserved someone who appreciated you for everything you were. Then you both said goodbye. You stared at the receiver in your hand for a long moment.
Why didn't he ask to take you somewhere? Why didn't he offer to come over? Why didn't he ask if you wanted to spend the night?
Minutes passed. The phone never rang again. It hit you then that he wasn't forgetting. He was choosing not to. He was respecting the answer you had given him all those years. You suddenly missed every little thing you had once taken for granted.
The way he'd hold your hand without thinking. The way he'd always somehow know exactly what you needed. The arcade dates. The stuffed ladybug still sitting on your shelf. The shy little kisses to your forehead and cheek.
The ridiculous proposals that used to make you laugh. You missed him. Not the version of him everyone else knew.
The one who loved you so quietly that you'd mistaken it for friendship. And for the first time in your life, you wondered why he had stopped asking.
Two months had passed since then. You and Michael had fallen back into your usual routine as if nothing had ever happened.
Tonight was no different. The two of you sat shoulder to shoulder on his couch, some old movie playing on the television while neither of you paid much attention to it. You found yourself glancing at him every now and then without meaning to. You weren't even sure why.
A small part of you kept waiting for it. Waiting for him to suddenly grin, grab your hand, and jokingly ask, "Will you marry me?" like he always used to. You waited through one scene. Then another. Nothing.
Your eyes drifted back to him again, almost expectantly, until he noticed. Michael turned his head, his brows knitting together ever so slightly. "What?" he asked softly, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. Your face immediately grew warm.
"Nothing..." you mumbled, looking away far too quickly. You pretended to focus on the movie, but you couldn't hear a single word of it anymore. Why had you been waiting for him to ask? Why were you disappointed that he hadn't?
Your heart beat a little faster at the thought, and you quickly shook your head to yourself. No. That wasn't it. You were just used to it, that was all. It had become a silly little tradition between the two of you over the years.
You missed the joke. That was all it was. Had to be. You stole one last glance at him from the corner of your eye. Michael was completely focused on the movie now, completely unaware of the questions beginning to settle into your heart. You frowned to yourself. Why did that bother you so much?
Michael wasn't oblivious to the way you kept glancing at him. He noticed every single one. He just knew that if he looked back at you for too long, he'd find himself falling even deeper in love with you. As if that were even possible.
He had always been falling for you. Every smile, every laugh, every moment the two of you shared only made him love you more. But you were taken. He respected that. So instead, he kept his eyes on the television, pretending to be interested in the movie while your lingering glances burned softly against the side of his face.
You felt strangely vulnerable.
The distance Michael had quietly begun putting between the two of you was slowly numbing you.
Was it really possible that his lack of affection was bothering you this much?
Without even realizing it, the vulnerability began to show. Your features softened, your expression tinged with quiet confusion and an innocent kind of hurt.
You felt needy. An excessive, selfish desire for more. More than you needed. More than you deserved.
A word so often painted as something ugly, something shameful. Yet, somehow, it perfectly described the vulnerability settling inside your heart.
You didn't want fairness.
You didn't want him to keep his distance simply because you were in a relationship.
You tried to focus on the movie, but something you'd been repressing for so long began to bubble to the surface.
You felt. Hurt. Disappointed.
Suddenly, everything felt too tight. You became hyperaware of his shoulder brushing against yours, the steady sound of his breathing, the absentminded way he'd tap his leg whenever he was focused.
You wanted him to ask you those silly questions again. You wanted him to pull one of his ridiculous pranks.
You wanted him to laugh. But everything just felt so distant.
You felt as though there was no air left in the room. You wanted to leave. To run from it all.
You looked at him again. The painful sting of tears pricked at your eyes.
God...You felt so embarrassed by your soft heart.
"I think I'll go home early, Mike."
He immediately looked over at you. "Oh..." He gave a small nod. "Okay. Let me walk you out."
You blinked your tears away. He didn't ask you to stay. He didn't try to convince you otherwise.
That felt like the final nail in the coffin of your spiraling thoughts.
Michael stood and walked you to the door.
You slipped your shoes back on before looking up at him.
His baby face had softened with age, and his afro had long since given way to loose curls that he was beginning to style differently. It suited him.
"I like your hair like this," you said before you could stop the words from slipping out.
The compliment immediately flushed him with shyness.
"Yeah?" He smiled bashfully. "I'm trying to grow it out..."
"I have a really good hair oil, by the way." You hesitated. "If you ever want to come over sometime... like before..."
Michael glanced around for a moment, avoiding your gaze.
"Sure..." A small smile tugged at his lips. "I'd love to."
A week later, your phone rang just after lunch. You smiled the moment you heard Michael's voice on the other end.
"You still have that hair oil?" he asked shyly. You couldn't help but laugh. "I was wondering when you'd ask." Not even an hour later, he was standing at your front door, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket with that familiar bashful smile.
"Hi," he greeted quietly. "Hi, Mike." You stepped aside to let him in before leading him to a chair in the living room. "Sit still," you teased as you disappeared down the hallway, returning with a towel draped over your arm and a small bottle of oil in your hand.
"You make this sound so serious," he laughed. "It is serious." You smiled, gently draping the towel over his shoulders. "I'm trusting you with my hair," he replied, making you grin. You stood behind him, your fingers hesitating for only a second before carefully slipping into his curls. You knew exactly where to be gentle.
Your touch slowed instinctively as you reached the burn on the side of his scalp, separating each section with careful fingers, making sure never to tug or catch the delicate skin. Michael's shoulders slowly relaxed beneath your hands. Neither of you spoke for a while.
The room became so quiet that all he could hear was the faint rustle of your fingers moving through his hair and the occasional soft clink of the bottle against your palm. You poured a little oil into your hand, warming it between your fingers before gently massaging it into his scalp in small circles.
Every movement was slow, patient, almost absentmindedly caring. You worked in small sections, taking each curl between your fingers and twirling it carefully back into shape before coating it with a little more oil. You smiled softly every time another curl sprang back into place.
"There..." you whispered more to yourself than to him. Michael closed his eyes without realizing it. He had never understood how something so ordinary could feel so impossibly intimate.
There was no rush in your hands. No hesitation. Just years of trust stitched into every careful touch. You treated his scars as though they were something precious to protect rather than something to avoid.
His breathing slowed. He wanted to remember everything, the warmth of your fingertips, the faint scent of the hair oil lingering in the air, the way you hummed quietly to yourself whenever you were concentrating. He wondered if you realized how gently you loved people. You finished another curl, letting it bounce lightly against his temple before moving on to the next.
"Am I hurting you anywhere?" you asked quietly. Michael shook his head almost immediately. "...No." His voice came out softer than he'd intended. "It feels nice."
Your lips curved into a small smile as you continued, completely unaware that with every careful stroke of your fingers, you were making it that much harder for him to remember why he'd promised himself to stop falling in love with you.
"Do you have anything planned today?" you asked as you finished working the last curl around your finger. Michael thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No... not really."
You smiled to yourself. "Do you... maybe want to go to the pediatric center together? We haven't gone in forever." Michael's heart warmed almost instantly.
The pediatric center had always been one of your favorite places to visit together. Seeing the children smile always made the both of you forget everything else for a little while. "Sure," he answered without hesitation, unable to hide the smile spreading across his face. "I'd love to."
You grinned. "After I rinse this out, okay?" He nodded obediently as you led him into the bathroom.
The moment you looked at the sink, you laughed. "Wait... this isn't going to work." Michael awkwardly leaned himself backward over the sink anyway, trying to help. "Like this?" "Mike..." you laughed harder, trying to keep the bottle of shampoo from slipping out of your hands. "You're going to break your back."
"I'm fine!" he insisted, stretching even farther until there was a loud thunk. "...Ouch." He immediately reached for his temple after lightly bumping it against the faucet. You stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter.
"Michael!" He started laughing too, rubbing the side of his head. "I didn't think it was that close!" You were laughing so hard you had to lean against the counter for a moment. "Stay right there. I'm getting you a chair before you hurt yourself again."
A few moments later he was finally sitting comfortably, the back of his head resting over the sink while you adjusted the water to a comfortable temperature. "Better?" you asked. "Much better," he smiled sheepishly. You carefully began rinsing the oil from his curls, your fingers gliding gently through his hair to make sure every strand was clean. Whenever you reached the burn, your touch became even softer, your fingertips barely grazing his scalp as though you were afraid of causing him even the slightest discomfort.
Michael closed his eyes. The warm water, your careful hands, the quiet sound of your laughter still lingering in the room, he wished time would stop. You had always been gentle with him.
Even as children, you had instinctively known when to slow down, when to be careful, when to simply sit beside him without saying a word. He didn't think you'd ever understand just how much those little acts of kindness meant to him. Your fingers combed through another section of curls, separating them with the same patience you'd shown only minutes before, making sure none tangled together.
"You have such pretty curls," you murmured absentmindedly, more focused on your work than your words. Michael felt his heart ache so sweetly it almost made him smile. He had spent years trying to convince himself that one day he'd stop loving you. That eventually it would become easier. That one morning he'd wake up and your smile wouldn't be the first thing on his mind.
But as your fingers moved so carefully through his hair, treating every curl and every scar with such quiet tenderness, he realized something that both comforted and terrified him.
He was never going to stop falling in love with you.
You reached for the soft cotton towel hanging beside you and gently wrapped it around his curls. "Don't move," you smiled, carefully scrunching his hair upward to soak up the excess water without disturbing the curls you'd spent so long defining.
Michael sat unusually still, only his eyes following your every movement whenever you stepped into view. "You're being awfully obedient today," you teased. He laughed quietly. "I'm scared you'll hit my head on the faucet again." You giggled, continuing to scrunch each section with patient hands before your eyes drifted to the faint pink mark on his temple. "...Poor thing," you murmured.
Before either of you could think about it, you leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss against the little spot. "For your boo-boo."
The words left your mouth as naturally as breathing. You pulled away just as quickly, completely unaware of what you'd done, already reaching for another section of curls.
Michael, however, had completely frozen. His breath caught somewhere deep in his chest, his heart stuttering so violently he was certain you could hear it. The room suddenly felt impossibly quiet. He slowly lifted his fingers to his temple, absentmindedly touching the place your lips had been only seconds before.
"...Thanks," he whispered, his voice barely audible. You simply smiled. "There. All better." You continued drying his hair as though nothing had happened, humming softly to yourself while carefully scrunching the last few curls.
Michael couldn't bring himself to speak again. His mind replayed the tiny kiss over and over, clinging to it despite knowing he shouldn't. To you, it had probably been nothing. A silly little gesture. The same way you'd patch up a scraped knee or ruffle a child's hair after they cried.
To him, it had felt like someone had gently stitched together a piece of his heart that he'd been trying so hard to convince himself was already healed. He closed his eyes for just a moment, a small smile finding its way onto his face.
I'm in so much trouble, he thought to himself. I'm never going to stop loving you.
The afternoon had passed just like it always used to. You and Michael walked through the pediatric center carrying little bags filled with toys, flowers, coloring books, and stuffed animals, stopping at every room you could. Michael laughed as a little boy insisted on showing him every dinosaur he owned while you helped a little girl braid flowers into the hair of her favorite doll.
Teh nurses smiled as the two of you wandered from room to room, already familiar with your faces after so many visits over the years. It always made your heart feel lighter seeing the children smile.
On the drive home, the both of you talked about which child had made you laugh the most, Michael animatedly telling you about the dinosaur facts he'd been taught while you teased him for pretending not to know the names already. He laughed so hard he had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.
Before either of you realized it, his car had come to a stop outside your house. "Thanks for today," you smiled, gathering your things. "I missed this." Michael looked at you for a moment before smiling back. "Me too."
You opened the car door before turning back toward him. "Bye, Mike."
"...Bye." Before you could step away, he hesitated. Every part of him told him not to. He'd spent months trying to respect the distance between you, trying to ignore every instinct that told him to reach for you. But today had felt so familiar.
Before he could stop himself, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. It only lasted a second. "...See you later," he whispered, pulling away almost immediately, looking as though he'd surprised himself more than you. Your cheeks warmed as a small smile spread across your face. "...See you." You climbed out of the car, unconsciously touching your cheek as you waved goodbye.
Michael waited until you disappeared inside before quietly driving away. The smile hadn't yet left your face as you stepped into your house. "Hey–" Your words caught in your throat. Your boyfriend was sitting on the couch, arms folded across his chest. He looked up at you. "You were with him again."
The warmth in your chest faltered. "...Yeah. We visited the pediatric center."
He nodded once. "You always seem to be with him." You frowned. "What does that mean?" He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It means every time I call you, you're with Michael. Every time you have free time, you're with Michael. Every story you tell somehow ends with Michael." His voice never rose.
If anything, it became quieter. "I don't think you even realize you do it." You stared at him, unable to answer. "He's my best friend."
"I know." He looked down at his hands. "That's what scares me." Silence settled between you. "You smile differently when you talk about him." Your heart skipped. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" He met your eyes. There was no anger in his expression. Only hurt. "Tell me... when was the last time you looked at me the way you look at him?"
"I don't look at him differently..." you whispered, your voice lacking the confidence it usually carried. He held your gaze for a long moment before shaking his head.
"Yes, you do." You swallowed. "I don't." He sighed, exhaustion replacing the frustration in his eyes. "You look for him in me." The words made your heart sink. "Every time I do something nice, you smile...but it's never enough. Every time I try to make you laugh, you tell me about something Michael did that was funnier. Every time you're hurting..."
He looked away for a moment before quietly finishing, "...you call him." Tears began to sting your eyes.
"That's because he's my best friend."
"I know." He nodded slowly. "And when you look at him..." His voice cracked ever so slightly. "...he's all you see."
You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. You couldn't find the words. Instead, your mind betrayed you. You saw Michael laughing as he held up the stuffed ladybug he'd won for you.
You saw him shyly looking away after you complimented his hair. You felt his curls slipping between your fingers as you carefully worked the oil into his scalp. You felt the tiny kiss you'd placed against his temple without even thinking.
You remembered waiting for him to ask you to marry him again. Waiting for him to ask you to stay. Waiting for him to reach for your hand. Waiting... for him.
"No..." The answer left your lips almost instinctively. It sounded small. Fragile. Like even you didn't believe it.
He nodded sadly. "Yes, you do." A tear finally rolled down your cheek. "I didn't mean for this to happen..." you whispered, your voice trembling. "I didn't know."
"I know you didn't." He stepped closer, his expression softening. There wasn't any anger left anymore. Just heartbreak. "I don't think you ever wanted to hurt me." You covered your mouth with your hand as another tear escaped. "I'm so sorry." He gave you a small, tired smile.
"I'm not angry with you." The room fell silent. He looked around the little house the two of you had spent so much time in before meeting your eyes one last time.
"I just..." He let out a quiet breath. "...I deserve someone who looks at me the way you look at him."
Your heart shattered. Because for the first time, you knew exactly what he meant. Every lingering glance. Every disappointed feeling when Michael kept his distance. Every time you'd unconsciously searched for him in a crowded room. Every silly proposal you'd secretly wished he'd make again. It all crashed over you at once.
You had for longer than you were willing to admit. The realization hurt almost as much as the guilt.
"I'm sorry," you cried again, unable to offer him anything else. He gently took your hands in his, giving them one last squeeze before letting them go. "Don't be." His smile was bittersweet. "Just... don't spend as long making him wait as you made me."
He walked past you, pausing only long enough to quietly close the front door behind him. You stood exactly where he'd left you, the silence of the house suddenly overwhelming. For the first time since you'd met Michael, you understood why every goodbye from him had hurt so much.
You were hurting. You knew you weren't in the right headspace to call Michael. But your fingers had already begun dialing his number before you could stop them.
The phone rang once. Then twice. Three times. It took longer than usual. You waited. And waited.
Finally, the line clicked. "Hello?" Michael's voice came through, slightly breathless. "Hey..." Your voice cracked almost immediately. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the words out, but nothing came.
What could you possibly say? What were you even supposed to tell him? You could hear the worry growing in his voice with every passing second. "Hey...? Are you okay? What's wrong?" You tried to answer, but all that came out was a broken little sob.
"Hey... talk to me." His voice had become urgent now. "Did something happen? Are you hurt?"
You shook your head even though he couldn't see you. "...I..." Your breathing hitched. "I..." Michael's stomach twisted into knots. He had never heard you sound like this before. "I'm coming over." The line went dead before you could protest.
You stared at the receiver in disbelief before slowly lowering it back into place. You felt so stupid. So ridiculous.
Why had you even called him? What had you expected him to do? Barely ten minutes later, there was a hurried knock at your front door. You wiped desperately at your face before opening it. Michael stood there, still slightly out of breath, his hair messier than usual as though he'd left the house without even looking in a mirror.
The moment he saw your tear-stained face, his expression fell. "Oh..." he whispered. "Come here." You didn't even think. You stepped forward, burying your face against his shoulder as another sob escaped you. Michael immediately wrapped both arms around you, one hand gently cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed slow circles against your back.
He didn't ask any questions. He just held you. The two of you stayed like that in the doorway for what felt like forever until your breathing finally slowed enough for you to speak.
"...He..." You swallowed hard. "...He broke up with me." Michael closed his eyes for just a moment. His heart ached for two different reasons at once. He hated seeing you in so much pain and he hated himself for the tiny flicker of hope that had appeared somewhere deep inside him.
He buried that feeling immediately. This wasn't about him. It was about you.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered sincerely. You cried harder, gripping the front of his shirt as though letting go would make everything hurt even more. Michael gently guided you inside, never once letting go of your hand. The rest of the evening passed quietly. He made you tea you barely drank. He sat beside you while you cried until there were no tears left to cry. (Yuh)
He listened whenever you spoke and never interrupted, never tried to convince you to feel differently, never once said, I told you so.
As the night grew later, your words became fewer and farther between until exhaustion settled over you. "Mike..." you whispered sleepily. "...Will you stay?" He looked at you for a moment before giving the smallest nod. "Of course."
The two of you lay down on your bed in the same innocent way you had so many times over the years. This time, there was no pillow between you. You instinctively curled against his chest, too emotionally exhausted to think twice about it. Michael hesitated only for a second before carefully wrapping an arm around you, holding you as gently as though you might break if he held you any tighter.
His chin rested lightly against the top of your head. Neither of you spoke. He simply listened to your breathing gradually slow as sleep finally claimed you. Long after you'd fallen asleep, Michael remained awake, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
"...I've got you," he whispered so quietly that only the silence of the room could hear him.
Morning came much too quickly. Soft sunlight slipped through the curtains, filling the room with a quiet warmth that neither of you noticed. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, your head still heavy from crying the night before.
For a brief moment, you forgot where you were. Then you felt the steady rise and fall of Michael's breathing beneath your cheek. His arm was still loosely wrapped around you exactly as it had been hours before. He hadn't moved. You looked up at him. He was still asleep, his curls falling over his forehead, his face softer than you'd ever seen it. You remembered what your ex had said.
You look for him in me. When you look at him... he's all you see. The words echoed through your mind until your chest tightened all over again.
A wave of panic settled over you. What if you lost Michael too? What if one day he grew tired of waiting? What if he stopped loving you the way he'd slowly taught himself to? The thought alone was unbearable. Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you slowly lifted your hand to his cheek.
Michael stirred at the gentle touch, his eyes blinking open sleepily. "...Morning," he whispered, his voice still rough with sleep. You didn't answer. You only looked at him. His brows drew together slightly with concern. "What is it...?"
Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs. Without giving yourself another second to think, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. Michael froze.
For one moment, the years between you disappeared. Every childhood proposal. Every almost-confession. He kissed you back with the same tenderness he'd always imagined, one hand instinctively rising to cradle your face as though you were something impossibly precious.
It lasted only a few seconds. Then reality rushed back all at once. Michael slowly pulled away, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he tried to steady his breathing. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek before he reluctantly lowered his hand.
"...No," he whispered, more to himself than to you. You looked at him in confusion, your heart immediately sinking. Michael swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your eyes even though it hurt. "I'm not..." He took a shaky breath. "...I'm not going to take advantage of your vulnerability."
Tears immediately welled in your eyes. "Mike..."
"You're hurting." His voice was impossibly gentle. "You just lost someone you cared about." He offered you the smallest, saddest smile. "If you kiss me... I need to know it's because you want me."
His hand slowly slipped away from yours, not because he wanted to let go, but because he knew he had to. "Not because you're afraid of being alone." Silence filled the room. Michael's heart was breaking all over again. Every part of him wanted to pull you back into another kiss. To finally have the one thing he'd dreamed about for years.
But loving you had never been about taking. It had always been about protecting you. Even if that meant protecting you from himself.
"I don't want to lose you." Your voice broke around the words, your fingers instinctively reaching for his sleeve before he could move any farther away.
Michael immediately caught your hand, holding it carefully between both of his. "You aren't," he answered softly. You shook your head, tears already beginning to blur your vision again. "But you will." He frowned. "What?"
"You'll fall for someone else." The thought alone made your chest ache. "You'll get married... you'll have a family... and one day I'll just be someone you used to know." Michael stared at you as though you had spoken a language he didn't understand.
Then, without thinking, a quiet, breathless laugh escaped him. Not because what you had said was funny but because it felt so impossible. He slowly shook his head. "I could never."
You searched his face, waiting for him to smile and tell you he was joking. He didn't. "Mike..."
"I could never," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've tried." Your heart skipped. "I've tried to stop loving you." The confession settled between the two of you so gently that it almost didn't feel real.
"I thought if I gave you enough space... if I respected your relationship... if I stopped asking you those stupid little questions..." A small, bittersweet smile crossed his face. "...maybe one day I'd wake up and it wouldn't hurt anymore." He looked down at your joined hands. "It never happened."
You couldn't breathe. Michael continued quietly, never once letting go of your hand. "I kept thinking maybe I'd meet somebody. Maybe I'd fall in love with someone else. Maybe I'd finally understand what people meant when they said time heals everything." He let out another small laugh, this one tired. "Time only made me love you differently." Tears rolled silently down your cheeks.
"I stopped asking you to marry me because I thought it was unfair." He swallowed. "Every time I joked about it... there was a part of me that wasn't joking."
Your heart shattered painfully. "I stopped kissing your cheek because I knew I'd start hoping you'd kiss me back." He looked at you then, his eyes impossibly gentle. Neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable anymore. It was simply full. Full of everything that had gone unsaid for years.
Michael squeezed your hand ever so slightly. "So no..." he whispered. "I'm not going to fall for someone else." He smiled sadly. "I've been falling for the same girl since we were kids." His thumb gently brushed away one of your tears. "I just got better at pretending I wasn't."
Silence settled between the two of you once again. Neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed to know what came next. Your eyes drifted down to your joined hands before a small, tearful laugh escaped you.
"...I'm sorry." Michael immediately shook his head. "Don't."
"No..." you whispered, wiping at your eyes. "I'm sorry I made you wait so long." He looked at you as though the words themselves had stolen the air from his lungs.
You smiled through your tears, your heart aching for every birthday, every silly proposal, every cheek kiss, every stuffed animal he'd won you, every quiet goodbye, every moment he'd loved you while asking for nothing in return.
"I thought I knew what love was," you admitted softly. "I thought it was supposed to feel exciting... like butterflies... like sparks." You let out a shaky breath, looking into the eyes that had always looked at you with nothing but kindness. "But love..." Your fingers tightened around his. "...Love felt like calling you without thinking." Another tear slipped down your cheek. You couldn't say more. Because that was your love for him. Michael's own eyes began to glisten. You reached up and cupped his face with both hands, smiling sadly. "It was never the grand things, was it?" He could only shake his head. "...No."
You brushed your thumb across his cheek. The room fell quiet again. Your heart raced so loudly you were sure he could hear it. "...Would you ask me again?" Michael blinked.
"...Ask you what?" A watery laugh escaped you. "Don't make me say it." He stared at you for a long moment, almost afraid to breathe, as though speaking the words might wake him from a dream. His voice trembled. "...Will you marry me?"
This time, before doubt could find either of you, you smiled. .
Michael's eyes immediately filled with tears. A quiet laugh escaped him as he covered his face for a moment, completely overwhelmed. "You're serious?"
You laughed through your own tears. "I'm serious." He looked at you as though he were seeing the sunrise for the very first time before carefully pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, almost afraid you'd disappear if he let go. You buried your face against his shoulder, smiling as his quiet laughter mixed with your own. Michael laughed, still holding you. "I had speeches."
"Hundreds." He smiled sheepishly. "...I forgot every single one." You laughed so hard your sides began to ache, and hearing that sound made him laugh even harder. When the laughter finally faded, he gently cupped your cheek putting his fingers behind your ear whike his thumb traced your skin then he leaned forward.
He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then, slowly, he rested his forehead against yours, silently asking one last time. You answered by closing the distance yourself.
The kiss was soft, unhurried, and years in the making. When you finally pulled away, neither of you said anything. You didn't have to. After all those years of waiting, of loving each other quietly from opposite sides of the same road, you always find your way back to him.
︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜
A lot longer than I thought it would be...
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