đź Before the world took you - Part 3đź
You can read part one here and part 2 here
Pairing: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Romance, Drama, Angst, Comfort, Emotional Healing. Will eventually progress towards 18+content
Era: Begins during the early Thriller era (1982â1984) and follows Michael and Reader through multiple stages of his career.
Reader Background: Female Reader (Y/N), childhood friend of Michael and close to the Jackson family since childhood.
Plot: Before he was the biggest star in the world, he was simply Michael. Having grown up alongside the Jackson family, Reader becomes Michael's closest friend, confidante, and safe place. She witnesses the struggles behind the spotlight, the pressure of fame, and the sacrifices required to become a global icon. As Michael's success continues to grow, so does the distance between them. Determined to maintain a normal life of her own, Reader begins pulling away, unaware that both of them are starting to feel the absence more deeply than either wants to admit.
A slow-burn friends-to-lovers story spanning years of friendship, sacrifice, missed chances, and a love hidden in plain sight.
â ď¸Content Warnings: References to emotional and physical child abuse //Discussions of trauma and childhood hardships//Emotional angst// Fame-related stress and public scrutiny//Tabloid harassment and invasion of privacy//Slow-burn romantic tension//Occasional emotional conflict
This story is intended as a fictional romantic drama and does not claim to accurately portray real-life events or personalities.
Author's Note: Please remember that this is a work of fiction inspired by a public figure. While some real-world events and timelines may be referenced, the story itself is entirely fictional. I also might not be following every aspect in cronological order. Constructive feedback is always welcome. â¤ď¸
I also just wanted to take a moment to say thank you for reading. I'm not a professional writer by any means. In fact, most of the time I'm simply a person with too many ideas, too many feelings, and a vivid imagination trying to turn them into words. Some chapters come easily, others take forever, but I genuinely love creating stories and sharing them with all of you.
This story started as a simple idea and has slowly grown into something much bigger than I originally planned. Watching these characters take on lives of their own has been one of the most enjoyable creative experiences I've had in a long time. And I intend this fanfic to be long with lots of drama filled with emotions and nostalgia.
Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read, like, reblog, comment, or send messages. Every interaction means more than you know and motivates me to keep writing, even when I sometimes doubt myself.
And please remember: this is all just for fun. I'm learning as I go, making mistakes, changing things, and figuring out the story alongside you.
If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, leave a comment and let me know. I'd be happy to add you to the tag list. â¤ď¸
Thank you again for spending your time with this little story of mine.
Love,Your friendly overthinker and Michael Jackson enthusiast â¨
For several long seconds, nobody moved. You stood frozen in the doorway. Michael stood on the porch holding a birthday gift. Eric stood in the living room trying to process what was happening. The silence stretched. Then Michael smiled. That familiar and ridiculous angelic smile of his. The one you  had known almost your entire life. And suddenly all coherent thought disappeared.
Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him and hugged him tight. The gift bag swung dangerously from his hand. Michael laughed immediately. Warm. Surprised. Wrapping one arm around you.
For a brief moment, everything felt wonderfully normal. Like old times. Like childhood. Like home. You remembered his scent. You could feel his warmth. You hadn't realized how much youâd missed him until he was standing right there in front of you. Not a voice on the phone. Not a face in a magazine.
Eric stared. The man standing in the doorway smiled.You looked seconds away from passing out. And for one brief, glorious moment, Eric convinced himself there has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. An impersonator perhaps. That had to be it. A really good one. Someone ordered an impersonator for your birthday.Â
Granted, the resemblance was remarkable. But still. An impersonator. Because the alternative was ridiculous. The alternative was Michael Jackson standing on your front porch holding a birthday present. Which was obviously insane.
You sounded as though youâd forgotten how breathing worked.
Eric nodded automatically. Still trying to process what was unfolding before his eyes. Still waiting for somebody to explain the joke. Then Michael laughed. And something about the laugh shattered the illusion immediately. Because impersonators could copy a face. A voice. A hairstyle. But this is insane. The ease with which you threw yourself into Michael`s arms. The way he looked at you. The way he walked into the house as though heâd done it a thousand times before. This is no impersonator. It`s Michael Jackson.
â Michael, this umâŚ.is Eric."
Eric still looking slightly shell-shocked. But to his credit, he recovered quickly and was now offering his hand.
"Nice to meet you." Eric smiled
Michael shook it. His smile perfectly polite.
A beat passed. Then Michael added:
"I've heard a lot about you."
Eric laughed. A little nervously.
"Funny enough, I've heard nothing about you."
That was the moment you nearly died. Right there.
Eric looked between you.  Suddenly realizing what he'd said.
âNo, I mean, Obviously I know who you are.â
âThatâs reassuring.â
Michaelâs voice was perfectly pleasant. Which somehow made it worse. The tension lasted only a second before all three of them started laughing. Mostly from discomfort.
An hour later Michael pushed a small wooden box across the coffee table.
You frowned. âWhatâs this?â
âA birthday present.â
âYou being here is already the biggest gift ever.â
âNo.â Michael shook his head. âThis is the gift.â
The teasing expression had disappeared. Something softer replacing it.
You opened the box. Immediately your eyes widened. Inside lay a cassette. An old photograph. Several folded notes. A movie ticket. Tiny pieces of old memories.Â
You picked up the photograph first. A picture of two children sitting beneath a tree. Michaelâs arm around your shoulders. You missing your front teeth and both laughing at something outside the frame. You immediately covered your mouth.
âI havenât seen this in years.â
Michael nodded. âI know.â
Next came the cassette.Then a folded note. You opened it. Immediately groaning.
Michael burst out laughing. âOh yes.â
Eric leaned forward. âWhat is it?â
You looked horrified whilst Michael looked delighted.
âIt is not a love letter.â
You  buried your face in your hands. Michael was laughing too hard to continue. Meanwhile Eric simply stared at the note. Then at the photograph. Then at the cassette. Then at Michael, as if he  suddenly understood something that had nothing to do with fame. Michael hadnât brought a birthday gift. He had brought  years of memories in a box.
Michael found himself studying Eric as well, when nobody was looking. Not intentionally. At least that was what he told himself. The truth was that after hearing about him for months, he couldnât help it. So this was Eric. The mysterious coworker. The man who had somehow become important enough to occupy space in your life. Michael wasnât entirely sure what heâd expected. Not this. Eric was tall. Ridiculously tall, actually. Broad shoulders. Strong hands. The sort of effortless confidence Michael had never felt and probably never would. Worse, he was handsome. Not in a polished way. Just naturally. The kind of man people noticed when he entered a room.
 Michael immediately disliked that observation.
Across the room you were laughing at something Eric had said. Eric smiled, then reached over without even thinking about it. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture lasted less than a second. It was completely innocent and completely natural. But yet for Michael it was completely devastating. Michael looked down at his hands immediately. As though his hands had suddenly become fascinating. Because the alternative was acknowledging the strange sensation that had just settled in his chest. This sharp and  uncomfortable feeling. Something he didnât particularly enjoy.
The worst part? Neither you nor Eric seemed to notice. You didnât react. Eric didnât hesitate. The movement carried the casual ease of a habit. A familiar gesture. The sort of thing people did when they had grown comfortable with each other.
âCan I get you anything?â
Already heading toward the kitchen.
âWhat are you having?â
The question caught Michael off guard. Eric was simply being polite. A good host. The sort of thing you would appreciate.
âUm⌠Orange juiceâÂ
Michael suddenly became very interested in the decorations sitting on the coffee table. Because for reasons he wasnât entirely ready to examine, watching Eric feeling so at home at your place made Michael feel oddly like an outsider. Which was ridiculous. This was you. His oldest friend. The person who had known him before anyone else. Yet for the first time in your lives, Michael found himself sitting in a room where somebody else seemed to belong beside you. Not him. And he discovered he didnât like the feeling.
The cassette player clicked softly. A burst of static filled the room. Then laughter. Young laughter. The kind that only belonged to people who had no idea how complicated life would eventually become. Immediately you covered your face.
Michael looked delighted.
A younger Michaelâs voice echoed through the speakers.
Then your younger voice: âIf you say testing one more time, Iâm leaving.â
âQuiet x/y. I`m working. Iâm an artist.â
Present-day Eric laughed.
Michael looked very pleased with himself.
The tape rolled on. Little pieces of childhood. Inside jokes. Arguments. Bad singing. The sound of Katherine yelling from another room. Someone slamming a door. Then somebody laughing so hard they couldnât breathe. For a while Eric simply listened. Fascinated. Because this wasnât Michael Jackson. Not really. This was just Michael. A kid. A teenager. A best friend. Then the recording changed. The laughter faded. The tape clicked. And suddenly music drifted through the speakers. Just Michael singing quietly. Testing melodies. Trying lyrics. Experimenting.
Suddenly you froze. You remembered this. The song had never been released. Never recorded professionally. Just one of the hundreds of melodies Michael constantly carried around in his head.
On the tape, young Michael stopped singing.
A younger you immediately answered:
âI think the second verse is better.â
âThe first verse is genius.â
âThe first verse is repetitive.â
Then Michael sighed dramatically.
âYou have no idea how this works.â
The tape continued. Then came a moment none of you remembered. Not even Michael.
âThis oneâs for you.â
You gasped. The room suddenly quiet.
âYou say that about every song.â
âBecause every song is for you.â
Young you laughing. Young Michael laughing. The moment passed. The tape moved on. But not before Eric noticed. Not before Michael noticed. Not before you noticed. There was an awkward silence, and the room felt different afterward. Eventually the tape clicked to an end. Silence settled over the room. For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then Eric leaned back slowly. Still staring at the cassette. Still processing. Finally he pointed toward the cassette. Then toward Michael. Then toward you.Â
âYouâve been talking about some Michael for months. You never said Michael who. So apparently this Michael is Michael Jackson? What? You told stories about him eating enourmous amount of cookies.â
âYou told stories about his mother.â
âKatherine is wonderful. She`s like my second momâ
Michael was openly laughing as Eric continued pointing accusingly.
âYou never once mentioned that your childhood best friend is the famous Michael Jackson.â
You shrugged. The answer came so naturally that neither man expected it. âBecause heâs just Michael. Always has been, and always will beâÂ
The room fell quiet. And for the first time all evening, Eric understood. You genuinely meant it. Nobody seemed particularly affected by it. Nobody except Eric. For some reason, he couldnât stop thinking about it.Because Michael said every song is for you.
That sentence lingered in his mind.  Suddenly he was back in the guest room. Paint on his hands. You laughing at him. The radio playing softly in the background. And Eric had talked about Michael Jackson.Â
Eric remembered exactly what heâd said. âThat man looks heartbroken.â
At the time you had gone strangely quiet. He hadnât understood why. Now, sitting there watching you hold all these memories in your hands, he suddenly had an idea.
Eric glanced toward Michael. The superstar had disappeared hours ago. What remained was simply a man watching you smile at an old cassette tape. A man who had apparently kept childhood photographs and faded notes for decades. A man who had shown up unannounced on your birthday carrying a box full of memories.
Eric did not think Michael was in love with you. That would have been ridiculous. Wouldnât it?
No. It was something else. Something harder to define.
Eric suddenly found himself wondering how many songs you had heard before anyone else. How many masterpieces and unfinished melodies. How many pieces of Michael existed only in your memories. The thought sat quietly in his chest. It wasnât jealousy.
Eric began to grasp the sheer size of the history between you and Michael. And suddenly the conversation in the guest room made a little more sense. âHe looked like he was singing to one person.â
At the time, Eric had been talking about heartbreak. Now he wasnât entirely sure heartbreak had been the whole story.
The evening somehow refused to end. Not that anyone seemed particularly eager for it to. The cassette had led to photographs. The photographs had led to stories. The stories had led to more stories. And before anyone realized it, midnight had come and gone.
The birthday cake sat half-finished on the kitchen counter. Empty glasses cluttered the coffee table.Rain still tapped softly against the windows. You sat curled up in the corner of the couch. And you were laughing so hard you were crying while Michael attempted to explain how one of his brothers had once convinced him the house was haunted.
âIt was not haunted.â
âIt was the washing machine.â
âIt was a washing machine.â
Eric looked between you.Â
âYouâve had this argument before.â
âBecause sheâs wrong.â Michael insisted.Â
You rolled her eyes. Then yawned. A big one. The kind that caught you completely by surprise. Immediately both men noticed. Which only made you annoyed.
Another yawn. Michael and Eric exchanged a glance.
Twenty minutes later you were asleep. Curled beneath a blanket. One arm hanging off the couch.
The room grew quieter. Neither man spoke for a while. Both watching to make sure you were actually asleep. Finally Michael smiled.
âShe still does that.â
âFalls asleep pretending she isnât tired.â
Michael nodded. Looking strangely pleased to discover that habit hadnât changed.
For a few minutes the silence returned.Not awkward. Just thoughtful. The comfortable silence of two people who werenât quite strangers anymore. Then Michael leaned back. Looking toward the sleeping figure on the couch.
âYou make her happy.â
The words were unexpected. Eric looked up. Michael wasnât looking at him. Michael was still watching you. As though he hadnât even realized heâd spoken aloud. Michael sounded completely sincere. No teasing. No jokes. No mischief.
Eric wasnât entirely sure how to answer. Eventually he settled on the truth.
Something about the way he said it made Ericâs chest tighten again. This was somebody who had spent decades wanting the best for you.  Somebody protective. Somebody who knew all the versions of you that existed before Eric ever arrived.
Michael finally looked at Eric. Studying him quietly. The same way Eric had been studying him all evening.
âCan I ask you something?â
âWhat do you see in her?â
The question caught him completely off guard. Not because it was hostile. Because it wasnât. Michael sounded genuinely curious. As though he honestly wanted to know. Eric looked toward you. Still asleep. Still completely unaware you were now the subject of discussion. A smile appeared before he could stop it.
Michael listened. Saying nothing. Encouraging Eric to continue.
âMost people pretend.â Eric shrugged. âOr tell you what they think you want to hear.â
Michael smiled. A small smile. Knowing.
Eric laughed. âSometimes itâs terrifying.â
That made Michael laugh too.
âShe sees things.â Michael said.Â
Eric frowned. âWhat do you mean?â
Michael looked toward the rain-streaked windows. Thinking. Searching for words.
âPeople.â He said. âThe things they donât say.â
Something flickered across his face. Briefly. Gone almost immediately. âSheâs always been good at that.â
Eric looked at you. Then back at Michael. Something about that answer lingered. Because it sounded personal. Very personal. As though Michael wasnât speaking in general anymore. As though he was speaking from experience.
The room fell quiet again. Finally Eric smiled.
âFor somebody Iâve never met before tonightâŚâ
ââŚI feel like Iâve known you for a long time.â
Michael laughed. The sound warm and genuine.
âThatâs her fault.â
For the first time all evening, neither man felt threatened. Just thoughtful and strangely connected by one undeniable fact. They both loved the same person. Neither of them fully understood how much. Not yet. But somehow, sitting in the dim light of your living room while you slept peacefully nearby, both sensed that this night would matter far more than any of them realized.
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However,  morning after your birthday, Michael was in a terrible mood. Not that he would admit it. According to him, he was perfectly fine. Everyone else disagreed.
"You've sighed all morning."
Michael looked up from his breakfast. âWhat?" he asked seemingly irritated.Â
"Not every thirty seconds."
Katherine hid a smile behind her coffee cup. Michael immediately noticed.
LaToya burst out laughing.
"Mikey, stop being so grumpy."
Michael shoved another piece of toast into his mouth. Refusing to participate further. Unfortunately that only confirmed everyone's suspicions.
The problem was that Michael genuinely didn't know what was wrong. Every time he tried to pinpoint it, his thoughts returned to your living room. The photographs.The cassette. Eric.
Eric sitting beside you on the couch.
Eric knowing where everything was in your kitchen.
Eric brushing your hair behind your ear.
The memory kept surfacing unexpectedly. And Michael tried hard to shove it away. Only for it to return a few minutes later.
More annoyed than before. He stabbed aggressively at a piece of toast. La Toya watched. Concerned.
Michael sighed. âNow what?"
She leaned forward. âWhat happened? Whatâs wrong Mikey?âÂ
Michael looked toward the window. The conversation should have ended there. Instead La Toya quietly asked: âIs this about x/y?"
Michael immediately stood. âI'm leaving."
âMickeyâ Latoya complained. âDid you two argue?âÂ
The door slammed behind him.
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The rehearsal was even worse. Much worse. By noon half the dancers were terrified. By two o'clock everyone was avoiding eye contact with Michael. He stood in the middle of the stage with his arms folded. Frowning. âNo.â
The choreographer shrugged.Â
At this point nobody had the courage to ask for clarification. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. He was  frustrated. Not with them. With himself.
The problem was he couldn't concentrate. Every song felt wrong. Every dance move looked wrong. Every costume suddenly annoyed him. And worst of all, he knew he was being unreasonable.
A dancer missed a step. Michael snapped.
A crewmember came late.Michael snapped.
Somebody dropped a microphone. Michael snapped again.
The entire room slowly descended into silence and nobody understanding why. Not even Michael.
Finally rehearsal broke for lunch. Michael disappeared into another room. The moment the door closed behind him, he sank into a chair. Exhausted.
You couldn't remember the last time youâd been at a rehearsal. Not properly. Years ago it had been normal. But it has been a while since you spent entire afternoons sitting quietly in the corner while Michael worked. And observing a rehearsal now felt strangely surreal. People were rushing in and out, from one place to another. Music drifting through the room. Everything looked exactly the same, yet completely different.
You stood quietly near the back of the room silently watching for a brief moment.  You felt ten years younger while watching Michael work. That had always fascinated you. The Michael you knew disappeared somehow when under the spotlight. The artist always took over. Every detail mattered. Every movement. Every note. Every light. Perfection was not a goal. It was an obsession. And judging by the atmosphere in the room right now, today's rehearsal was not going well at all. A dancer missed a step. Michael stopped the music. That wasn't unusual, but the way he handled it was. Something felt off.Â
The Michael you remembered could be demanding, but  there was usually joy and gentleness underneath it. Today there was only tension. And as the hours passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly certain of one thing. Michael wasn't angry at the dancers nor the crew. Something else is bothering him.  And nobody seemed brave enough to ask what it was.
Eventually you found him in another room all by himself. Which was probably fortunate. Because if anyone else had been present, they would've immediately fled. That`s how tensed the atmosphere was.
Michael sat in a chair reviewing notes. You leaned against the doorway watching him patiently. You knew him too well to start immediately. Eventually Michael looked up. His expression softened slightly for about three seconds, then returned to a frown.
Michael looked back down at his papers. You remained exactly where you were. Still watching in silence.
"You've been grumpy all day."
The reaction was immediate. Defensive. Far too defensive. Why is everyone saying he was grumpy?
"Not you too. I am not grumpyâ
You stared. Michael stared back. Both with a stubborn and stern look. And both refusing to surrender.
"You're snapping at everybody, Michael."
"You are terrorizing your crew. You made a grown man apologize for just standing at the wrong spot."
Michael opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Because unfortunately that was difficult to defend.
"Okay." He sighed. âMaybe I'm a little stressed."
"A little?, Michael, You`re acting weird."
For the first time, Michael looked away. That worried you more than anything else. Because Michael almost never looked away. Not like that.Â
"That's the biggest lie you've told all day. You know I can tell when you are not telling the truth"
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Michael's mouth. Then disappeared again.
"Hey.â You took a step inside the room.
You watched him carefully. Michael turned his gaze down and stared at the floor. Turning a pencil slowly between his fingers while thinking. Overthinking.
You know that look. For a moment you were transported back years. A younger Michael. The same expression. The same distant look. The same tendency to carry the entire world on his shoulders rather than burden anyone else with it. Some things never changed. You stepped closer.
âYou know you can tell me anything, right?â
âYou donât have to figure everything out by yourself.â
âMichael, You always do this.â
âDisappear into your own head.â
âYou always convince yourself youâre protecting everyone by not sharing your problems.â
âAnd then later I find out youâve been carrying all burden by yourself.â
You reached over. Gently squeezing his shoulder, which is a  familiar gesture. One youâd done a thousand times before
âWhen youâre ready, Iâll listen.â
Michael stared at you. For a moment neither spoke.
Then you sighed once again  âYou donât have to carry everything alone, Michael. I am here for youâ
Something flickered across his face. Briefly. Gone almost immediately. But you saw it. Maybe it was sadness, maybe it was fear. Or even relief. Maybe all three. The problem was you still didnât know why. And judging by the look in Michaelâs eyesâŚ. Neither did he
You know him all too well. Watching him now reminded you of another day, years ago. After yet another rehearsal. The details were fuzzy. But you remember some of it. Michael was around fifteen. You a couple years younger. He was still a boy. But also old enough that the world had already started demanding impossible things from him. Joseph surely did.
You remembered arriving at Hayvenhurst that afternoon. The house had been strangely quiet. No music. No Michael. Everyone avoided eyecontact with eachother. Latoya whispered to you that Michael had ran out of the house in frustration over something Joseph said. Â Eventually you found him outside. Sitting beneath one of the trees. Alone. He was crying. The way people cry when they don't want anyone to know they're crying at all.
You remembered stopping. Unsure what to do. For a moment you considered leaving. Pretending you hadn't seen anything. But you decided to walk over and sat beside him. Neither of you spoke. The silence had stretched. Eventually Michael wiped at his face.
"You don't have to stayâ his lips quivering.
Then silence again. Minutes passing. The afternoon sun filtering through the trees above you. Finally Michael spoke.
"So that's it? You're not going to ask?"
You shrugged. âYou'll tell me if you want toâÂ
Most people wanted explanations. Solutions.Answers. You had simply sat down beside him. After yet another long silence, Michael leaned sideways until his head rested against you shoulder.
You both sat there for almost an hour. No advice. No speeches. No solutions. Eventually Michael stopped crying and started talking, and you have listened.
âI`ll always be here Michaelâ
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Rehearsal ended finally and Michael wasn`t really feeling any better. His mind was wandering to old days, old memoris. Maybe seeing you again triggered all these nostalgia in him. He sat by the window looking out. A storm. That was all it took. One distant rumble of thunder outside Hayvenhurst. And suddenly Michael was sixteen again. Awakened in the middle of the night by a violent crack of lightning and rain hammered against the windows. Wind was rattling the trees outside. For a few moments Michael simply lay there listening.
Then came the knock.Three quick taps followed by silence. Then another knock, more hesitant this time. Michael pulled himself upright. The digital clock beside his bed read 2:47 a.m. just as another flash of lightning lit the room.
The knock came again. Michael climbed out of bed and crossed the room. The moment he opened the door, he froze. You stood in the hallway barefoot, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Your hair was a mess and your eyes were wide. And for perhaps the first time in his life, you looked genuinely frightened.
The sight immediately wiped the smile from his face before another crack of thunder echoed through the house.You flinched visibly and  looked embarrassed for flinching.
Which somehow made it worse.
Your voice was small. Â Unusually small.
Michael immediately stepped aside.
For once you didn't argue. You did not attempt to  make a joke nor insist you were fine. You simply walked into the room clutching the blanket you had with you tighter around yourself. Michael closed the door behind you. The storm growled outside again. You jumped again but  immediately pretended you hadn't.
Michael sat back down on the bed. Eventually you sat too. You kept the blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor. Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes. Then quietly.
"I hate storms, and Latoya is snoring."
Another flash of lightning illuminated the room. you looked toward the window with another worried expression. Â Michael remembered thinking he'd never seen you scared before. And now you looked like you were exhausted from trying to be brave. When another crack of thunder shook the house, you suddenly reached for him instinctively. Your hands finding his, and cletched tightly. Michael looked down , then back up. You were not even trying to hide it anymore.
"For being annoying and waking you up."
Michael stared. Because somehow that was what you were worried about. Not the storm. Not the fear. But because you might have waken him up.
"You don't have to apologize."
You were almost in tears. Another flash came, and another rumble. Your grip tightened again. And finally the words slipped out.
"Don't let go. Micahel, please don`t let go" And you had grabbed on to him.
Michael felt his heart squeeze. Because you`d never sounded like that before. Never asked for anything. Yet here you were, trusting him completely. Michael squeezed your hands immediately.
"I`m here. I'm not going anywhere."
You nodded, but didn't look convinced. The storm outside continued. Thunder rolling across the hills and rain striking the windows. Eventually Michael noticed you were shivering. Not from cold nor tension. Without really thinking about it, he shifted closer.
Gently pulling part of the blanket around both of you. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you leaned against him. The way exhausted people do when they're too tired to keep pretending they're okay. Michael wrapped an arm around you carefully and protectively.And you immediately relaxed.
The change was almost instant.Your breathing slowed and your grip on his hand loosened just enough to tell him you finally felt safe. And for the rest of the night, every time thunder shook the house, Michael felt you move a little closer. Every time. Until eventually you fell asleep against his shoulder still holding his hand.
Michael remembered staying awake long after that listening to the storm and listening to you breathe. He was unwilling to move, because you'd asked him not to let go. He had promised.
Standing in the quiet of Hayvenhurst decades later, Michael closed his eyes. The memory lingered. Warm. Bittersweet. Strangely vivid. And for the first time he found himself thinking about a lyric heâd written years later. A song about two people trying to stay connected and holding on to each other as their anchor. âWhatever happens, don`t let go of my hand.â
The lyrivs had arrived so naturally he hadnât even wondered where it came from. âDonât let go of my hand.â The thought made him pause, before he laughed softly to himself. Because memory was a funny thing. Sometimes it took decades to realize where a song had begun.
The next thing Michael remembered was soft morning sunlight spilling through the curtains. The storm had passed and the house was quiet. For a few blissful seconds, everything felt peaceful. Then he realized he couldn't move. You were still asleep. Curled against his shoulder. Even in your sleep, you had one hand stubbornly wrapped around his. The sight made him smile. After all the panic and thunder and dramatic declarations about certain death by lightning, you`d slept like a rock. Meanwhile he'd barely slept at all.
Carefully, Michael attempted to free his hand and you had immediately tightened your grip. Another attempt. Same result. A sleepy frown appearing on your face.Michael shook his head. Defeated, but smiling.
Then the bedroom door flew open without warning. Without a single knock, Jackie  walked in. He took one look at the bed and froze. Michael froze too, while you remained completely unconscious.
Jackie's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
Michael immediately groaned.
The grin spreading across his brother's face was genuinely terrifying. Jackie pointed.
Unable to form a coherent sentence.
"Would you stop?" Michael hissed.
"Mom is never going to believe this."
"Oh my God. Nothing happened"
Jackie looked at you curled up all against Michael and your hand interwined with his. Then back at Michael. Jackie`s expression said it all.
"Nothing happened." Michael insisted.
"Right." Jackie teased. "Of course not." Jackie grinned as he slowly backed toward the door. "I'm going to tell everybody."
The door slammed shut. His laughter echoing down the hallway. And somewhere in another part of the house, Jackie was undoubtedly already beginning the worst morning of Michael's life. The teasing lasted most of the morning. By lunchtime you both seriously considered running away.
Unfortunately things took a turn for the worse shortly after lunch. Because Joseph found out. Neither Michael nor you ever discovered exactly who told him. Probably Jackie. Possibly Latoya.Potentially the entire household. The point was that Joseph knew. And Joseph was not laughing.
A few minutes later you found Michael standing in Joseph's office looking every bit as uncomfortable as you felt. Joseph sat behind his desk. The atmosphere alone was enough to make the both of you nervous.Neither of you spoke.
"Would either of you like to explain what happened last night?"
Michael immediately answered. "Nothing."
Joseph looked unconvinced.
"You spent the night together in the same room."
Joseph raised an eyebrow. The explanation did not help at all.
"She was scared because of the storm."
Joseph looked at Michael,than at you. Then back at Michael.
Joseph leaned back in his chair. He had a way of making people feel guilty even when they weren't. Joseph had turned to you and questioned.
"Why did you not wake Latoya up? Of all people, you woke Michael? What would've happened if somebody saw you?"
The question caught both teenagers off guard. Joseph sighed. As though the answer were obvious.
Michael felt his stomach tighten. For a while nobody spoke. Then Joseph sighed again.
"If you're frightened, you get somebody else, not Michael."
His eyes settled briefly on you, before he turned his attention back to Michael.
"Just don't give people reasons to invent stories."
The room fell silent. Both of you stared at the floor.
Outside the office, neither spoke for several moments. Then you exhaled slowly.
"I think your father just scared ten years off my life."
For the first time that day, Michael laughed.
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That wasn`t the only time you had got into trouble. Of course not.
The fireflies had appeared in the field behind the house. Hundreds of them. Tiny golden lights floating through the darkness. You had become obsessed immediately.
âWe are not going.â Michael said.
âWe are absolutely going.â
âWe are absolutely not.â
Ten minutes later you were sneaking out a window. Of course, you always managed to somehow convince Michael to do whatever. Â Which, Michael maintained for years afterward, proved you had him around your little finger.
The field had looked magical. Like something from a storybook. Fireflies drifting through the summer air and the smell of grass. For an hour you forgot everything. Just two kids chasing lights in the dark. You were both laughing. You filled glass jars with tiny glowing stars and it had been worth it. Unless right up until you realized how late it was.
The walk back had been significantly less magical. Especially when you saw the lights still on inside Joseph`s office. Michael remembered stopping. Immediately,his stomach dropping. You stopped too. Both knowing exactly what that meant.
Neither of you spoke while you walked inside. The silence felt heavy and you had clutched the jar of fireflies tightly. Michael remembered noticing your hands shaking.
It was not from fear for yourself, but for him. That was the worst part. Even then he knew. You weren`t  worried about getting in trouble. You were worried about him getting in trouble.
Joseph was waiting as expected. The look on his face said everything, and the lecture started immediately. Michael remembered standing there quietly. Looking at the floor. Waiting for it to end. Then suddenly you stepped forward.
âIt was my fault. I made him do itâ
You were standing there trying so hard to be brave.
âIt wasnât Michaelâs idea.â
The words hit him harder than the lecture ever could, because he knew what you were doing. You were trying to protect him. Michael remembered interrupting immediately.
âIt wasnât her fault.â
The argument started right there in front of Joseph. Both trying to take the blame. Neither willing to let the other have it. And Michael remembered your eyes filling with tears. Because you knew exactly what was at stake for him. Possible punishment.
Years later, standing alone in the quiet halls of Hayvenhurst, Michael found himself smiling sadly. Because that was the part he remembered most.You crying because you thought he might get hurt. And somehow as adults you were still doing the exact same thing. Trying to protect each other from things neither of you would ever willingly let the other carry alone.
Michael remembered Joseph told him to stay, and you to leave the room. You didn`t want to but had reluctanly glanced back once before disappearing down the hallway. Clearly worried. Michael tried to smile. It didnât work. The door closed behind you.
Michael stared at the floor. Waiting.
âYou spend too much time with that girl.â
The answer came automatically. Without thought or hesitation. Because it was true.
Joseph looked unconvinced.
âThatâs not the point.â
Joseph hesitated. Searching for the words.
"They don't belong in your world, son."
Michael looked up immediately. Anger flashing for the first time.
"I didn't say there was anything wrong with her."
The interruption only made Michael more frustrated. Because somehow that felt worse.
Then Joseph said something Michael would remember for the rest of his life.
"You are destined to live different lives. She`ll get married to a normal man, have a family. And you my son, you are going to be on stage, you`ll be out there, doing what you know best. Do you want to make her miserable by dragging her from state to state, endless nights in a hotelroom? "
The question hit harder than expected. Michael stared. Not answering. Not entirely understanding why the question bothered him so much.
" You need to stop having her attached to you for all the wrong reasons"
Joseph stood. The conversation clearly over.
ÂŤRehearsals in five. Get ready.Âť
Years later, standing alone in Hayvenhurst, Michael closed his eyes. He remembered the words.
Funny. Back then he'd dismissed it completely. He was sixteen, what did he know? He somehow managed to block those words out. And somehow he'd always assumed there would be time to figure out things.
Yet now...For the first time in decades...Michael found himself wondering if Joseph had seen something neither of you had wanted to see. That eventually, no matter how much history two people shared...
Life kept moving forward.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were laughing when it happened. The kind of laughing that left you breathless. Eric had been telling some ridiculous story from work and acting half of it out while making the other half up. You were still trying to recover when you caught him looking at you. Not smiling. Just looking. The laughter slowly faded. For a moment neither of you spoke. Neither looked away. Something shifted and the air suddenly feeling heavier.
Eric stood. Crossing the room. Your pulse immediately betrayed you . Which was annoying. Because you were a grown woman and entirely capable of behaving normally. Unfortunately Eric chose that exact moment to stop directly in front of you which made behaving normally significantly more difficult.
The confidence caught you off guard even, because Eric was usually careful and patient  Tonight something seemed different. You felt  an unexpected flutter through your  chest. For months youâd danced around each other. Giving each other room. Time. Space. Now, for the first time, you had the distinct feeling neither of you wanted space anymore. The familiar ease between you had gradually become charged with something neither of you were pretending not to notice anymore.
You know," he said quietly.
"I think I've been very patient."
You stared into his blue eyes.Â
The confidence in his voice really hit you hard.  The honesty even more so. Because there was no joke hiding behind the words. Your fingers curled around his collar, drawing him nearer. Without hesitation, he bent down until his forehead touched yours, the space between you disappearing completely.
The word slipped out before you could overthink it.
Before you could talk yourself out of it. Before caution had a chance to interfere. Nervous about your own decision yet excited by it at the same time, you found yourself caught between uncertainty and anticipation. The tension between you was impossible to ignore. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat faster than the last, as if it knew exactly what was about to happen.
For a moment Eric simply stared. Clearly surprised.
Then something shifted in his expression. Tilting your chin toward him, he closed the remaining distance. His lips lingered mere inches from yours, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings and held breath.
You nodded, a trace of uncertainty still lingering in your chest. Even so, you slipped your arms around his neck. His hands settled at your waist, and with effortless ease, he lifted you to your feet. And for the first time all evening neither felt the need to fill the silence. Because some decisions didn't require speeches.
You had always known Eric as funny, easygoing, and occasionally a little clumsy. But tonight, he was none of those things. There was a quiet confidence about him that you had never seen before. He scooped you up into his arms with surprising ease, and for what felt like the first time, you truly noticed just how strong he was.
The realization caught you completely off guard. You had never looked at Eric this way before, never felt this drawn to him. Yet in his arms, feeling the strength of his hold and the steadiness of his gaze, a warm rush spread through you. Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you were suddenly very aware of what was about to happen.Â
The truth was, you had almost no experience with any of this. It wasnât because you couldnât have dated. You were beautiful, and over the years plenty of people had tried to get your attention. There had been invitations, lingering looks, and more than a few admirers. But somehow, none of them had ever mattered.
Not enough to make your heart race. Not enough to make you curious. Not enough to make you wonder what it would be like to be held the way Eric was holding you now. Looking back, you werenât entirely sure why. Maybe it was because, for most of your life, a part of your attention had always belonged to Michael.Whether he was standing beside you or halfway across the world, he had occupied a space in your heart that nobody else had ever managed to reach.
So while other people had fallen in love, dated, and moved on, you had remained strangely untouched by it all. Until now.Â
But you wanted this. Maybe that was what mattered most. It was time to stop standing still. Time to accept that life was moving forward, whether you were ready or not. You werenât a little girl anymore.You couldnât spend the rest of your life waiting for phone calls, fitting yourself around someone elseâs schedule, or convincing yourself that friendship was enough when it left so many questions unanswered.
Michael would always be important to you. He always would be. But he couldnât be your entire future.You needed a life that belonged to you. Your own dreams. Your own choices. Your own story. And maybe, just maybe, that path was finally beginning here.
Looking into Ericâs eyes, feeling his arms around you, you realized this wasnât about replacing anyone. It was about allowing yourself to move forward. To grow. To live. At least thatâs what you were convincing yourself.Â
You woke before sunrise. For a moment you didnât understand why. The house was quiet.  Then you felt the weight of an arm draped loosely around your waist.
And remembered. You opened your eyes. Eric was still fast asleep. The sight made something unexpectedly tender settle in your chest. Because somehow seeing him asleep felt more intimate than anything else. You found yourself studying him for a moment. The rise and fall of his breathing. The faint crease between his brows. The fact that despite his size he somehow looked smaller when he slept.
All this should have made you happy. Instead it left you strangely emotional. Because suddenly you realized this wasnât a chapter. It was a direction. Beside you, Eric stirred slightly. His hand finding yours without opening his eyes. Pure instinct. You looked down at your joined hands. Another hand flashed through your memory. Years ago. A storm. A promise. Donât let go.
The memory vanished as quickly as it came. Leaving behind only a strange ache you couldnât quite identify.
You stared at the ceiling. You had never been more certain about Eric. Yet somehow you had never felt more uncertain about yourself. Yet the irony wasnât lost on you. In trying to create distance between yourself and Michael, you had somehow ended up missing him more than ever. You had convinced yourself that stepping back would make things easier. That focusing on your own life, your own career, and your own relationships would finally loosen the hold he had on your heart.Â
Instead, the opposite seemed to happen. The less you saw him, the more aware you became of his absence. It was in the small moments that it hit the hardest. When something funny happened and your first instinct was to call him. When a song came on the radio and reminded you of a memory only the two of you shared. When you caught yourself looking for him in a crowd, despite knowing he couldnât possibly be there. He had been woven so deeply into your life that trying to pull away felt like trying to separate part of yourself. And no matter how determined you were to move forward, there were moments when you found yourself wondering if Michael missed you too. Or if you were the only one feeling the emotional distance.Â
A few tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them. Not long ago, Michael had called at all hours. Sometimes for a reason, sometimes for no reason at all. He would tell you about a new song, complain about rehearsals, ask your opinion on an outfit, or simply call because he was bored and wanted to hear your voice.
Now there was nothing. No unexpected phone calls. No messages. No invitations to stop by Hayvenhurst. Nothing. The last time you had seen him was at your birthday and after that rehearsal. The day you had found him angry at the world. Angry at the dancers. Angry at the crew. Angry at himself. And, if you were being honest, perhaps a little angry at you too. And now the silence seemed to be growing wider every day. You wiped at your eyes, took a glance at Eric and rolled over on the other side.Â
Part of you wanted to pick up the phone immediately.
To call Michael.  To hear his voice.To make sure he is ok.  But another part of you hesitated. What if Michael wasnât calling because he was finally doing what you had been trying so hard to do yourself? Move on?Â
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You might not have been wrong. Because Michael was a mess. Back at Hayvenhurst, he had retreated so deeply into himself that even his family had begun to notice. Most days he disappeared into work before anyone else was awake. Some nights he never came to bed at all.  The studio had become both his refuge and his prison. When he wasn't rehearsing, he was writing. When he wasn't writing, he was listening to recordings. When he wasn't listening to recordings, he was planning, perfecting, revising, obsessing. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Anything to stop himself from thinking.
Yet no matter how hard he worked, his thoughts always found their way back to you. He was constantly lost in memory. Sometimes he picked up the phone without even realizing it. Only to set it down again.
The rehearsal incident lingered in his mind more than he cared to admit. Not because you had been cruel. You hadn't. The problem was that you had been right.
And Michael hated when people saw through him.
Especially you. Because you always did. You had looked past the anger, past the frustration, past the impossible standards he demanded from everyone around him. You had seen exactly what he had been trying to hide. And ever since then, he hadn't known how to talk to you. So instead, he buried himself in work. But the silence wasn't helping. If anything, it was making everything worse.Because with every day that passed, he found himself wondering what you were doing. Whether Eric was making you laugh. Whether you thought about Michael at all. And those thoughts followed him long after the studio lights had gone dark.
The phone rang late on a Tuesday evening.You almost ignored it. But when you picked up the receiver, a familiar voice greeted you.
You smiled despite yourself.
"Don't 'LaToya' me," she replied immediately. "What is going on?"
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
"There is no Michael and me."
You could practically hear her rolling her eyes through the phone.
"I grew up with both of you. Don't insult my intelligence."
"No. Seriously. What happened?"
When you didn't answer immediately, her voice softened.
"I haven't seen you around since Michael came home from tour."
"That's funny," LaToya said dryly. "Because Michael has been busy too."
Something in her tone made your chest ache.
The question escaped before you could stop it.
Your heart immediately sank.
"I mean he's working himself into the ground."
"He barely comes out of the studio. Barely sleeps. Barely eats unless Mother practically drags him to the table."
"Maybe he's just stressed."
Her voice became quieter.
"Or maybe he misses his best friend."
The words landed directly in your chest.
You looked away, blinking rapidly.
"I don't even know anymore, Latoya."
LaToya was silent for a moment. Then she spoke gently.
"I think you're both idiots."
A surprised laugh escaped you.
You could hear her shifting on the other end.
"Michael misses you too much to call."
"And you miss him too much to stop waiting for him to."
After a long pause, LaToya sighed dramatically.
"You know," she said softly, "I miss you too."
The confession caught you off guard.
"I do. You're family, whether you like it or not."
A small smile tugged at your lips.
"There are entire weeks, months, now where I don't see you. Mom asks about you. Janet asks about you. Even Randy asked where you'd disappeared to."
"That should tell you how serious this is."
But LaToya's voice soon grew serious again.
"I'm not calling because I miss you, though."
The smile faded from your face.
"I'm calling because Michael is spiraling."
"He won't talk to anybody," she continued. "Not really. He acts like everything is fine, but he isn't."
"He throws himself into work until he's exhausted, then gets angry because he's exhausted. He barely sleeps. Half the time he looks like he's somewhere else entirely."
"And every time someone mentions your name, he goes completely quiet."
Your chest tightened painfully.
The concern in her voice was unmistakable now.
"Can I ask you something?"
"This guy Eric, are you sure about him?"
The question came so suddenly that you blinked.
"Eric. Your boyfriendâÂ
Her voice was careful now.
"Are you sure about him? âÂ
You shifted uncomfortably.
"X/y, for Godâs sake, I didn't ask if you liked him."
The response was immediate.
"Then what are you asking?"
"I'm asking if this is really what you want."
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Somehow you couldn't bring yourself to answer immediately and LaToya noticed.
"That's what worries me."
Latoya always had a way to understand without you saying anything out loud.Â
"X/y, don't choose someone just because you're trying to convince yourself you need to move on."
The words struck deeper than you wanted them to.
âIâm not convincing myself of anything,â you said quietly.
You stared out the window, watching the evening darkness settle outside.
âMichael is my best friend. He always will be.â
âHe knows me better than almost anyone. Heâs been part of my life for so long that I canât imagine a world where he isnât in it.â
You paused before continuing.
âBut look at him, LaToya.â
A small smile appeared despite the ache in your chest.
âEverything he ever dreamed about. The records, the tours, the performances. All those nights he spent talking about what he wanted to achieveâŚâ
âHeâs actually doing it.â
There was pride in your voice. Genuine pride.
âI remember when he used to sit for hours talking about the future. About becoming the biggest artist in the world. About changing music. About proving himself.â
âAnd I donât want to be the person who holds him back from any of that.â
The words felt more honest than anything else you had said that evening.
âHis life is moving forward.â
You looked down at your hands.
âAnd mine should too.â
âBut thatâs not the only reason.â
âYou know what itâs like now.â
âBeing Michael Jacksonâs friend.â
The words hung heavily between you. You let out a slow breath.
âPeople stare. They speculate. They make things up. Every time Iâm seen with him, somebody has a theory.â
You laughed softly, though there was no humor in it.
âOne week Iâm secretly dating him. The next week Iâm using him. Then Iâm standing in the way of his career. Then Iâm not good enough for him, cause I am just a simple girl. No glamour or classâÂ
âNo, you really donât.â
You immediately regretted the sharpness in your voice.
You rubbed your forehead.
âIâm a schoolteacher, LaToya. I have a normal life. Or at least Iâm trying to.â
âI canât walk into a grocery store and have strangers analyzing my relationship with my best friend.â
âI canât have reporters showing up. I canât have people treating every conversation, every visit, every photograph like itâs some kind of public event.â
For a moment neither of you spoke.
âI am not built for that.â
The admission felt painfully vulnerable.
âMichael can handle it because he has no choice. Heâs lived with it his whole life.â
âI want him to have everything heâs ever dreamed of.â
âI just donât know if I can survive standing in the spotlight beside him while he gets there.â
LaToya was silent for several seconds.
âYou know what Michael says?â
âThat none of it means anything if he doesnât have the people he loves there to share it with.â
LaToya continued before you could respond.
âFor someone whoâs trying very hard not to hold him back, youâve somehow forgotten that nobody is forcing him to keep you in his life.â
The words landed squarely in your chest.
âMichael wants you in his life. He chooses you.â
You closed your eyes. Because that was the problem, wasnât it? You knew he would. You just werenât sure the rest of the world ever would.
LaToya was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than it had been all evening.
âYou know, Iâve spent most of my life watching my brother make sacrifices.â
âHe sacrifices privacy. Freedom. Time. Normal experiences.â
There was no bitterness in her voice. Only sadness.
âThe things most people take for granted.â
âHe never complains about it.â
âNo,â LaToya agreed. âBecause he believes itâs worth it.â
The room fell silent. Then she added quietly:
âAnd sometimes life is about sacrifices for the people we love.â
âDo you really? listen to me.â
Her voice remained gentle.
âIâm not saying you should give up your life for Michael.â
You heard her shift on the other end of the phone.
âIâm saying that every meaningful relationship comes with sacrifices.â
âIf you love someone, sometimes you accept things you never thought you could handle.â
The words settled heavily between you.
âMaybe that means dealing with distance.â
âMaybe it means making time when life gets busy.â
âMaybe it means facing fears you wish you didnât have.â
You didnât answer. Because part of you knew she wasnât only talking about friendship anymore.
âAll Iâm saying is thisâŚâ
Her voice became almost tender.
âBe careful that youâre not walking away from something precious simply because itâs difficult to handle.â
A lump formed in your throat.
âMichael has spent his whole life fighting for the things he loves.â
âAnd whether you realize it or not, youâve always been one of those things.â
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then LaToya laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood.
âAnyway, thatâs enough wisdom for one night.â
âAnd for the record?â
âCall him. Please x/y. I love my brother too much to see him suffer like thisâÂ
The line clicked dead. And for a long time afterward, you sat alone in the quiet living room, staring at the telephone beside you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For nearly twenty minutes, you stared at the telephone.
Then, before you could change your mind, you picked it up and dialed. The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Your heart immediately clenched.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence felt strange. As if both of you were waiting for the other to say something first.
âHi,â you finally said.
His voice was quiet. Tired. You could hear it immediately.
The answer came too quickly. Michael had never been good at lying to you.
It wasnât convincing. The atmosphere between you felt tense. Not angry. JustâŚSad. Like two people standing on opposite sides of a river neither knew how to cross.
âI talked to LaToya.â
Of course that got a reaction. A quiet groan escaped Michael.Â
âShe has no buisnessâŚâŚ.I knew she was up to something.â
âSheâs worried about you.â
âShe worries too much.â
âNo. She doesnât. She cares about youâÂ
Another silence. This one longer. You found yourself gripping the phone tighter.
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Complete silence. For a moment you wondered if the line had disconnected.
Just one word. Barely above a whisper.
But somehow it hurt more than if he had said nothing at all.
You tried to maintain calm and not start crying.Â
âI was thinking maybe we could meet.â
Immediately, you felt him retreat. Like a door quietly closing.
âYouâre always busy.â
He didnât answer. Because you were right.
âMaybe another time.â
The words sounded forced. Like he was reading them from a script. Your heart sank.
âDo you not want to see me? Everything was fine at my birthday, what changed?
âMaybe we could meet tomorrow?" you suggested carefully.
"I can't." The answer came immediately.
"Okay... what about this weekend?"
Your grip tightened around the phone. Every answer came too quickly. As though he'd already decided before you'd even asked.
The exhaustion in his voice was obvious now.
Another pause. Longer this time. You stood from the couch and paced across the room.
"For ten minutes you've been giving me excuses."
Silence. Your heart sank.
"Look, if you're angry with me, just say it."
"I'm not angry. Why would I be?âÂ
Nothing. Just silence. The kind that hurt more than shouting ever could.
His voice finally returned.
"I've just got a lot going on right now."
"You always have a lot going on."
The words came out sharper than intended.
"That never stopped you before."
The silence that followed felt dangerous. Because for the first time, you could hear his patience beginning to crack.
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"The truth is that I have work to do."
The coldness in his voice startled you.
"People are counting on me."
The question was sharper than anything he'd said so far. You stood completely still.
"I don't think you understand what my life is like anymore."
The words hurt. You swallowed hard. His breathing was audible through the line. Uneven. Frustrated. Like he was fighting a battle with himself. Finally he spoke.
"Maybe things can't stay the way they were."
He stopped. Then he laughed bitterly. Not at you.At himself.
"It means maybe we're both trying too hard to hold onto something that's already changing. Maybe even gone for goodâÂ
The words struck like a slap. For several seconds you couldn't speak. Because this wasn't the conversation you'd imagined. You had worked up the courage to call him. To fix things. To bridge the distance. And instead he is pulling away even more.Â
"Is this really what you want?" you asked quietly.
And for one terrible moment, you thought he might answer yes. Instead, his voice came back strained.
"I don't know what I want."
Then, just as quickly, the walls went back up.
"I need to get back to workâÂ
Then Michael said the one thing that hurt most. Not because it was cruel. Because it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"You don't need me as much as you think you do."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The words lingered in the air. And before you could answer, before you could ask him whether he believed them himself, you heard him take a shaky breath on the other end of the line. As if saying them had hurt him too. And then the line went dead.Â
The moment the call ended, Michael remained frozen.
The receiver was still in his hand. The dial tone hummed quietly against his ear. He didnât move.
Didnât breathe. Didnât think. For several long seconds, he simply stood there staring at nothing. Then his fingers loosened. The receiver slipped from his hand and swung against the side of the desk.
Michael lowered his head. What had he just done?
He had spent time missing you. Spent time wondering if you would call. Spent every waken moment replaying every conversation, every memory, every mistake. And the moment you finally reached out, he had pushed you away.
And everything had gone so well. He handled things so well meeting Eric. Somehow he had managed to spiral afterwards.Â
He had wanted to see you. God, he had wanted to see you. Part of him had wanted to get in the car immediately. To drive to your house. To see you. To make things right.  To pretend none of this had happened.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
The word came out as a whisper.
The studio suddenly felt suffocating. The notebooks. The unfinished songs. The awards lining the shelves. All of it felt meaningless. Because none of it had stopped him from feeling this alone.
A sharp ache rose in his chest. Before he realized it, tears were sliding down his face. He wiped them away angrily. Then more came. And more.The effort of holding everything together for a long time finally gave way. He sank into the chair behind the piano and buried his face in his hands. The tears came harder now. Silent at first. Then accompanied by shaky breaths he couldnât control.
Everything he had been trying to outrun through work crashed into him at once. Somewhere deep down, Michael had convinced himself that if he rejected you first, it would hurt less than being left behind. But sitting there alone in the dark studio, he finally understood something.
