ashanti

You and him have been friends for a good few years now, having met him just a little before his 'Off The Wall' album release. Accidentally bumping into the then-twenty year-old-star in a record store of all places, a few apologies were exchanged before your eyes noticed the Donna Summer album in his hands. That led to further conversations ranging from talking about how good Donna Summer's latest single is, to Michael showing you the Bee Gees album he's planning on purchasing, and somehow ends with you playing a record of Blondie's on the store turntable to make him listen to the B-sides.

It was a whole hour and a half before a burly looking gentleman kindly reminded Michael he had other affairs to tend to, and after eagerly sharing each other’s contact details, you got home urgently to listen to the newly bought records of Jackson Five. 

From then on, you've been calling and exchanging letters with Michael non-stop. Postcards from the different states he’s touring in, long distance telephone calls when his shows end, and everything in between. He finds a way to contact you so often that when his mother knew of you, she asked you to come over for one of their family gatherings. That's likely when it's been established that you and Mike are pretty much best friends. 

You were lucky enough to witness Michael at his most focused when he was working on final touches to Off The Wall, changing musical tunes during late nights in the studio. Memories of celebrating with him when said album won the Grammys, as well as the AMAs. There’d even been numerous times where you got to come to his shows during the Triumph Tour with his brothers. It’s been well over four years since you met, and at this point he’s the only person to truly know you inside and out.

A quick snap out of your thoughts when the bathroom lights turn off, and Michael steps out as he dries his curls with a towel. He’s been out the whole day doing… whatever it is pop stars do during their spare time, only reaching home about half an hour after you already made yourself a cup of tea to heal from a long day at the diner. You don’t even know how it got to the point where you can just waltz into Michael’s home without him even being there, but it’s better not to question much about it. 

Michael walks around the bedroom, shifting things as he gets ready for bed. Glancing at you, his eyes soften. "Tired, baby?" He asks gently. 

"Mhm," you hum in response, sinking further into the blankets. "Had the worst customers today. I don't even care about the no tipping, y’know? The thing that’s bugging me is why the hell were they drinking fifteen shots of espresso at 9.30PM? And God... One of them had a rat-tail, Mike. I sure hope it doesn't become a thing because it's just so unfortunate to witness." 

A soft chuckle escapes him, warming your heart. You continue ranting, “Mike, that one mean woman who comes for coffee every lunchtime? She got to the diner late, and then proceeded to blame me for making her late because by the time her food arrived, her break was almost ending. Can you even believe that?” 

Michael clicks his tongue, getting on the bed. Making himself comfortable, he pulls you in and wraps his arm around your back, your head laying atop his chest. "I told you to please just stop working there. I can take care of you, baby. You know that. We'd be just fine and you can do whatever it is you want." 

Shaking your head vehemently, you nudge at his chest. "No way, Mike. I can handle myself. I'm a responsible adult. I'm a strong, independent woman, y'know?" 

"I know you are, beautiful. I'm just tellin' you that I can help while you look for somethin' you'd actually enjoy. Not that horrible diner place. You deserve so much better," Michael says as he leaves soft kisses on your temple. 

You melt at his touch and close your eyes. Murmuring, "Thank you, Mikey. It's just hard leaving Daisy all by herself. The others are so mean to that poor kid." 

"Hell, I'll hire her for somethin' if it means you're out of that damn place," Michael grumbles as he shifts and pulls you closer. 

Snickering quietly, you hush him before kissing his jaw, "That's enough out of you, hm?” 

“I'm serious, sweetheart. That job is stretching you thin, and I'm not liking any second of it. I'm just worried about you,” Michael looks at you with furrowed brows, thumb stroking your cheek. 

Michael has never not worried about you, you think. The man has protective tendencies towards everyone he cares for, but it's been noted by many that whenever you're in the picture, it's as if it gets dialed up to the maximum level. One of the most insane things he's done so far was that he had three extra secure locks installed at your front door when you first moved into your apartment, and despite it being against the rules, the landlord couldn't really argue with the Michael Jackson over his loved one's safety. 

You respond quietly, “I know, Michael. Don't worry too much. I got everything handled, okay? I'm looking for job openings as we speak.” 

“If you'd just consider the fact that I know many people in all kinds of businesses, baby–” 

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Uh-uh, I'm not doing this again. Mikey, I don't want to take advantage of you for this. I'm doing this myself because that's the right thing to do.” 

“It's not taking advantage, it's called networking,” Michael sighs. 

Shaking your head again, you shift to make yourself more comfortable against his chest. “No helping, Michael. Not unless I'm absolutely desperate. Which I'm not… yet.” 

He sighs again, silent for a moment before kissing your head. “Fine. But I'm tellin' you right now. The minute you want to quit, go on ahead and don't hesitate. You got me, you know that right?” 

“Yes, I do.” A small smile forms on your face, eyes closing slowly. “Goodnight, Mike.” 

"Goodnight, baby," he wishes, shifting down slightly as he gives a peck on your lips before burying his head into your neck. Murmuring softly, “Love you.”  

“Love you,” you reply, already out of it. The room’s silence filled with only the sounds of you and him breathing in sync, and the TV playing the end credits of Roman Holiday. 

Despite the quiet, your mind races. 

Okay. You're aware of how it seems between the both of you. It’s been mentioned by a few who witness your dynamic and you’re aware of how weird and frankly, even disturbing for friends to be this close. Cuddling is one thing, but kissing on the lips and saying ‘I love you’s are on a totally different level. It doesn't really occur to you when that has evolved. As far as you're concerned, he just started calling you sweet names one day and became more physically needy than usual. 

It happened around after he returned from his tour in Europe, so you figured they really weren't joking about how Europeans are more touchy. Well, that's what the travel magazines say anyway. 

With that, you leave it be. In retrospect, you're never one to turn down any physical affection from Michael. And deep down you know it gives you butterflies, but you remind yourself daily to just ignore it.

So you do. Remind yourself, that is. Without fail. 

It gets a lot more difficult each day, if you're being honest with yourself. On some days, it feels almost impossible. Especially when he gets so touchy and soft. Holding your waist as he talks to his brothers. Firmly holding your hand when he walks down the studio hallways. Even during the little days when he has free time and instead of doing something more worthwhile with someone more important, he'd persuade you to come stay at his house and play all kinds of board games.

You beat him at Connect Four every time, by the way. 

Once having realized the risk of this becoming a huge problem if you don't handle the… pool of feelings swirling in your gut… and how it would lead to everything crumbling down, you knew you had to do something.

That's why, after much pressure from your boss, Janine, you're going on a blind date with her nephew. 

“He'll be just the perfect man for you, doll,” she said to you so excitedly. In fact, so excitedly that you couldn't really turn her down. It's set for the day after tomorrow, and you still haven't told Michael.

Make it work first, see the guy first. See how things go before saying anything to Mike. That's your plan. It'd be a waste of time if the date didn't work out and you got Michael's hopes up regarding your love life for no reason at all.

How on Earth would you even start? Michael knows you're not exactly the type of person to go on just any blind date. He'd ask. And what could you answer? That you're falling in love with him more every single day that passes? That you're only doing this to get over it? 

Absolutely not.

•

Mornings with Michael are always the epitome of domesticity at its finest. Both of you are hanging around the kitchen. Michael is sitting at the kitchen island, with only intentions of accompanying you, who's currently craving a bowl of freshly sliced fruit. 

“Hey, baby? I'm gonna be home late again. Q called and said somethin’ about some adjustments the album needs. You got anything planned for today?” Michael asks, eyes focusing on his book of notes. Hand gripping on a pencil, eager to underline or scratch words about whatever it is he's working on. He writes down any important pieces from meetings, or anything that comes to mind about a lyric or a tune. You call it his ‘book of wonders’, and Michael laughs it off with a shy blush every time. 

“What more adjustments does it need? I think the album is already perfect!” You scoff. 

Michael laughs quietly and shrugs, “I think he's gonna cut another song from the final tracklist. Been drivin’ me crazy with that.”

Pointing at him briefly, you press your words firmly. “Don't let him cut Billie Jean, Mike. I swear to God.” 

“I promise I won't. Not Billie Jean,” Michael snorts, “Anyway baby, your plans? For today?” 

You hum absentmindedly, too distracted with cutting up some apple slices for your fruit bowl. “I’m going out later. Thinking about doing some shopping.” You're off work today and tomorrow, so there's plenty of time to get ready and make yourself beautiful for the stranger you're about to go on a date with. 

God, everything is so silly.

“Ooh, somethin’ special going on? You never shop for yourself spontaneously. I always have to beg for you to do that,” Michael asks, getting up from his seat and walking up to you. Hands snaking around your waist, chin resting on top of your shoulder as he takes a gander on the bowl of fruit snacks you're making for yourself. 

“Looks like heaven, doesn't it?” You ask with a teasing grin, gesturing towards the bowl. 

“No, angel. You do,” he replies with a kiss on your temple. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Oh, that. Well…” You shrug, “Maybe, maybe not. We'll have to wait a bit and then you'll get your story, hm?” 

“Hmm… Okay, I'll bite. I'll be waitin’ for some kind of update soon, okay?” 

“I promise,” you say. 

Michael nods with a smile, tilting down and softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart lurches as you hesitantly kiss him back. Not two seconds later though, he pulls away with a grin when a knock comes onto the door. “That's Bill. Hold on, baby.” 

As he walks away, you take a minute to gather yourself. Breathing deeply, you groan at the delusional path your heart was heading down. What was that kiss? Jeez, Europe really did a number on him. 

Turning back to the bowl of fruit, you rethink how good of an idea it is to actually go on this damn blind date. 

•

“I’m telling you, Daisy, what if this is a bad idea?” You hiss in desperation into the telephone. 

You’re back in your own apartment, surrounded by messy piles of clothing. It’s almost 10PM and the thing is, what you should be doing is some facial care before the date tomorrow, but instead you’re currently freaking out on Daisy. You were supposed to be back at Michael’s. But then. During your retail run, you belatedly realized it’s almost impossible to sleep at Michael’s the night before your blind date.

One, he would try to heckle his way into knowing what you’re going to be up to. 

Two, you would immediately give in to him and tell him everything. 

Three, after all of that, he’d question your sudden urge to date.

And finally, you’d have to tell him you’re doing it to get over your stupid feelings for him. 

Ruining your friendship with Michael would have to be the worst thing that you could do to your life. 

So that’s how you end up back in your own space, though the comfort you felt at Michael’s is sorely missed. Picking up a nearby sweater, you throw it across the room to the ‘No’ pile. “What if the date turns out really well but it’s just my subconscious self making it work to forget about Mike? That wouldn’t be fair to Janine’s nephew.”

“Okay, first of all, if your subconscious self is making it work, that’s a good thing. At least some part of you have an effort to try. Second, it’ll be exactly perfect if you got over Michael. I mean… c’mon, you’ve been friends for years. If he hasn’t made his move by now, then he never will.”

‘Well yeah, but if I told you he kisses me almost every day, you’d probably be saying something different,’ the thought runs through your head silently. Blinking away your delusions, you sigh, “What if Janine’s nephew thinks I’m too breezy?”

Daisy laughs, “Girl, you’re not as breezy as you think you are. And even so, breezy is in now. You’d be having him drooling all over ya’.” 

A brief pause. 

“You keep saying ‘Janine’s nephew’,” Daisy says, “Girl, do you even know what his name is?”

Shameful heat blushes your neck, grimacing silently, mind running to remember. 

“Uhm… Kevin… what’s-his-name?”

Shrieking laughter from the other side of the telephone makes you flinch in shock. You’re telling her off, whining as Daisy repeats to herself the word Kevin. “It’s Calvin, girl,” she corrects you, chortling unabashedly. “Calvin Johnson, Janine’s sister’s son. Remember that before you embarrass yourself tomorrow night.”

“But Daisy! What if it’s a bad idea?”

“Listen to me. Calvin is also being set up, right? He’s probably just as nervous as you are. And he doesn’t know you yet. If you somehow don’t hit it off, which I seriously doubt because, well, don’t tell Janine this, but she’s a killer matchmaker, I mean, hello? Douglas from the kitchen and Jake from the laundromat across the street? Who the heck expects that? Anyway, if you somehow don’t hit it off, he won’t be hurtin’ and cryin’ in the ditch somewhere. He’s fine, and so are you. Just do this.”

You bite your lip, “Daisy…”

She immediately cuts you off. “The main reason why you’re still apprehensive is because you want to know what Michael thinks. And he probably would not give you the input you secretly want. I love you, really I do, but it’s time to acknowledge the fact that nothing seems to be blossoming there. You deserve the world, babe... You can go try and gettin’ it yourself instead of waitin’ around for someone to give it to you.”

Listening to her gentle voice, you fiddle with the string of pearls on your corner table. Sitting back on the couch, looking at the mess in front of you while the words she says slowly take root in your mind. Daisy is right. You’ve spent years trying to hollow out your feelings, ignoring whatever is growing inside the crevices of your heartstrings whenever you look at Michael, forgetting those sneaky thoughts of what it would be like to have him as your boyfriend, husband, the lover of your life. All of that, you’ve been pushing down so deep, and the fact that Michael is so openly and brazenly affectionate with you starts to feel a little insulting. Here you are, absolutely spiraling from every single touch shared, and yet, for him it’s just another friendly peck. Everything he does means the whole world to you, but why doesn’t it seem to mean much to him?

You’re aware you’re being unfair. Michael doesn’t owe you anything. All he asks from you is a loyal companionship, be it in a platonic way. He never expressed intentions of something more, at least not officially. It’s your own fault for developing feelings. You can’t be mad at him.

You can never be mad at Michael. Not when all he’s done for you is provide love and unconditional support. 

After a few more minutes of slow conversation with Daisy, you tell your goodbyes after reassuring her you won’t back out on the blind date. Heaving a deep sigh, you get up from the couch and start cleaning up your mess. Already deciding on what to wear for tomorrow night, you’re determined to never have to look at a piece of stray clothing ever again because it will absolutely slay you if you did. You haven’t been this fashion anxious since forever ago. Having Michael as a friend has its perks, and one of them is receiving endless fashion tips; that actually works for you. 

And obviously, Michael should be no such help for this particular instance. 

The landline rings and you pick it up, half assuming it’s Daisy to convince you to not back out again. The girl has such little faith in you, you scoff. 

“Daisy, I promise—”

“It’s Michael.”

Your eyes widen briefly before a soft laugh escapes you, “Oh, hey, Mike.”

“Where are you?” he asks, voice sounding a little stiff. Momentarily freezing, your head tilts in confusion over his tone.

“I’m at home, why?”

“No, you’re not. I know this because I’m calling from home. I thought you’re staying here tonight?” Michael asks.

“Oh, I thought you’re supposed to come home late tonight?” You ask him. 

Michael replies with the same stiff tone, “I got out early, Q just wanted to get rid of Billie Jean and I chewed him off and got out of there before he could jump me. Baby, you’re not home. Why?”

“I meant I’m at my home, Mike. And because I figured I had to stay here at least for tonight, the space is literally about to gather dust.”

“That’s never stopped you before?” he argues.

Letting out a nervous laugh, you say, “Mike, maybe it’s because I don’t want you to get sick of me—”

“That’s a bunch of bull, sweetheart. C’mon, what’s happenin’? Please, baby, tell me,” Michael pleads, voice almost upset. “You’re supposed to be here with me. I want you here.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sensing the upcoming begging and persuading coming from him. Firmly reminding yourself that no matter what pretty words he says, you’re putting your foot down and not surrendering to him. Regardless how tempting it is.

How insanely tempting.

“I’m sorry, Mike. It’s just so late already, you know?” You try to deflect. 

“Who said anything about you drivin’? I’ll get Bill to drive you, I’ll call him right now—”

“Wait, Mike, don't!" You exclaim. “Poor Bill needs his rest. And so do you. Mike, we can sleep apart for one night.”

“We can but I’d rather not, baby…” he replies, almost completely quiet. “Is something the matter? You usually tell me when you’re not coming over.”

Slapping your palm to your forehead, you let out a soft gasp. “Of course! Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry. It completely slipped my mind. I was too distracted from the– from today! I’m sorry, honey, I should have given you some kind of note.”

Michael hums, “That’s okay… Just… Don’t you want to come over?” 

Hearing his desperate tone, you almost stood up to grab your keys right then and there. Fighting against the strong urge, you sigh out and try to ignore the heavy guilt inside, “Mike, I’d love to but it’s late. Please rest. I promise I’ll see you the day after tomorrow okay?”

“Woah, hang on, why not just tomorrow?”

A tugging of your bottom lip, you think of what to say. You genuinely can’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. You don’t want to risk it. Not if he’s going to interrogate you until you confess your undying love for him. Gosh, your head feels as if it’s about to explode.

“Because I’m gonna be doing something tomorrow. Remember the little update?”

“Why can’t you just tell me now? Or tomorrow night?” Michael almost pleads. 

“Mike, please don’t make this harder for me,” you tell him, whining. “I promise, promise, promise I’ll tell you the day after tomorrow. Please?”

A beat of silence. 

“I can’t…” he starts so timidly.

You hum in question, “You can’t what, Mike?”

A clearing of his throat before he replies, voice firmer, “Nothing. Okay, baby. I’ll wait until the day after tomorrow to see you, but I’m callin’ you tomorrow midnight. I need to hear your voice and I need to know you’re at home safe.”

“Okay, Michael. That’s very sweet of you.”

He only hums in response. Furrowing your brows, you ask him. “Mike, are you alright?”

“I just miss you so much, baby,” he replies after a short second. He says it so earnestly, your cheeks warm up. 

“We just saw each other this morning,” you softly remind him with a laugh.

“I don’t care.”

You smile softly, finger coiling with the landline wire. “I miss you too, Mikey. I’ll see you, okay?”

“Don’t forget to call.”

“I won’t!”

“You better not… Go to sleep. Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mike. Goodnight.”

Hanging up, you let out the deepest sigh you could muster. Plopping your head on the back of the couch and staring off into space, you wonder why Michael is taking it so hard about you sleeping in your own apartment. 

•

Taking a sip from your wine glass, you smile politely as Kev– Calvin tells his story. Sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant is honestly not what you expected, but when he stood in front of your doorstep dressed in a black suit and tie, that would have been your first hint. You’re immediately relieved about choosing the dark, sleek dress that was purchased spontaneously the day before. 

“And then my boss just went off on him, I did nothin’ but walk away, it was so bad,” he laughs. Calvin Johnson has a really cute laugh. He was pretty, too, you think. His hazel eyes gleam brightly and he knows how to land a joke. He orders good food and good wine. His voice is pleasant and deep. He dresses nice. 

But… nothing. You feel absolutely nothing.

Here you are, dinner with the perfect gentleman who knows to compliment, and you’re feeling absolutely nothing. Your mind is just filled with thoughts of what Michael would have done if he saw the waiter passing by with mismatched neon socks, or what Michael would have ordered if the menu only consisted of fourteen different types of spaghetti, if he would have vomited and just starved altogether, or what Michael would have said to you when you pointed out the painting of the restaurant’s owner at the entrance that resembled Gene Kelly. Michael, Michael, Michael. It’s like he’s taken over your life the more you try to forget about your feelings. 

You’re immediately being consumed by guilt at the thought of hurting Janine and her nephew. They are both really nice and warm people, and you’re returning the favour by playing games. Michael would have been so disappointed. He probably would enjoy talking to Calvin. Maybe if it doesn’t work between you and Calvin, and you’re being real honest here, it definitely won’t, you could introduce him to Michael. They already have the musically talented section in common. Only Calvin was more towards classical instruments. Well, maybe they could read music sheets together. 

Biting your lip, you realize you’re only thinking of things that include Michael to help you go through this date. And that only makes you feel worse. You’re a terrible person. 

“ — Hey, are you okay?”

You slightly jump, wide eyes gazing back at Calvin’s concerned ones. “O-oh, yeah, yes! I am okay, I’m so sorry. I’m just so… full, I get a little breezy when I’m, uh, full.”

Just pulling shit straight out of your ass. 

He nods in acknowledgement, giving a small smile before he continues his story about… kangaroos or underoos. Either one. 

You couldn’t really focus on the rest of his story, not that you did in the first place, but this time the focus was actually elsewhere instead of inside your own head. Your eyes flicker to a few tables behind Calvin, and the familiar face catches you off guard. Slightly squinting, you try to make out who the person is, before pausing your breath. It’s one of Michael’s bodyguards, you think. He’s newly appointed, but he seems nice. He has ginger hair and a small tattoo behind his ear, that’s how you know it’s him. Tilting your head further to the side, you try to recognize the rest of the table he’s sitting at. Nerves racking, you hope with everything you have that Michael isn’t there with them. But after seeing the whole table only has burly men laughing aloud, you realize they’re just on their break. Michael gives them his card sometimes and tells them to get fancy dinners. This must be one of those nights where he wants to be completely and utterly alone. Your heart drops. Could something be bothering him? He was definitely off from the phone call last night. 

Your eyes suddenly make contact with one of the guards, who looks just as dumbfounded as you are. It was the world’s worst staring eye contest before you clear your throat. Averting your gaze, you force a smile as Calvin cluelessly continues his story. 

That redhead is so gonna rat you out. 

•

Returning home couldn’t be any more relieving than it is now. You’re leaning against the front door after closing it, sighing heavily. Thinking of moments prior. 

“Hey, listen… I had a wonderful time tonight. And I think you did, too. But just as friends, huh?” Calvin asks as he walks you to your doorstep. You only look at him with your mouth slightly agape, not knowing what to say. 

He laughs, shrugging, “I only agreed because of Aunt Janine. And I’m assuming you did too. That woman doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, that’s for sure.”

“She sure doesn't,” you softly chuckle. 

Calvin rubs his nape, looking at you with an almost sympathetic grin. “And uh… don't take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope you don't go on another date with a stranger.” 

Trying to hide your offended face, you ask him. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because this whole night, I was just talkin’ your ears off but your mind is in a completely different place. I mean, I was talking rubbish towards the end, with the kangaroos and all. Not even a peep from you, because you're busy thinking…” he trails off, displaying a pitying look as you nervously fiddle with your fingers, looking away. 

“... Of someone else, hm?” 

You don't respond, but you settle for a small smile. “You're too understanding.” 

Calvin sighs deeply, “I know.” He says in a melancholic tone. 

Laughing with him, you sigh and step closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Calvin. I'm so sorry this didn't work out. I'm sorry for not trying.” 

“Eh, forget it,” he reassures you. “Honest. We wouldn't work anyway, I actually liked those risottos.” 

“They were disgusting,” you tease back. Hugging Calvin a very short second, you let him off with a goodbye. 

Which brings you to now, sighing like the world's biggest loser. You hated letting people down. It feels like you're hurting them on purpose, but it truly isn't your intention. You thought you'd get over your feelings for Michael at least a little. 

Instead, the thing you want to do most right now is cuddle up against him. 

You're thinking of the possible phrases on what your excuse could be if Michael asks what you've been up to today, not taking any chances that he wouldn't heckle. It's been a good two minutes since Calvin left your doorstep, and the date is being fast forgotten.

More so when a sudden knock comes down on your front door. You instantly know it's not Calvin. This one felt too comfortable, familiar…. Intimate.

You must be imagining things. 

Walking back to the door, you take a look at the peephole. And lo and behold, Michael's standing right at your doorstep. His face unreadable. 

As you open the door, you force a bright grin onto your face. “Michael, hey—” 

“Who's he?” Michael asks sharply. Almost robotic. His body tense, jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“Hm?” You hum in response, tilting your head in confusion. 

“The guy you were just with,” he quietly adds, walking into your apartment. 

You realize what he's talking about and let out an ‘Oh’. “That's Janine's nephew,” you answer. 

Michael just looks at you with a deep gaze. Murmuring hoarsely, he says to you, “C’mon, baby… don't play with me like this. Not right now.” 

“Michael, I'm telling the truth, that is Janine's nephew. His name's Calvin.” 

“Calvin…” he scoffs before turning around to pace back and forth in your living room. Meanwhile, you get more and more confused. 

“What, you went on a date with him or somethin’?” Michael asks you shakily.

Well, the cat's definitely out of the bag, but Michael's reaction is not one you're expecting in any way, shape or form. 

“Y-yes, I did… Come on Mikey, what's going on?” 

He gives you the most incredulous look he's ever given anyone. “What's going on? Are you actually asking me that? What's… What's wrong with you?” 

Hurt strikes through your chest at his words. Michael has never, ever been rude or said anything harsh like that towards anyone, least of all you.

Why is he talking like that to you? And why does it hurt so much with the way he's being so… different?

“What did I do, Mike?” You ask in a small voice, hugging yourself nervously.

“Oh no, no, no, you don't get to be upset, I'm upset,” he says with glassy eyes staring back at you. You almost gasp at the sight, his hurting can be seen as clear as day. Michael continues, “You were on a date with a rando? What, did you think I wasn't gonna find out? And you're so– so casual about it, do you even care at all?” 

“Mike, what's… It's one date, Michael, what could be the issue? Please tell me why you're so bothered!” 

“Why the hell do you think I'm bothered?” 

“I don't know! It's just one date and you're not even my boyfriend, so tell me, Mikey, please.” 

Michael throws his arms in the air, “Oh, sure! Just one would be fi– wh-what? I'm sorry?” 

“What?” 

“What did you say?” 

“It's just one date!” 

“No,” Michael whispers, shaking his head. “After that… what did you mean by that?”

Tilting your head, you furrow your brows. “Mike?” 

He suddenly walks right up to you, hands slowly coming up to cradle your face. “I'm not… your boyfriend?” 

“ … No?” 

Michael's eyes flutter, pain being etched on every surface of his face. “Are you breakin’ up with me, baby?” 

“What?” You ask with a soft voice, eyes widening. “When did we get together?”

“What?” 

“What?” You repeat, starting to breathe really hard. Michael gives you an astounded look, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. His lips part in surprise, and it appears as if his brain is taking an extremely long time to register your words. 

“What do you mean when did we get together?” 

Close to crying, you whine softly, “Michael, I don't follow!” 

Michael clenches his jaw, eyes boring into yours as his brows furrow deeper. “Baby, this isn't funny.” 

“I'm not trying to be funny!” You reply. 

“Then what are you talking about? I am your boyfriend!”

“Since when?” You ask loudly, eyes getting wider by the second. 

His jaw only drops further in response, head shaking repeatedly. “She's joking,” he murmurs softly to himself. You deny it again, strongly needing to know what the hell is actually going on. 

“Well, baby,” Michael starts with a bewildered look on his face, “I happen to think we got together since I started callin’ you baby every day and how you're practically livin’ with me because I don't think I can actually sleep without you anymore, oh and I almost forgot, we're kissin’ damn near all the time!” 

You stand there, yet another dumbfounded look on your face. “I just thought you took home some European customs,” is the only thing you could say in a small voice. 

“What?” Michael asks again, another confused facial expression before he sighs and pulls you close. “Baby… you're telling me this whole time…?” 

You shake your head, hand coming up to softly stroke his jaw. “I didn't know anything. God, I'm so sorry, Mikey. I mean, I mean what am I supposed to think? You never asked me about it– you didn't clarify anything, did you?” 

“I thought in a way, you knew!” 

You ask softly, “How could I have known?” 

Michael looks away, arms still wrapped around you. “Okay… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for yelling because now I’m just rethinking everything… I was a stupid twenty year old. Remember how we kissed for the first time?” 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory. Yes, you certainly did.

By then, both of you have been friends for about a few months. It was late at night, and you were sleeping over at his family house. It was just you two in front of the television, everyone else having already gone to bed. The time was nearing 1.30AM when the movie finally ended. 

“Mike, I told you we should have just rewatched Dog Day Afternoon.”

“How was I supposed to know it was gonna be that bad?” He snorts as he places the half eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

Laughing, you lean back on the couch and make yourself comfortable. Turning to him, you ask. “We went straight for the movie earlier, I never got to ask you how your day was.” 

Michael sighs and closes his eyes, making you frown in concern. Reaching out to softly grip his hand in between you two, you give a small smile.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He shrugs, looking elsewhere. “I don't know, it's just…” 

“New album jitters?” You try, knowing how under the pressure he's been, with Off The Wall about to be released in a few days. If someone were to ask you how dedication was to be presented in real life, you'd point instantly to the man next to you. You've never seen someone so passionate about what they do as much as Michael is with his music. 

“... No, it's not that,” he laughs softly. “I mean, I'm nervous about that too, but tonight is different. It's just my brothers. They wouldn't stop ragging on me earlier.” 

Pulling your knees to your chest, you tilt your head. “Why? What's the matter?” 

“I had them listen to the final picks for the album, and they—” 

“If they didn't like it, that's their problem. The album is perfect!” You cut him off, already raging at the thought. You’ve always been his number one supporter and defender.

Michael laughs again, shaking his head. “No, no, they were real supportive about that… it's just the fact that I've uh, I've been singing about, y’know… romance and all.” 

You nod, and raise your brow when he doesn't continue. “And?” 

He sighs after what felt like forever, “Well it's silly... because I've never even had my first kiss yet, so.” 

“Michael, that's okay. Me neither.” 

Eyes widening, he sputters out, “You haven't?” 

“No,” you laugh. “Is that so unbelievable for you?” 

Yes, he happens to find it completely unbelievable because you're so gorgeous all the time. Boys were bound to try something on you. Now once he's realising nobody's ever come close, he feels a sense of happiness. Happy that nobody came close. That she rarely gives her time of day for anyone. And he happens to be one of the few exceptions. 

He only shrugs in response to your question before shifting closer. “Does it bother you?” 

Shaking your head, you smile at him. “Not really. I'm not dying to be kissed. I know it's gonna happen when it happens. There's no use dwelling on it. But then again, I don't have brothers, nor am I releasing songs about romance.” 

“Yeah, they really did their thing when I Can't Help It played,” Michael grumbles. 

Softly giggling, you grip onto his hand more firmly. “Don't let them get to you. You have so many girls that've been wanting to kiss you for years. Take your pick, Mike,” you tease. 

He only smiles and brings your intertwined hands to his lap. “I know, oddly enough. And I'm flattered that a lot of pretty girls like me. But I don't know them. I can't… I'm not like my brothers.” 

“I know you're not,” you whisper. “And that's okay. It's great, even.” 

“Yeah?” He says softly in response.

“Yeah.”

Michael bites his lip, thoughts running in his head. He’s thinking of something stupid… Something reckless. Something that can’t be undone if he does it. The silent hum of the room becomes overbearing to him, gaze focused on your soft eyes, down the slope of your nose to your lips. He lingers there, thinking to himself how it would feel like. What it would taste like. Would he still taste the remnants of your flavoured lip balm? Would it be soft and light? Or something else he can’t even imagine?

“Michael?” comes your quiet voice.

“Hm?” He’s out of it, almost. Dazed with some type of need. He doesn’t want to call it lust. He doesn’t think you deserve that. He feels more. The need to be with you. Sit beside you. Hold your hand. Kiss you. Everything he imagines to do with a girlfriend, is what he’s imagining with you. 

Good grief, since when did he start crushing on you?

“Michael, do you want to kiss me?”

His brain shuts down. His mouth, hands, and eyes don’t move. Mind blanking out.

After a few moments of silence, he manages to stutter out, “Wh- I’m sorry?”

Softly giggling, you shift your legs down and scoot closer to him. Hand still laced together with him, you look deep into his eyes. Gleaming with amusement, excitement and trepidation altogether. “Do you… Would you like to share our first kiss?”

He stares at you, jaw slack. “I thought it’ll… I thought it’ll happen for you when it happens.”

“Mhm,” you nod, “If you want to, it happens now. If you don’t want to, it will happen for me another time. I won’t be mad at you, Mike. I promise.”

You try to act cool, but the truth is your insides feel far from it. You don’t know what came over you, but from the way he was staring off into space, looking at your lips, the quiet surrounding you felt almost suffocating from the way you wanted him to lean in closer. To do something. Say something. So, you gathered your courage and took initiative. Even if there is no guarantee of him actually agreeing, you find yourself not regretting making your move. You wanted to know what a kiss feels like. And you wanted to know how it feels with Michael. You couldn't think of any better way to have your first kiss if not with him.

Michael is quiet for a few seconds, giving you some time to think of some lame segue out of this suddenly odd predicament you singlehandedly put you and him in. Before you could utter out an excuse, though, he cuts you off. 

“I’d really like that.”

Your eyes widen, “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot, actually,” he whispers, leaning more towards you. “Are you sure you want this?”

You could only nod, breathing out a ‘yes’. 

Michael’s eyes flicker down to your lips, before gazing back into yours. Shifting closer, his head slightly dips down, you moving with him. Lips a hair’s breadth away from each other, his fingers coming up to gently hold your chin, closing the distance.

When your lips meet his, it feels like a quiet magic blossoming from your lungs and into every crevice of your heart. Eyes closed, you press yourself further against him. Sighing out, Michael tilts his head to the side, parting your lips with his and kissing you deeper.

He does taste your flavored lip balm. And he thinks that’s the happiest discovery of his life.

A close second to knowing now how it feels to kiss you. At first, when you suggested to him to share his first kiss with you, he thought you were joking. But when you joke, he’d know right off the bat. And he knows your tone. You weren’t joking one bit. His mind was racing through what felt like numerous mountains of anxiety and anticipation. In that second, there was nothing he’d like more than to kiss you. 

During the kiss, your hand comes up to stroke his cheek. A hum reverberates from him, sliding his tongue against yours, almost breathing into you. It’s a few more seconds of pure bliss before Michael slightly parts away, eyes still closed as he bites his lip. Closing the distance again, you leave some more pecks against the corner of his mouth, making him tilt his head and meet your lips with more passion and fervour. Smiling against the kiss, you melt into him as he holds you against him. 

It feels like a long time before one of you takes the initiative to pull away, properly this time. The room is quiet save for the sounds of your heavy breathing. A soft smile is etched onto your face as you eye his gleaming face. 

“Was that good?” You ask him, teasing. 

“That was good, babe,” he laughs, “That was real good. I liked that a lot.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you tell him, “I did too.”

“Can we do that more often?” he tries, leading to rounds of shy laughter to echo through the walls of the room. 

Snapping out of your memories, you clear your throat. “Yes, what about it?”

Michael reaches and cradles your face, “Well, that was quite literally… one of the best things to ever happen to me. I loved that night. I loved kissin’ you. I loved it so damn much, and I assumed– I assumed you loved it too. I didn’t say anythin’ about you bein’ my girl because I thought it was gonna naturally happen. And the longer I left it alone, and the more we got closer, I just... I thought we'd been together for a while. Nothing too official, because… I didn’t know where you stand on that, but I figured we’d only feel like this towards each other.”

You lean into the palm of his hand, and he leans down and presses a kiss against your temple, continuing gently, “I didn’t think we needed any establishing. I thought you already knew I’d… I’m so in love with you, baby. I fall in love with you more and more each day. But it’s my fault for, well, for not telling you properly. For assuming. I’m really sorry, I should have said something sooner.” His voice is bordering on sounding pained now, but you hush him.

“Mikey, gosh, stop, you’re fine. You’re perfect, don’t be sorry,” you whisper as you leave kisses on his forehead, down his nose and to the apples of his cheeks. “We’re both really stupid.”

He laughs and pulls you closer, if it’s even possible. “Tell me about it. Baby, I really am sorry. Please forgive me?”

“Shh, I forgive you, and I hope you’ll forgive me too. I’m sorry,” you say.

“There’s nothin’ to forgive. You didn’t know. See how funny that sounds now? God, I could just hit myself,” he sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, are we together officially now? I want you to be my girl. Been wantin’ that for years, if you must know.”

You teasingly grin and shrug, “I don’t know… Quite presumptuous of you, already calling me your girl.”

“Baby, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Michael smirks smugly, “It’s not wholly my fault for thinkin’ we’re together when you gaze at me the way you do.”

“I don’t gaze at you,” you gasp.

His arms snake around your waist again, pulling you closer and nodding dramatically. “Yes, you do and I can’t blame you, baby. I’d want to be my girl, too.” Swatting at his chest, you could only laugh in response.

“I’m serious, y’know? I’d like for you to be my girl. And just mine. No foolin’ around with this amateur stuff,” he says in a quiet tone, “I want you. You’re my best friend and I’ve never loved or wanted anyone as much as I do you. I want to marry you one day, I want everything a man can have with the love of his life, and I want that with you. There had never been and never will be anybody else. I love you, so much. Can you be my girl for real now?”

A soft hum escapes you, “Michael, I love you too. God, I love you so much.”

He doesn’t reply. Michael only leans in and catches your lips so, so urgently, it almost brings you down to your knees. It almost feels like your first kiss again. Except, this time Michael wasn’t afraid. Or doubting. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you. Heat grows from the way he pulls you closer, every inch of you burning from his touch and passion. His lips brushing against yours, tongue slipping in between to glide against yours. Softly nudging you backwards until you’re leaning against the wall, he tugs your bottom lip with his teeth before continuing to kiss you fervently. Your fingers come up to run through his curls, and he tilts your head upwards into the kiss. And that drives you crazy. 

Leaving small pecks against your lips before kissing down your neck, he murmurs against your skin, “I love you.”

You could only hum dazedly, weakening as he continues his ministrations on your skin. “I’m so glad you’ll have me, baby.” He continues to whisper.

A final kiss to your lips, he pulls away to softly grin at you. “Tell that Kevin schmuck to kindly get out of your life, please?”

“It’s Calvin, honey.”

the city is eerily quiet at around one-thirty in the morning. most of the streets are empty as i speed my car down them.

the radio is softly playing in the background, but i barely hear it.

all i can think about are the lyrics sitting in my notes app.

'thinking of you'.

it almost makes me laugh, thinking about my current situation.

the title alone should probably be enough to make me turn the car around and go back home to my boyfriend.

instead, i drive even faster.

the studio building comes into view twenty minutes later.

the parking lot is almost completely empty, except for a few cars that belong to the producers and engineers who practically live here.

i step inside and for the first time all night, i don't feel bored. i suddenly feel awake.

"y/n?"

i glance up to find my producer staring at me from behind a desk. his eyebrows shoot up.

"it's almost two in the morning," he says, surprised to see me here.

i nod. "i know."

"why are you here?"

i clear my throat.

"i just have an idea. if i don't record it now i don't know when i will."

he nods, his eyebrows still slightly furrowed.

"okay, go ahead," my producer nods with confusion laced in his voice.

i head toward the booth before i can second guess my actions.

the lyrics are already written; and for once that's the easy part.

i pull out my phone and open the note, staring at the words that i've been too scared of to actually confront.

my producer follows me into the recording room.

"you got a melody?" he asks.

i shrug.

"kind of."

"kind of?" he repeats.

"i'll figure it out," i say dismissively.

he laughs.

"that's reassuring."

and normally i'd laugh back, but tonight i don't.

because for the first time in a while, a blossoming song is playing in my head. i just need to get it out.

i step up to the microphone and adjust the headphones over my ears.

i don't have any instrumentals nor a beat. so all i hear is silence.

my producer gives me a look through the glass.

"you want me to build something first?" he offers.

i shake my head.

"no."

he raises his eyebrow at that.

"you sure?" he clarifies.

"yeah," i tell him.

the room falls silent after that.

i don't even think i need the lyrics written out in front of me - they're practically engraved into my brain at this point - but i have the note open on my phone.

i then start singing.

when i fade out the last note, neither of us say anything.

my producer just stares at me through the glass. i can tell he is a bit confused and shocked at the lyrics i sang, but despite whatever concerns or questions he may have, he stays quiet. for now.

i stare back at him.

"well?" i ask.

he blinks a few times.

"where the hell has that been?"

i laugh nervously.

"hiding from me, apparently," i joke.

he shakes his head before turning toward the computer.

usually creating a song takes hours. sometimes days. sometimes weeks. but tonight, it feels effortless.

my producer builds around the vocal instead of the other way around.

he adds a soft piano first. then strings. then a drum pattern that's barely there.

and piece by piece, the song starts taking shape.

every sound feels like it's been waiting for the vocals instead of competing with them. nothing feels forced or rushed.

i'm finally not staring at a blank page hoping inspiration shows up. because it's already here.

we play back the song in pieces, making sure each snippet becomes better than the first version.

i redo some vocals and add on harmonies and adlibs and such.

and before i know it, it's almost four in the morning.

my producer's coffee that's sitting next to the mixing desk has gone cold. the city outside is still dark, and has gotten quieter, in fact. but somehow, despite spending months unable to finish a single cohesive thought for a song, i now have one sitting in front of me. finished.

my producer leans back in his chair.

"i think that's it."

i stare at the screen. at the title sitting in the corner.

'thinking of you'.

suddenly, the excitement i'd been running on starts to fade. now that the song is completely finished, i have to listen to the final playback.

the room is silent as my producer clicks 'play'.

the opening instruments fill the speakers. then my voice.

it's soft at first. then the lyrics start.

by the second verse, i can't even look at my producer anymore. because hearing the actual finished version out loud makes one thing painfully obvious: the song isn't subtle at all. every line practically screams his name.

well, not literally. but close enough.

when the song ends, i let out a breath i didn't realize i'd been holding in.

there's a silence that's almost awkward between us.

"so," my producer starts.

i already know what's coming.

"don't-"

"it's about gunner, right?" he interjects before i can even finish speaking.

i groan.

"seriously?" i ask, covering my face with my hands.

he gives me a look.

"y/n."

"it's not..." i trail off, my voice completely unconvincing.

i don't even believe it myself.

my producer laughs quietly.

"that's what i thought."

i rub a hand over my face.

"it's not like i released it," i try to plead my case.

"yet. you just spent two hours perfecting it," he points out.

"that doesn't mean anything," i dismiss.

he laughs a bit.

"but it means something."

i glance back toward the speakers. toward the title. toward the song that somehow managed to do what months of attempted studio sessions couldn't; make me feel something.

for a moment, neither of us say anything. the track continues sitting on the screen, waiting.

my producer studies me for a second.

"you're gonna release it, aren't you?" he questions, knowing me too well.

i let out a quiet laugh.

because the answer is obvious.

"eventually."

"even with jack?"

that question makes me pause.

not because i don't know the answer. but because i do.

my eyes drift back to the title.

'thinking of you'.

"i don't know," i admit.

and that's the truth.

i should probably feel worse than i do. actually, i should definitely feel worse than i do.

i have a boyfriend sleeping in my bed right now. a boyfriend who would absolutely hate this song if he heard it.

but at the same time, i didn't write it to hurt him; i wrote it because it's honest.

because it's the first thing i've cared enough about in a long time for me to stay up this late for.

because no matter how hard i try to ignore it, the feelings for him are there whether i write about them or not.

my producer sighs.

"that's gonna cause problems," he says, clearly thinking logically compared to my senseless thoughts.

i laugh.

"most good songs do."

he points toward me.

"see? that's the exact attitude that's gonna cause problems."

i breathe out through my mouth, still a stupid, foolish smile on my lips.

"probably."

but instead of feeling guilty, i mostly feel relieved for many things; that this song finally exists, that the thoughts that have been bouncing in my head have finally been expressed, that i actually have drive to make music again.

i stand up from my chair and grab my phone from the desk.

"send me the final version when it's exported," i tell him.

my producer raises an eyebrow.

"already leaving?" he asks.

"it's four in the morning," i say.

"fair."

i'm halfway to the door when he speaks again.

"you are gonna release it, aren't you?"

i stop.

for some reason, the question makes me glance back at the computer screen. at the title. at the audio waves stretching across the monitor.

"probably," i finally admit.

"eventually?" he asks, seemingly knowing the real answer.

i don't answer right away. instead, i pull out my phone. i open instagram. i open my music distributer app.

my producer's eyes narrow.

"y/n," he says, his tone warning.

i ignore him.

"y/n," he repeats.

"what?" i ask, my voice almost annoyed.

"don't do anything stupid."

i laugh. because i'm about to do something that's really stupid.

"did you send me the file?" i ask, disregarding his previous words.

he sighs, turning his attention to the computer for a brief moment.

"i can, y/n, but please don't do anything you'll regret," he tries to reason with me.

i nod.

the exported file lands in my inbox barely a few seconds later.

i open it.

then i open the app i use to publish songs.

my thumb hovers over the upload button.

it's 4:07 am. a random thursday.

no warning, no promotion, no countdown, no teasing lyrics. absolutely nothing.

which makes this all the more surprising.

but the more i stare at the screen, the more i like the idea.

music isn't supposed to sit in folders forever, right?

and this song definitely wasn't written to stay hidden. it was written because i couldn't keep it inside anymore.

so why wait?

i can tell my producer sensed my small hesitation turn into motivation after receiving the file via email.

"you're not serious right now, y/n," he says.

as he says this, i'm uploading the file onto the app i use to release my music.

"i'm completely serious," i respond, tapping away.

"your label is gonna kill you."

i laugh it off, scrolling through my camera roll for the cover art.

"they'll survive."

"your manager is definitely gonna kill you," he says.

i type in the title of the song.

"yeah, well she'll survive too."

then my finger hovers over the release button.

for half a second, doubt creeps in.

jack.

gunner.

mazzy.

the headlines and articles that'll inevitably come from this. the questions. the assumptions. the problems. i think about all of it.

and then i press release anyway.

yourusername

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user GIRL IT IS 4 IN THE MORNING

user NEW MUSIC????

user who hurt her?? ⤷ user i don't think we were supposed to hear this ...

user y'all don't say gunner ⤷ user its him fs ⤷ user be serious rn who else would it be 😭 ⤷ user i wasn't gonna speculate but...

user somebody lock twitter before they start

user they broke up 8 months ago btw

user HOLD ONNN THE TIMING IS INSANE ⤷ user u people connect everything ⤷ user no bc why did she drop this TONIGHT

user y'all she literally has a boyfriend ⤷ user girl... this is NOT about jack 😭 ♡ liked by author

user mother has returned

user song of the year idc

user imagine being jack rn ⤷ user i just know he is sick to his stomach ⤷ user someone check on that man

user i don't care who it's about THIS SONG IS AMAZING

user i'm not saying she's wrong but i'd be devastatedddd

user it's been a long 8 months but it was worth the wait

a/n : messy ass .... she needs to chill ... but i can't blame her like highkey anything for nett 🤤 LMFAO anywayyyyy lmk what u guys think of this!!! feel free to send me comments, questions, suggestions, or anything thru my inbox!! my reqs are closed but i'll still take them for whenever i feel like working on anything new!!! likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated <22 love u guysssss

lmk if you want to be tagged in any future nettspend fics!

And because (Name) loves him, she stays longer than she should. She keeps giving him chances he hasn’t earned because she sees the man he could be and mistakes that potential for a promise. That’s the mess at the center of their relationship—the “I can fix him” mentality of a woman who deserves better and the “I want options” guy who thinks the best option is going to wait forever. The gag is neither of them are confused about how they feel about each other, the feelings are actually the easiest part. Jackie already knows he wants to marry (Name) someday. The problem is that someday keeps moving further away. Every time he asks for more time, he assumes she’ll still be standing exactly where he left her. Deep down though, he knows there’s a very real possibility that one day she’ll wake up, realize she’s spent years waiting for a man who already knows she’s the one, chooses to not choose her still, and decide she’s tired of waiting for him to catch up. And he’ll be damned if he lets another man take you away from him.

What makes Jackie so difficult to leave is that every complaint (Name) has about him is real, but so is every reason she loves him. The problem has never been that Jackie doesn’t care; he cares just enough to keep her holding on. Every time she reaches her breaking point, every time she decides she’s tired of waiting, tired of sharing him, tired of feeling like she’s standing in line for a future that never seems to arrive, Jackie somehow senses it. He becomes softer. More attentive. More present. And suddenly he’s calling just to hear her voice. Suddenly he’s showing up at her door with flowers, gifts, sweet treats. Suddenly he’s holding her a little longer when he hugs her goodbye, looking at her with that look that makes her feel like she’s the only woman in the world.

And Jackie knows exactly what to say and exactly what to do.

He knows how to hold her when she’s upset and slowly talk her down from the ledge of every reason she has to leave. He’ll tell her he’s trying. Tell her he’s been thinking about things. Tell her he’s getting older now and starting to see life differently. He’ll talk about the future in vague, beautiful pieces. A house somewhere quiet. Waking up next to her every morning. Growing old together. Knocking her up. All these things when he’s digging in her guts with nine thick inches of dick, mind you. So, poor girl doesn’t even know left from right or up from down because he fucks her so good—pressing down on her tummy so he can feel himself rutting into her.

These are the kind of conversations he’s avoided with her for years, and they suddenly spill from him so naturally that she starts to wonder if maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment she’s been waiting for.

Maybe he’s finally ready.

The insane part is that Jackie usually believes himself when he’s saying it. In those moments, looking at her, holding her, fucking her, imagining a future that feels so comforting rather than.. restrictive, and he genuinely means every word. That’s what makes him so convincing because isn’t delivering these bullshit lines. He’s speaking from whatever emotion he’s feeling at that exact second and when Jackie loves, he loves completely. The problem is that his certainty only seems to exist in the moment. Once the emotion fades, once life resumes, once the pressure disappears, so does the urgency to change.

That’s why (Name) keeps getting pulled back in. Because every version of the future she’s ever wanted exists somewhere inside Jackie. She can see it. Sometimes he lets her see it too. She catches glimpses of the husband he could be, the father he could be, the man who would spend the rest of his life loving her. Those glimpses are powerful enough to make her stay another month. Another year. Powerful enough to convince her that maybe all he needs is a little more time.

But.

If Jackie is the source of (Name)’s uncertainty, Michael is the complete opposite. There is nothing uncertain about the way Michael feels about her because his crush is so painfully obvious.

Everyone notices it eventually. The way he watches her when he thinks she isn’t looking. The way conversations he’s half listening to seem to brighten the second she joins them. The way he suddenly becomes hyper aware of himself whenever she’s nearby, straightening his posture, fixing his clothes, stumbling over words he’d normally say without thinking. Michael is utterly, hopelessly gone, and the worst part is that he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to hide it.

Unfortunately for him, (Name) knows.

She figures it out much earlier than he realizes and finds it almost impossible not to tease him about it. He’s just so cute—and granted, there is a little age gap but it’s nothing crazy. Michael is four years younger than her so naturally, she’s endeared by him because he makes it so easy to dote on him. He blushes when she compliments him. Gets flustered when she touches his arm. Completely short circuits whenever she cups his jaw and tells him how pretty he is. She’ll smile at him across a room and spend the next ten minutes watching him try to recover. There’s something almost irresistible about how sweet he is, how transparent he is. Michael wears every emotion openly, and when he looks at her, it’s like watching someone hand over all their secrets without realizing it.

What Michael loves most about her isn’t one singular thing. It’s the totality of her. Her confidence. The softness. The way she carries herself like a woman who knows exactly who she is and what she wants. He notices everything, from the sound of her laugh to the way she fills a room simply by walking into it. Even her presence seems capable of rearranging his priorities. There have been moments where he’s caught himself standing beside her and become so acutely aware of his own lankiness that he’s genuinely considered spending more time in the gym. And she’s never suggested he should, but being around her makes him want to be the best version of himself. He just.. has these thoughts worrying about if he could be able “handle” all of her from her hips, to her thighs, her breasts—he doesn’t think he has a chance in hell but still. He understands why she’s with his big brother.

But anyway, around (Name), Michael becomes strangely domestic without meaning to. He remembers little things. He carries things for her before she asks. He saves her a seat. If she’s tired, he’s immediately concerned. If her feet hurt after a long night, he’ll end up sitting on the floor in front of her, gently rubbing the ache from them while she talks about whatever happens to be on her mind. And there’s no expectation of getting something in return. Taking care of her simply comes naturally to him. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize he's doing it until somebody points it out and embarrasses him.

Unlike Jackie, Michael isn’t holding anything back. His affection is constant, uncomplicated, and sincere. He looks at (Name) like she’s already something precious. Like she doesn’t need to become anything more to earn his devotion. And while she finds his crush endlessly adorable, there’s a small part of her that tries not to think too hard about it. Because every time Jackie leaves her waiting, every time he asks for more time, every time he chooses freedom over certainty, Michael is there in the background offering the exact thing she’s been asking for all along without ever demanding she choose him back.

And that’s.. not good.

The party had settled into that golden hour that made everything look softer than it really was. The pool shimmered beneath the setting sun, throwing ribbons of orange light across the patio. Music drifted from the speakers, low enough to blend into the conversations and laughter around them. People leaned against the bar with drinks in their hands, clustered together in little groups, their skin still warm from a day spent in the sun.

(Name) couldn’t enjoy any of it.

The farther she got from the pool, the quieter everything became. The music was still there, buried beneath the sound of splashing water and laughter, but it felt distant now and muted. She stopped near the side of the house where the shadows had started to creep across the stucco walls, holding her glass that had been bleeding condensation

Of course he followed her.

Jackie rounded the corner a minute later, irritation already written across his face. His sunglasses were pushed onto the top of his head, one hand resting on his hip as he looked at her.

“Now what you stompin’ off for?” He asked, stopping a few feet away. There wasn’t much concern in his voice anymore. Mostly annoyance. “I been lookin’ for you. What’s your problem?”

(Name) stared at him. “My problem?”

“Yeah, your problem.” Jackie gestured vaguely toward the party behind them before letting his hand fall. “You've been givin’ me attitude all afternoon.”

She laughed in disbelief. “I’ve been giving you attitude?”

Jackie immediately sighed and tipped his head back.

“Nah, see, here we go.” He dragged a hand across the back of his neck and looked away toward the pool for a second. “I knew it was gonna be somethin’.”

“No,” she shot back, shaking her head. “Here you go, Jackie.”

“Baby, I was standin’ there talkin’.” Jackie pointed vaguely toward the party behind him before looking back at her. “That’s all I was doin’.”

“You were flirting with those girls in front of my face. Do you understand how embarrassing that is? How pathetic you make me look in front of your family and friends?” (Name) asks, a bewildered look on her face.

“I was not.” He laughed once through his nose and adjusted the sunglasses sitting on top of his head. “See, that's what I'm talkin’ bout."

“Jackie, literally nothing is funny right now.”

"I wasn—” He stared at her for a moment before throwing one hand into the air. “You know what. Sometimes I think you make your mind up before I even open my damn mouth.” He took a few steps closer, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. “You decide what happened and then that’s it.”

“Oh my God.” (Name) looked away, rubbing her forehead.

“I'm serious.” He responds.

“No, baby. You’re not, you’re actually being very unserious right now and it’s about to piss me off.”

“Baby.” Jackie pointed toward the backyard again. “Half them folks over there was standin’ around talkin’. Was I supposed to sit by myself in a corner all day?”

(Name) laughed, but there wasn't an ounce of humor in it. “You always got a smartass answer.”

“‘Cause you always got an accusation.” He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight onto one leg. “It gets old.”

Her expression hardened. “You know what gets old? Watching you do this to me every single time.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m crazy.”

Jackie's face tightened immediately. “Ain’t nobody callin’ you crazy.”

“You imply it enough.”

He rubbed both hands down his face and let out a long breath. “Lord have mercy.”

“No, seriously.” She stepped closer now, her drink sloshing dangerously in the glass. “You flirt with women right in front of me and then somehow I’m the problem for having eyes—Jackie, we’ve had conversations about you sleeping with women outside of me. So, I don’t know why you’re playing dumb. Yes, I’m going to feel upset when I see you whispering in another girl’s ear and touching on her!”

Jackie looked away for a second, jaw working and clearly irritated. “See?” He pointed at her. “That right there. That’s what I'm talkin' about.”

“No, Jackie, what’s crazy is that you genuinely think this is normal.” For a moment neither spoke and music drifted through the evening air. A burst of laughter erupted somewhere near the pool. Jackie’s gaze dropped to the ground before returning to her face.

Jackie's patience finally snapped.

“Nah,” He spread his arms wide and took a step back. “The fact that I gotta stand here defendin’ myself over a conversation.”

“It wasn’t just a conversation, Jackie!”

“For God’s sake.” He looked up at the sky before looking back at her. “I didn’t sleep wit’them girls yet.”

Silence.

The second the words left his mouth, the fight drained from her face and the disappointment landed slowly. He saw it happen, saw her shoulders sag, saw her look away.

“..Yet?” (Name)’s voice was so small.

Jackie’s expression immediately shifted. Knowing. He told on himself. “Aw, c'mon.” He stepped forward, one hand reaching out. “That ain’t what I meant, babygirl..”

“But that's what you said.” She’s tearing up.

“You know what I mean.” He watches how she can’t even look at him anymore—but she never could when she was about to cry.

“(Name)..” Jackie opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. She set her drink down on a nearby table with a sharp clink and grabbed her heels. “Baby, hold on.”

“’M going inside, I’m all partied out..” She said quietly, brushing past him.

“You really gonna walk away over this?” Jackie asked, following her a few steps.

(Name) turned before Jackie could stop her, her shoes dangling from two fingers as she headed back toward the house. The concrete was still warm beneath her bare feet, damp in places where pool water had been tracked across the patio. Each step left a faint wet print behind her. Her pace was quick, bordering on a storm, shoulders stiff with frustration as the sounds of the party swelled and faded around her. The loose ties of her bikini skirt fluttered against her thighs while her hair clung slightly to the back of her neck from the lingering heat of the day.

She didn’t look back. The only indication that Jackie had spoken at all was the brief swallowing of her throat. The movement of her body carried the urgency of someone trying very hard not to cry, not to turn around, not to give somebody one more chance. Even the rhythm of her walk felt determined, her heels knocking softly against one another where they hung from her hand while the sunset stretched her shadow long across the wet concrete ahead of her.

By the time (Name) made it inside the house, the party felt like it belonged to another world.

The music was still there, but just muffled through walls and glass. Every so often she could hear a burst of laughter or the distant splash of someone jumping into the pool, but it all sounded far away now. Detached like she was listening to it from underwater.

She wandered through the kitchen first, passing half empty bottles and abandoned cups, countertops were crowded with evidence of a good time. People drifted in and out of rooms without really noticing her and she wasn’t sure where she was going. She just knew she needed to be somewhere Jackie wasn’t.

Eventually she found herself standing in front of the laundry room, the door was partially open and the room was small, warm, and quiet. Smelled nice too.

Perfect.

(Name) slipped inside and nudged the door shut behind her. The hum of the machines immediately wrapped around her, steady and comforting in a strange sort of way. There was something nice about the simplicity of it. No music. No conversations, just white noise.

She climbed onto the dryer and sat down, setting her heels on a towel hook beside her. For a moment she simply stared at the opposite wall. Her drink remained in her hand, condensation continuing to gather against the glass before dripping onto her fingers.

The adrenaline from the argument was beginning to wear off. But that was always the worst part, because the anger never stayed. It always dissolved into something that felt uncomfortable to sit in.

Her shoulders slumped slightly as she leaned forward, massaging her own neck with the opposite hand. The dryer vibrated faintly beneath her. Somewhere down the hall, somebody laughed. A door opened and closed.

She barely registered any of it. Instead, her thoughts drifted back toward Jackie despite her best efforts. The argument replayed itself automatically, each line hurt more now than it had been in the moment. The dismissiveness. The frustration. The way he’d looked at her when he thought she was overreacting. The way she’d almost let him pull her back in again.

Almost.

The glass felt cold against her palm and she watched a droplet of water slide slowly down its side before falling onto her thigh.

For a long time she simply sat there, disassociating.

Michael didn't realize he was looking for her until he couldn't find her.

The party had settled into that dreamy part of the evening where everything felt warm and golden. Music drifted across the backyard, people gathered around the bar with drinks in their hands, and laughter seemed to rise from every corner of the patio. Normally, Michael would’ve been right in the middle of it. Instead, he kept catching himself scanning the crowd. Looking toward the pool. The patio doors. The groups of people clustered beneath strings of lights. Every few minutes his eyes searched for the same person before he could stop them.

At first he didn’t think much of it. Maybe she’d gone inside. Maybe she’d gotten caught talking to somebody. But as the minutes passed, an uneasiness began settling into his chest. He’d seen the look on her face earlier. Seen her watching Jackie. Seen her walk away. Michael had always been the sort of person who noticed things, especially when it came to her. The longer she remained missing, the harder it became to focus on anything else.

Eventually he gave up pretending he wasn’t distracted and slipped inside the house. The cool air immediately swallowed up the noise of the party. He wandered through the kitchen, then the living room, barely registering the people he passed along the way. His attention remained fixed on one thing. Finding her, and the house suddenly felt much bigger than it had an hour ago.

When he finally noticed the faint light spilling from the closed laundry room door, something in him relaxed before he even opened it. Sure enough, there she was. Sitting on top of the dryer in her bikini with a drink still dangling loosely from her fingers, staring at absolutely nothing. For a moment Michael simply stood in the doorway. Relief washed through him so quickly it almost felt silly. She wasn’t hurt, at least from what he could see. She was just somewhere far away inside her own head. And somehow, after spending the last fifteen minutes searching for her, the sight of her sitting alone in a laundry room felt like finding exactly what he’d been looking for.

For a moment, Michael simply stood in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame as he looked at her. The dryer hummed softly beneath her while she stared down at the drink dangling from her fingers. Outside, the party carried on without them. Music drifted through the walls, accompanied by distant laughter and the occasional splash from the pool.

“Hi.” The quiet greeting was enough to pull her from her thoughts. (Name) looked up, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased when she saw him standing there.

“Hey, lovebug.” The nickname immediately softened his expression. Michael stepped into the room, letting the door close shut behind him. His eyes moved over her face for a moment before he asked the question she’d known was coming.

“You okay?”

(Name) glanced down at her drink and shrugged lightly. “I’m okay.”

Michael didn’t respond right away, he just looked at her. The silence stretched long enough to make it obvious he didn’t believe her. But she smiled anyway, small and unconvincing. “Really. I'm fine.”

His hands disappeared into his pockets. “Did Jackie make you cry?”

The question caught her off guard enough to make her laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh. More surprise than anything else. “What?”

“Did he?” Michael's expression remained completely serious. He wasn’t teasing, genuinely wanting to know. (Name) looked away toward the tiny window above the washer.

“No. But almost..” A truthful answer. “Tired of crying over the same thing..” She says under her breath.

His jaw tightened slightly as he looked down at the floor. “He makes you sad a lot.”

The words seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her. Almost immediately he looked away, like he’d accidentally said something he'd been keeping to himself for a very long time. The laundry room fell quiet again, filled only by the hum of the machines.

“Michael.” He looked up. “I don't wanna talk about Jackie.”

Something softened in his face immediately. “Okay.”

And just like that, he dropped it. No pushing. No questions. No attempt to convince her otherwise. He simply moved farther into the room and leaned against the washer across from her, content to sit in the quiet with her if that’s what she needed.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Michael remained leaning against the washer across from her, his hands tucked into his pockets while the dryer beneath her hummed steadily. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt strangely safe.

Then, without looking at her, he said it. “I wouldn’t treat you like that.”

The words were so quiet she almost thought she’d imagined them. Michael was staring at the floor when he said it, the toe of his sandal nudging absentmently at a crack between the tiles. He looked embarrassed before he’d even finished the sentence.

(Name) blinked.

The comment tugged at something inside her despite herself. She was still upset. Still angry. Still carrying the emotions of the argument with Jackie. But there was also something undeniably cute about Michael standing in a laundry room trying very hard not to confess the world’s most obvious crush.

A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, yeah?”

Michael immediately looked like he regretted opening his mouth. “Forget it.”

“No.” She shifted slightly atop the dryer, tilting her head. “Go ahead.”

His face flushed. “There ain’t nothin’ to go ahead with..”

“Michael.” He groaned quietly and looked away and smile on her face grew. “And what do you know about making me happy?”

She meant it teasingly, lightly. You know, playfully. The sort of question she expected him to stumble over. But, Michael surprised her.

“A lot, actually.”

(Name)'s smile faded a little and Michael swallowed.

“I know you like extra ice in your drinks even when everybody tells you it waters ‘em down. I know you pretend not to care what people think until somebody you love says somethin’ mean and then you think about it for three days.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I know when you’re genuinely happy because you start talkin’ with your hands more.”

(Name) stared at him and Michael wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring at the floor.

Still talking.

“I know you get quiet when somethin’s wrong, even when you’re tellin’ everybody you’re fine. I know you hate being embarrassed in front of people. I know you act tougher than you are.” His voice had become quieter now, thoughtful.

“I know you like when somebody remembers little things.” Michael finally looked up and he second he saw her expression, realization hit him. His eyes widened like he’d suddenly become aware of everything he’d just admitted. Inadvertently admittedly his feelings for her.

“Oh.” He immediately pushed himself away from the washer. “Oh, man.” A nervous laugh escaped him. “’M sorry..”

“Michael—” (Name) can barely get a word out before he’s stumbling over his words.

“No, that was weird.”

“It wasn’t.”

"It was." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, already retreating toward the door. ”I shouldn’t’ve said all that.” The poor thing looked mortified but really, he’d accidentally handed her pages from a diary.

“‘M sorry,” he repeated. “Forget I said any of that.” He reached for the doorknob. That’s when she hopped off the dryer.

“Michael.” This time her voice stopped him and his hand froze.

Slowly, he turned around and (Name) was looking at him with an expression he’d never seen directed at him before. For lack of better words.. it was suddenly feeling a little too grown. He’s only ever been envious of this look because it’s what Jackie gets. Never in his life would he have thought he’d even been remotely close to unlocking.. this..

(Name) stared at him for a few seconds before tilting her head.

“Can you keep a secret, papa?” Michael blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then he nodded immediately. Once. Twice. So quickly it was almost funny.

“Yeah. ‘Course I can.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “C’mere.”

He hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room. The closer he got, the more nervous he seemed to become. By the time he reached her, his hands were practically glued to his sides. (Name) reached up and slipped her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck, and the movement stopped him completely. His breath caught as he looked down at her, doe eyed and uncharacteristically speechless.

Gently, she pulled him closer. Michael followed without resistance, one hand finding the edge of the dryer to steady himself as she closed the distance between them and led him into a kiss. It was soft and tender, the kind of kiss that felt like an answer to a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask out loud.

When she pulled away, Michael remained exactly where he was. Frozen. His eyes searched her face for a long moment, disbelief and hope flickering across his expression so openly that it nearly hurt to look at. As if he genuinely couldn’t decide whether what had just happened was real. And somehow, that look affected (Name) far more than the kiss itself ever could.

Their lips find each other again hungrily, moving in sync with one another. The air is thick with nervous energy as their figures collide lips meeting in a clumsy, urgent rush. No soft buildup this time around, no gentle lean in; just teeth accidentally clashing before they find the right angle. (Name) tries her best guiding him through it but he seems to be really eager to even be touching her.

One hand grips the back of his neck tightly—fingers tangled in curls that’s slightly damp from the pool while her other presses flat against his chest, his heart pounding like it might burst. Mouths open messily, not quite synced and when tongues finally meet, it’s sweet from candy and salty sweat. A quiet mmph escapes him as their noses squish together again and again.

The second kiss left Michael strangely still.

When they pulled apart for air, he didn't go very far. His forehead settled against hers almost immediately, his eyes closing as though he were trying to gather himself. One hand remained braced against the dryer beside her while the other hung loosely at his side. The laundry room hummed around them, the sound of the machines blending with the distant music and laughter filtering in from the party outside. Neither of them seemed to notice. Michael, especially, looked completely disconnected from everything beyond the small space they’d carved out for themselves.

“We should stop.” The words came out so quietly she almost thought she'd imagined them.

“Huh?”

Michael swallowed hard. His eyes stayed closed for another second before he finally opened them. “We should stop..” It didn’t sound like something he wanted. It sounded like something he was forcing himself to say.

For a moment he simply looked at her. Really looked at her. Then his gaze dropped, as though holding eye contact made it harder to think. His forehead remained resting against hers, neither close enough nor far enough to make the situation any easier.

“I’m havin' a hard time thinkin’..” A shaky breath left him. “I know how I feel about you..” The confession was quiet and matter-of-fact, because at this point it had become impossible to deny at this point.

“And I know you just had a fight with Jackie.” He shuts his eyes tighter. “I don’t wanna be somebody who takes advantage of that..”

The honesty of it landed harder than she expected. For all the longing written plainly across his face, there was still that stubborn gentleness in him. The part that cared more about doing the right thing than getting what he wanted.

Yet he still hadn’t moved away.

If anything, he seemed incapable of it.

His eyes drifted shut again and he let out another slow breath.

“But if we keep kissin’..” His voice faltered for the first time all evening. A faint flush climbed into his cheeks. “I don't think I’m gonna want to stop..”

The admission hung between them in the soft hum of the laundry room. Michael looked almost embarrassed by his own honesty, but he didn't take it back. He simply remained there with his forehead resting against hers, looking completely overwhelmed by her, a man who’d been in love for far too long and was finally running out of ways to hide it.

She reaches up and caresses his face, eyeing him with those pretty eyes he’s only ever dreamed of even though he can’t bring himself to open his own eyes just yet. She peppers kisses all over his face before leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me, Michael?”

Michael nods against her. “I-I do,” He swallows. “But I’ll need your help..” He says shyly, he’s not very experienced quite yet—not like his brothers.

The moment stretches, humid and thick with anticipation as (Name) smiles, fingers hovering just above Michael’s wrist where his hand rests at his side. Her grip is firm but warm as she drags Michael’s palm down the curve of her hipbone, over fabric damp with choline and pool water. She presses hard until his fingers slip beneath the elastic waistband; the hot skin of her pussy meeting his fingertips that jerk reflexively at first contact.

She gently guides his wrist up and down, “Like this..” She says resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“Soft..” Michael whispers as he plays with her, but its short lived before there’s a knock at the door and they both scramble.

“(Name), baby. You in there? I wanna talk. ’Ya got me feelin’ bad..”

Jackie.

“I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Michael asks softly, his fingers lazily tracing circles on the small of your back. Warmth floods your chest at his concern; you can’t help but hold him a little tighter.

"No… no,” you reassured him, adjusting your position to look at him properly. He was already looking down at you, his doe eyes gazing into yours with such warmth. “You were perfect.”

Michael hummed.

Neither of you spoke after this; the only thing that could be heard was the rhythmic tapping of the rain outside and Michael occasionally peppering kisses on your neck. Sure, the tension was gone, but the smell of sweat and passion still lingered in the air. For a while, you thought things were going to be left unsaid, until—

“What is this?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, feigning confusion. You readjusted your position to sit up, gently pulling the blanket over your breasts.

“C’mom,” He mummers. 

“Well, um,” you stammered out, scooting back towards Michael’s headboard—the cold cedar wood now touching your back.  “What do you want this to be?”

“Look,” he scoots back against the headboard to join you. “I really like you.” He reveals, as if it’s been a secret this whole time. “I-I completely understand if you don’t feel the same—with me about to be on tour and all. I just.. I don’t know, I couldn’t just leave without telling you how I felt.”

“God, Michael,” you say finally, releasing the breath you didn’t even know that you were holding. You scooted closer to him, gently placing your hand on his cheek. “I’ve quite literally been in love with you for years. I’m pretty sure everyone has noticed but you.”

Michael blinked at your confession, but his disbelief soon turned into laughter. He dragged his hand down his face before looking at you, a soft smile forming on his lips. “What exactly have we been doing this whole time?”

“I don’t know,” you giggled, running your fingers through his soft curls. “I just can’t believe it took this,” you say, gesturing between the both of you. “For us to say something.”

Michael’s smile had only gotten wider by the second. Rather than speaking, he gently pulled you in, his soft lips finally connecting with yours. You immediately reciprocated, running your fingers deeper through his curls—earning a soft whimper from him. Before things could escalate further, Michael pulls away, his brown eyes gazing into yours.

“Come on tour with me.”

“What?” You blinked, moving away a strand of hair from your face.

“Come on tour with me,” he repeats. “I want you there—only if you want to, of course. I don’t want to force you.”

“What about Joesph?”

“I’ll talk to him,” he says immediately, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Just—come with me. Please.”

You searched Michael’s eyes to find any reluctance, but you didn’t see any. He actually wanted you there. He wanted you there with him. Finally, your concern turned into a soft smile—placing a quick, but affectionate kiss on his lips. 

“I’d love to go on tour with you, Michael.“

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

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

And somehow Michael is the common denominator in both disasters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Nothing. “Michael?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay..” He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you do, Mike?” Quincy asks.

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

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

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

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

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

She just refuses to look at him.

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

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

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

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

Big mistake.

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

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

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

“Good.”

“Okay."

“And I'm still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“Very mad.”

“I know, lovey.”

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

This time she lets it stay there.

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

The quiet doesn't last long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That earns him a look.

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

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

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

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

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