#herweirdassfic

so when you finally sat him down in the kitchen, nervously twisting your fingers together, he had no idea you were about to drop something much heavier.

“i, uh… i was offered a job in central city and… i accepted it.” you shyly.

he froze, mid-sip of water, staring at you over the rim of the glass. “come again?”

“it’s two hours out,” you rushed to explain. “but i can commute, or we’ll figure out weekends, and—”

“you accepted a job two hours away? without even telling me you were applying?” his voice was sharp, sharper than you’d ever heard it.

you swallowed. “i didn’t think it was a big deal until i got the offer. and then… i just thought i’d handle it.”

there it goes again. he set the glass down with a thunk, his jaw tight. “you keep saying that. handle it. like i’m not even here.”

“clark, it’s my career. i’ve always made choices like this for myself. i didn’t want to slow down and risk losing it.”

“but we’re not just you anymore. it’s us.” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “don’t you see how it feels to find out something like this after the fact? like i don’t matter enough to even be considered?”

“clark,” your chest ached. “it’s not that you don’t matter. i just—i’ve had to do everything on my own for so long, i don’t even think about checking in sometimes. it’s instinct for me, im sorry.”

he shook his head, stepping closer but keeping just enough space between you that it stung. “instinct or not, this is our relationship. i need to know you want me in it, really in it—not just tagging along for the pieces you decide to share.”

you blinked against the hot pressure in your eyes, because clark never yelled, but every word cut like steel.

“i am so proud of you. i’ve always been proud of you. but right now? i’m scared.” his eyes burned into yours, his voice softer but still trembling with anger. “because if you can make this decision without me… what else can you decide without me?”

you sat on the edge of the bed, wringing your hands in your lap. the silence between you stretched like a taut wire, ready to snap. clark stood by the window, arms folded tight across his chest, staring out at the night sky but not really seeing it.

“i didn’t… i didn’t realize how much i hurt you.” your throat tightened, and you leaned forward, trying to catch his eyes. “all those little things—the apartment, the storage unit, even the furniture—I thought they didn’t matter. i thought they were just… me doing what i’ve always done. i never once stopped to think what it felt like on your side.”

“you’re not just my boyfriend, clark. you’re my partner. and i should’ve treated you like that.” your words came out shaky. “you’ve done nothing but make room for me in your world, in ways i don’t even deserve. and i shut you out without realizing it.”

his arms dropped slowly, “do you know what it feels like to be standing right here, loving you with everything i’ve got, and to keep finding out i’m the last to know about your life?”

tears blurred your vision. “i’m sorry. god, i’m so sorry.” you reached for him, hesitant, your fingers brushing his hand. “i’ve been independent for so long, i didn’t even think about what i was taking away from you. but i don’t want you to feel like you’re standing on the outside. i don’t want to keep making you feel like you don’t matter.”

finally, finally, his hand turned and wrapped around yours. he looked down at you, eyes softer now, though still glistening with unspoken worry.

“i don’t need to make your choices for you,” he murmured. “but i need to be there. i need to know we’re building something together. because i can’t… i can’t do this if i’m not a part of it.”

you squeezed his hand like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground. “then you’ll be part of everything. no more shutting you out. no more deciding alone. i want us, clark. i want us more than anything.”

for the first time that night, some of the tension in his face eased. he bent down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.

“please don’t shut me out again,” he whispered.

“i won’t,” you promised, voice breaking. “never again.”

he whimpered, actual whimpered, when you sank down on him fully. your head tipped back, breath catching in your throat, because no matter how many times you did this, it never stopped being good — the stretch, the burn, the weight of him inside you. every inch made to fill you up just right.

you leaned forward, palms flat on his chest, and started riding him slow. deliberate. taking your time.

he was falling apart already — eyes half-lidded, lips slack, those strong hands clutching the pillow like it was his only lifeline.

“you look pretty like this,” you said, breath brushing over his jaw. “all big and helpless. you like it when i make the rules?”

his hips bucked a little before he caught himself. “yes,” he whispered. “you feel so good. can’t think.”

you tilted your head, riding him deeper, harder now. “don’t think baby.”

he moaned — loud and desperate.

and then—

CRACK.

everything stopped.

you blinked. slowly looked over your shoulder.

a chunk of the headboard had snapped clean off — splinters in the wall, cracks down the frame. it looked like someone had driven a sledgehammer through the top panel.

you turned back to clark, who was staring up at you like a kicked puppy.

“…clark.”

"i got excited," he mumbled.

"you broke the damn bed."

he winced. "i can fix it?"

you arched an eyebrow. "with what, laser vision?"

“i didn’t even notice i was holding on that tight…”

you sat back on his thighs, crossed your arms, and stared at the busted headboard.

“…that’s the third bed this year.”

“i can buy you another one—”

“you’re damn right you can.”

you leaned back over him, hands pressed to either side of his head, and kissed him hard — all tongue, heat, and a low warning hum in your throat. when you pulled back, his lips were red and kiss-swollen, eyes dazed.

you smirked, then leaned down, mouth brushing his ear.

"and if you ever break a headboard again, the only thing you'll be allowed to hold onto next time is your damn knees."

he choked on air. "wait, what—?"

but you were already rolling your hips again, slow and steady, like nothing had happened. except this time, you pressed your palm to his chest and pinned him there.

“no questions, pretty boy. hands back. mouth shut.”

he obeyed without hesitation — arms back, fists gripping the pillow like his life depended on it.

"i'm so sorry in advance," you murmured for the tenth time, turning in the passenger seat to look at michael. "my cousins have no boundaries, mikey. if uncle troy asks you for a loan, you tell him no."

michael just offered you that warm, soft smile, as he reached over to squeeze your hand. "it's okay, baby. i promise you i'll be fine."

taking a deep breath, you finally got out of the car. you led him through the front door, the screen door letting out that familiar creek. inside, the house smelled like vanilla and sweet tea. your grandma was parked in her usual spot in the living room, completely locked into her soap operas. she didn't even look up from the tv screen, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction saying her quick hi’s and hellos.

the real action was out back.

through the large windows, you could hear the muffled thumping of a bassline. your jaw nearly dropped when you realized the speakers were blasting "rock with you." out on the patio, your aunts and cousins were dancing, red solo cups in hand. michael’s eyes lit up, a soft chuckle vibrating in his chest at the sight.

bracing yourself, you pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the grass, still holding michael’s hand tightly.

"is that my baby?" your dad shouted over the music. he was standing by the massive black smoker grill, spatula in one hand, wearing a faded apron.

"hi daddy!" you called out, letting go of michael for just a second to wrap your arms around your dad's neck, breathing in the comforting scent of charcoal and hickory smoke.

as you pulled back, the rest of the family started wandering over, drinks in hand, ready to inspect the new boyfriend. "daddy, everyone... this is my boyfriend, michael," you said, stepping back to stand beside him.

"hi everybody, how's it going?" michael greeted, his voice soft and polite as he offered a gentle wave.

at first, the reaction was standard. your aunts swooped in for hugs, asking how the flight was, completely running on auto-pilot southern hospitality. aunt kaye didn't even look at his face, just patted his arm. "you look a little skinny, baby, make sure you get you something to eat before you leave here —"

she stopped. the gears started turning. the music seemed to fade into the background as silence dropped over the yard.

"wait!" your cousin marquise shouted, freezing mid-sip in his lawn chair by the edge of the pool. his eyes went completely wide, and he choked on his capri sun, coughing violently. "nigga is that michael jackson?" he said shaking your older brother awake.

every single head snapped back toward michael. a collective gasp echoed across the lawn. you let out an internal groan, burying your face slightly against michael's shoulder.

"no fuckin way," someone whispered.

"you're joking."

before anyone could even process it, your mama rushed past everyone, sprinting straight into the house. a minute later, she came flying back out the back door, clutching a vinyl copy of off the wall. she marched right up to michael, holding the album cover directly next to his actual face, her eyes wider than saucers.

she looked at the album. she looked at michael. she looked back at the album.

her mouth dropped completely open. she smacked a hand right onto your chest, glaring at you with pure shock. she shouted your full name, her voice booming over the yard. "and you didn't think to tell me?! i cleaned this house in a raggedy t-shirt and no wig, and you brought michael jackson into my house?!"

"i literally tried to!" you protested, throwing your hands up.

"you said he was in music! i thought you meant on the street or something!" she yelled, before immediately turning back to michael with a bright, overly sweet smile, completely changing her tone. "hello, michael, baby, welcome to our home."

michael couldn't contain his amusement. he threw his head back, laughing softly at the family dynamic, before naturally sliding his large hand around your waist, pulling you close to his side.

once the initial shock wore off, the southern hospitality kicked into overdrive. your mama completely took over, dragging michael toward the patio tables. she practically forced plate after plate onto him, insisting he try her homemade peach cobbler and the greens.

"now, michael, i know you're famous, but if you don't eat at least two plates, my feelings will be deeply hurt," she warned, loading up his plate with enough starch to feed a small village. michael, always polite, took small bites and practically melted, praising her cooking up to the heavens, which only made her beam with pride.

out on the grass, your little cousins—none of them more two apples tall—were practically vibrating with excitement. they kept tugging on michael’s shirt, begging him to show them how to moonwalk. despite his usual shyness, michael didn't mind one bit. he kicked off his loafers and spent a good half hour giggling, patiently breaking down the footsteps on the concrete patio while the kids stumbled around like newborn deer trying to copy him.

your dad eventually pulled michael over to the grill. while showing him the proper way to flip a slab of ribs, your dad launched into a massive, animated rant. "see, michael, the media won't tell you this, but the government puts chemicals in the tap water to keep us compliant. and don't get me started on the moon landing. you know about the industry, you see the truth."

michael just stood there holding a paper plate, nodding along with intense concentration, looking genuinely fascinated by your dad's wildest local conspiracy theories. you weren’t sure you’d ever seen michael eat a rib, like, ever…

across the yard, you were completely cornered. your aunts and younger cousins had bombarded you against the fence, whispering furiously.

"what is it like dating him?"

"how do you even handle that lifestyle?"

"is his hair soft? it looks soft."

you just looked across the yard, watching michael patiently listen to your dad while your little brother tried to high-five him. a soft, tender smile tugged at your lips. "when we're together, it's none of that flashy 'king of pop' mess," you told them softly. "he's just my michael."

by the time the sun went down, casting a deep orange and purple glow over the southern sky, it was time for michael to leave. you were staying for a few more days, but he had to get back to cali.

out by the driveway, the cicadas were buzzing loudly in the trees. bill was standing discreetly by the running car, waiting to take michael back to the airport. uncle troy was currently trying to pitch bill a pyramid scheme by the front fender.

"everyone loved you. thank you for coming, mikey," you said, wrapping your arms comfortably around his neck, looking up into his dark eyes.

"you don't have to thank me, baby. i had a wonderful time," he murmured, his hands finding your waist, drawing you into his space. a sweet smile broke across his face. "everyone's so funny."

"no, everyone's so embarrassing," you laughed, shaking your head.

"i love you, applehead. call me when you land," you whispered, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a warm kiss to his lips.

"bye, michael jackson!“ your little brother's voice suddenly shattered the quiet moment, echoing from the front window of the house. a split second later, you heard a muffled smack as your mama tapped the back of his head.

"boy, shut up!"

the two of you broke the kiss, turning your heads toward the house. sure enough, the entire family—including your grandma, who had finally abandoned her soaps—was bunched up against the living room window, their faces pressed so hard against the glass their noses were flattened, trying to spy on the goodbye.

the second they realized they'd been caught, there was a frantic scramble of shadows as they all tried to dive out of sight, someone knocking over a lamp in the process.

you couldn't help but giggle, hiding your face into michael's chest as his soft laughter rumbled against your cheek.

his shoulders curled inward slightly as security escorted him through the room, dark curls brushing against his forehead while flashes from cameras bounced off the gold trim of his jacket.

you looked away quickly. you didn’t want to stare. but you couldn’t help yourself. every woman in the room already was.

your friend eventually returned to your side breathless.

“oh my god,” she whispered, gripping your arm. “that’s michael!”

“i know who michael jackson is.”

“girl, fix your face.” she said as she slapped your shoulder. she had pulled some big strings to get the both of you into the function.

you rolled your eyes, fighting a laugh.

“i’m tired.”

“well wake up because he keeps lookin’ over here.”

“girl, please.”

“i’m serious.”

you turned slightly then and your stomach dropped. because he was. not dramatically. not intensely.

just… watching.

the second your eyes met his, he smiled.

small.

shy.

beautiful.

you looked away first. you had to. he gave you all kids of butterflies you didn’t even know existed.

later that same night, you found yourself trapped near the balcony doors while waiting for valet. you were checking your purse when you heard a soft voice behind you.

“leaving so soon? was the party as boring for you as it was for me?”

you jumped slightly.

michael stood there alone now, hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, expression amused.

up close, he looked even prettier somehow. soft brown eyes. long lashes. that smile.

oh that smile.

you blinked.

“i’m sorry?”

“at the party,” he clarified. “you looked bored.”

you laughed before you could stop yourself. “maybe because i was.”

his grin widened.

there was something disarming about him immediately. something warm. michael didn’t talk to you like you were some beautiful mystery to conquer. he spoke carefully, gently, like he genuinely wanted to know what you thought.

you ended up talking with him near those balcony doors for almost an hour. about music, movies, random memories.

he told stories with his entire body, animated hands moving constantly while he spoke. every few minutes he’d laugh suddenly and grab your arm instinctively like he couldn’t help touching you.

and god, his laugh.

soft and bright and completely contagious.

at one point you teased him about a movie he liked, and he looked so fake offended you nearly cried laughing.

“you are mean,” he accused dramatically.

“you have terrible taste.”

“no i don’t.”

“you absolutely do.”

after that night, the two of you became inseparable.

being loved by michael felt intoxicating in the beginning. not because he was famous but because he noticed things. even the little things.

he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. he noticed when your mood shifted before you even spoke. if you mentioned liking something casually in conversation, weeks later he’d somehow surprise you with it.

he adored making you laugh most of all.

sometimes you’d catch him staring at you while you talked, smiling to himself like he couldn’t believe you were real.

those moments ruined you. because michael loved in such a tender way when he allowed himself to.

he’d call late at night just to hear your voice.

“what’re you doin’?” he’d ask softly.

“trying to sleep.” you joked.

“oh.”

“…why do you sound sad?”

“i miss you.”

simple. honest. and devastating.

sometimes he’d sneak over to your apartment wearing baseball caps and oversized jackets trying desperately not to be recognized, only to end up curled across your couch stealing all your blankets within an hour.

you remembered one rainy afternoon especially vividly.

the temptations played softly from your record player while thunder rolled outside your windows. michael lay stretched across your bed with his head in your lap while you absentmindedly played in his curls.

“you spoil me,” he mumbled sleepily.

“you’re dramatic.”

“no, i’m serious.” his eyes stayed closed. “nobody takes care of me like you.”

your fingers paused briefly. you looked down at him carefully.

“and who takes care of you, michael?”

his eyes opened and for a second, something deeply sad flashed across his face before disappearing.

“nobody,” he said quietly.

your chest ached instantly. you bent down and kissed his forehead without thinking. you wanted him to know that he deserved the world. your sweet boy.

and michael melted.

actually melted.

he grabbed your wrist gently afterward, pressing his lips against the inside of your palm while staring up at you with those soft dark eyes.

you felt yourself falling in love right there.

hard. irreversibly hard.

but even during the good moments, there was always another presence lingering quietly between you both.

diana.

sometimes it was subtle, sometimes it wasn’t. michael talked about her constantly. stories from childhood. memories. phone calls. advice she’d given him.

he lit up differently whenever her name came up. you noticed it immediately, though you tried not to. at first you told yourself you were overthinking.

everybody knew michael loved diana. the entire world knew. but loving someone and being in love with them were supposed to be different things.

right?

still, there were moments that sat wrong with you. like the time you both attended an event together and diana arrived late.

michael had been relaxed all evening beforehand, sitting close beside you with his hand resting against your knee underneath the table.

then she walked in and he changed instantly. his entire face brightened.

“diana!” he breathed.

you’d never heard your name leave his mouth sounding like that.

he stood immediately, already moving toward her before you could even process it. she hugged him tightly and he hugged her tighter.

suddenly you felt invisible.

later that night, after the event ended, michael noticed your silence in the car.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing.”

“baby.”

you just stared out the window and blamed it on you being tired.

the second time you realized something was wrong, it was quiet. not dramatic. not explosive. just… quiet.

two weeks of quiet to be exact.

two weeks of staring at your phone every night. two weeks of hearing his voice everywhere else except where it mattered. interviews. recordings. rehearsals. television appearances.

everybody else could reach the michael jackson, except you.

and somehow that hurt worse than if he’d just told you outright that he didn’t want you anymore.

you sat cross-legged on your bed one night with your journal balanced against your thighs, tears burning behind your eyes while the television muttered softly in the background.

your pen pressed so hard into the paper it nearly tore through it.

i just get so irritated and i feel so crazy every time i think about this. like it’s just no way. you went TWO whole weeks without talking to me. okay cool. i expressed to you how i was kinda upset about it, not even kinda i WAS upset and i really missed you. then when i do reach out to you to reconcile you just act like i was the issue??? a couple days ago you said that i was annoying you and i turned you off, well THIS is annoying and turning me off. like this disappearing act is so weird. and you calling me annoying actually really hurt my feelings. is there a deeper issue here that i’m not understanding?

your breathing became shaky halfway through. because deep down, you already knew the deeper issue.

her.

always her.

you remembered the exact moment you were writing about in grave detail.

you’d been sitting in your kitchen making yourself a snack at nearly midnight when the television host smiled and mentioned diana’s recent accident that left her slightly injured. nothing too serious.

“and michael was sweet enough to come check on you personally, right?” the interviewer asked.

diana laughed softly.

“of course, he’s always had a real and true love for me.”

real and true love.

you stared at the television so long you’d abandoned your food. because michael had looked you dead in your eyes weeks prior and told you there was nothing going on.

“she’s family to me,” he’d said gently. “that’s all.”

“family.”

but family didn’t make him disappear for weeks while ignoring your messages. family didn’t make his eyes soften that way whenever her name came up. family didn’t make you feel like you were competing with a someone you could never beat.

when things were good with michael, they were embarrassingly good.

that was the problem. he loved softly. dangerously softly.

he’d kiss your forehead while humming unfinished melodies under his breath. he’d tug you into his lap absentmindedly during studio sessions. he’d laugh at your jokes so hard he’d wheeze and cover his face.

and god, his smile. his smile ruined you.

there was one night in particular you kept replaying even after the breakup.

you’d both snuck out onto the balcony of his hotel suite in new york. it was freezing outside, your fingers stiff from the cold, but michael insisted on staying.

“look,” he whispered excitedly, pointing toward the city lights.

you laughed. “baby, it’s literally traffic.”

“no,” he grinned. “it looks like stars.”

you looked over at him instead. the city reflected in his eyes. his curls falling around his face. that stupid beautiful smile. he literally invented the word whimsical. that was him.

your sweet boy.

and he caught you staring.

“what?” he asked shyly.

“nothing.”

“you’re lookin’ at me like i’m crazy.”

“maybe you are crazy.” you joked.

he gasped dramatically. “see? this is why i keep you around. you humble me.”

you laughed so hard you nearly snorted. and michael lit up. completely lit up.

he pulled you against him under his coat, chin resting on top of your head.

“you know i adore you, right?”

your chest physically hurt remembering that now. because maybe he did adore you. just not enough.

but it was the fight that ended everything happened in his living room. you arrived already exhausted. already angry. already heartbroken. nevertheless, you went to see him anyway.

michael sat curled into the corner of the couch in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, looking nervous the second he saw your face.

“hey,” he said quietly.

“hey.”

he stood slowly. “you okay?”

you almost laughed.

“am i okay?”

his shoulders tensed.

“i’ve been worried about you,” he murmured.

“worried about me?” you repeated. “michael, you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear—”

“you did.”

his jaw tightened immediately.

“i been busy.”

“busy enough to ignore me for two weeks?”

he sighed heavily, already irritated. and somehow that hurt more.

“why’re you makin’ this into somethin’ bigger than it is?”

your eyes widened.

“because it IS bigger than it is!”

“see?” he snapped suddenly. “this is what i mean. you keep pushin’ and pushin’ and it’s annoyin’.”

the room went silent. because there it was. annoying.

you stared at him like he’d slapped you. and the second the word registered on your face, michael regretted it.

you could see it immediately.

“baby—”

“don’t, michael.”

his voice softened instantly. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then how did you mean it?”

he rubbed his face hard.

“i just… i got a lot goin’ on.”

“so do i but i find the time to show up for you, michael. i find the time to show up for us!”

“i know that.”

“no,” you whispered, tears rising. “i don’t think you do.”

michael looked exhausted now. cornered.

“what do you want me to say?”

the question broke something in you. because if he loved you the way you loved him, he would’ve known.

you swallowed hard.

“i want to know why she matters more.”

his eyes flickered immediately. there it was again. that hesitation. that tiny tiny pause that told you everything.

“she doesn’t,” he said quietly.

you nodded slowly.

“okay.”

“i’m serious.”

“i said okay.”

“why won’t you believe me?”

your voice cracked. “because you’re lying to me, michael. you abandon me and go out of your way for her. you answer her every call. you never tell her no. there aren’t any boundaries.”

his face hardened defensively.

“that’s diana.”

“exactly.”

silence. thick silence.

you stared at him with tears slipping down your cheeks while he stood frozen across from you. and suddenly you felt tired. not angry. not dramatic.

just tired.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered.

michael blinked.

“…what?”

“i can’t compete with a woman you’ve loved your whole life.”

his face immediately crumbled.

“baby—”

“don’t call me that right now.”

“please.”

his voice cracked so softly it nearly made you fold. he stepped toward you carefully.

“you know how much i care about you.”

“that’s the problem,” you whispered. “you care about me.”

not love. care.

you saw the exact second he realized what you meant.

his lips parted. but no words came out. because what could he say? that he loved you more?

you weren’t sure he did. and he wasn’t sure either. you grabbed your bag before you could change your mind.

michael followed you all the way to the door.

“please don’t leave mad.”

you laughed bitterly through tears.

“that’s the thing, michael. i’m not even mad anymore.”

that terrified him more than yelling would’ve.

“we can fix this.”

you looked at him one last time.

beautiful.

sad.

confused.

still somehow the boy you loved more than yourself. and that made this even worse.

“we can’t fix this, michael.” you breathed harshly. this was hurting you more than it hurt him, “i wish you the best lovey. i really do.”

his eyes watered instantly and you almost stayed.

almost.

but then you remembered the interview. real and true love.

and you walked away.

the breakup destroyed you in ways nobody noticed. because technically, nothing dramatic happened. no cheating scandal. no screaming. no public humiliation.

just grief.

private grief.

the kind that sat heavy in your chest at three in the morning.

you stopped answering friends. stopped going out. marvin gaye songs became unbearable. everything reminded you of him. his laugh. his hands. the way he’d randomly grab your wrist just to kiss your palm absentmindedly while talking.

you wrote instead.

constantly.

you do not care for me in the same way that i care for you. i’m slowly realizing that. well i did know that, i just didn’t want to acknowledge it. i won’t say i didn’t love you, but i cared for you so much and i still do. i’m so hurt & i miss you. i miss your presence. the way you made me laugh. your touch. i miss everything.

your tears smeared the ink.

i just want to scream and blow up your house phone asking why her over me. i want to cry until i can’t anymore. but i wont. i’m better than that.

you paused there.

because were you?

you slept with his sweatshirt every night for nearly a month afterward. sometimes you’d reach for the phone before stopping yourself. sometimes you swore you could still smell his cologne in your apartment.

and the worst part? a tiny cruel part of you wondered if he was hurting too.

are you acting nonchalant or did you cry a million times too?

months later, he still haunted you.

in grocery stores. on radios. on magazine covers.

you’d see a sequined glove in a storefront and your chest would tighten instantly. you hated how deeply he stayed embedded inside you.

one night, unable to sleep again, you opened your journal once more.

hi again. i miss you. a lot.

your breathing shook.

i shouldn’t but i do. i really really do.

outside, rain tapped softly against your window.

i can’t stop thinking about you. i wish i didn’t think about you. i wish i didn’t want you as bad as i do when you’re clearly over me.

you shut your eyes hard. because that was the worst part.

the idea that he’d moved on easier than you.

that maybe you were just another woman he cared for while still secretly loving diana ross forever.

that can’t be true. i refuse to believe this and that’s exactly my problem. i can’t register this in my brain.

your throat tightened painfully.

i’m simply a girl who cared for a boy. things didn’t work out and that’s okay. but i miss you. i think of you every time i hear marvin gaye. i think of you walking to class. i think of you before going to bed. i thought i would be over you by now. but i’m not. i miss you deeply.

my lovey, my michael, my superstar.

then came the worst night of all.

the night he called.

you almost didn’t answer.

almost. but the second you heard his voice, your knees weakened.

“…hey.”

silence.

you sat down slowly on the edge of your bed.

“hi, michael.”

he sounded exhausted. small. “i didn’t know if you’d pick up.”

“i almost didn’t.” you said truthfully.

a quiet breath.

“that’s fair.”

you closed your eyes. his voice still felt like home and that was the tragedy.

“why are you callin’, mike?”

there was a long silence. then quietly he said,

“i miss you.”

your chest caved in. you covered your mouth instantly. because hearing it out loud nearly destroyed every ounce of healing you’d managed.

“don’t,” you whispered shakily.

“i do, baby.”

“please don’t do this to me.” you begged.

“i think about you all the time,” michael continued, “i miss everything about you.”

you laughed bitterly through tears.

“that’s funny.”

“why’s that funny?”

“because i’ve spent months thinkin’ i meant nothing to you.”

“you never meant nothing to me.” his voice sounded horrified.

you wiped your face aggressively.

“then why did you make me feel like i had to compete for you?”

silence again.

heavy silence.

and suddenly michael sounded heartbreakingly honest.

“…because i was confused. i was obsessed with the version of diana i’d created in my head. what i didn’t realize is that i had what i was looking for in front of me the entire time.”

you inhaled sharply.

“that’s not fair.”

“i know.”

“you don’t get to love me halfway because you can’t figure yourself out.”

“I know.” his voice cracked. “I know, baby.”

the tears began to flow even harder. baby. you’d missed that. so so much.

you could hear it. the regret.

real regret all in his voice.

“did you love her?” you whispered.

he took forever to answer.

“…yes.”

your heart shattered all over again.

but then—

“but i loved you too.”

too.

not more.

but too.

and somehow that tiny word told you everything you’d feared from the beginning.

you squeezed your eyes shut.

“that’s the problem, michael.”

he started crying quietly on the other end. actual crying. soft sniffles he was trying to hide.

and god, that hurt too. because part of you wanted to comfort him anyway.

even now. especially now.

“i never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered.

“but you did, mike.”

“I know.”

you pressed the phone against your forehead.

“michael, i’m trying to do this. trying to sit here on the phone with you. trying to be there for you,” you admitted quietly. “i really am, lovey.”

he stayed silent.

“but i can’t.”

his breathing hitched.

“because i don’t want friendship from you.” you cried softly into the receiver. “i wanted you. all of you.”

the silence afterward was devastating. because both of you knew love existed there.

real love.

just not the right kind.

not the complete kind.

there was no dramatic healing montage. no magical moment where you woke up and suddenly didn’t miss him anymore.

instead, it came in pieces. small pieces.

you stopped checking the answering machine every ten minutes. stopped wondering if every call was him. stopped rereading old journal entries until your eyes hurt. stopped sleeping in his old sweatshirt.

eventually you could hear his songs without crying. eventually. not immediately. and certainly not gracefully. there were setbacks. there were nights.

there were moments when grief snuck up on you in the middle of nowhere and knocked the breath out of your lungs. but slowly, painfully, you learned how to exist without him.

and then one day, when you weren’t looking for it, someone else walked into your life. his name was marcus. an a&r rep at motown.

tall.

smart.

ridiculously patient.

and absolutely nothing like michael.

which was exactly why you almost didn’t give him a chance. the first date nearly didn’t happen. the second almost didn’t either. because every time marcus did something kind, some ugly wounded part of you immediately waited for the catch.

waited for him to disappear. waited for him to choose someone else. waited for him to prove that your instincts had been right all along.

he never did.

if marcus said he’d call, he called. if he said he’d be there at seven, he arrived at six fifty-five. if he was busy, he communicated.

simple things.

normal things.

things that should’ve been ordinary. yet they felt revolutionary. sometimes that made you sad. because it revealed just how little consistency you’d accepted before.

marcus never made you feel like you had to earn his love. you weren’t in competition with anyone. he was yours. but something was missing.

he wasn’t michael.

the studio encounter happened on a random tuesday.

which somehow made it worse.

life-changing moments were supposed to happen on important days. birthdays. holidays. anniversaries. not random tuesdays.

yet there you were. sitting in the lobby of motown while marcus handled a quick emergency session upstairs.

“five minutes,” he promised.

you laughed, “that’s what you said twenty minutes ago.”

he grinned.

“this time i mean it.”

“liar.”

he bent down and kissed you quickly.

“five minutes.”

“okay.”

“seriously, baby.”

“marcus.”

“okay, okay.”

another kiss. then he disappeared toward the elevators.

you smiled despite yourself. shaking your head.

and that’s when the lobby doors opened.

your smile vanished. because suddenly michael jackson was standing ten feet away. and somehow, after a year, your heart still recognized him before your brain did.

he looked incredible. of course he did.

with his dark curls and his tailored black jacket. gold accents catching the light. he looked older somehow. well duh, because he was. but he looked more mature in a way.

sharper.

more confident.

yet heartbreakingly familiar.

his vitiligo had clearly worsened, but he was still so so beautiful. you wondered if he knew that.

for a second neither of you moved. you weren’t prepared. he wasn’t either. the shock on his face made that obvious.

his eyes widened. then softened. then widened again. like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“hey,” he said quietly.

your stomach flipped. damn him. even after everything.

he still had that same effect on you. the ability to make the whole room stop and make it feel like just the two of you.

“hey.”

his gaze traveled over your face carefully. taking inventory. you hated that you knew exactly what he was doing. he used to look at you that way all the time. like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“how’ve you been?”

“good,” you replied smiling politely.

good.

such a small word. yet it hit him like a punch, because you meant it. he could tell. you weren’t pretending and you weren’t trying to make him jealous. you actually looked happy. and that unsettled him immediately.

before either of you could continue, another voice interrupted.

“baby.” marcus called out to you.

michael froze as your boyfriend stepped out of the elevator, carrying a folder under one arm. already smiling. already reaching for you.

he wrapped an arm around your waist naturally. comfortably. like he’d done it a thousand times.

“ready?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

marcus finally noticed michael standing there.

“oh.”

you watched realization click. recognition, surprise, then understanding.

“michael.”

“marcus.”

the handshake that followed was polite. professional. but michael’s smile never reached his eyes. not once.

you were grateful that marcus wasn’t childish or immature about your previous relationship with michael. a fight was the last thing either party needed.

but for michael, suddenly everything made sense. you weren’t waiting for him anymore. you weren’t grieving him anymore. you weren’t secretly hoping he’d come back.

you had moved on.

actually moved on. and for the first time since losing you, michael was forced to see what that looked like.

it looked like another man’s hand resting comfortably against your lower back. another man making you laugh. another man being trusted with the parts of you michael had dropped.

“if was good seeing you,” you said.

and you meant it.

that somehow hurt him more. because you sounded sincere. not angry. not bitter. just…done.

the two of you walked away together. marcus holding the door open. you thanking him. the pair of you disappearing into the parking lot.

and michael stood there long after you’d left.

alone.

staring.

wondering how he had managed to lose the one person who had loved him so completely.

weeks had passed since then and somehow it got worse. because now he knew. you weren’t waiting. you weren’t coming back. you weren’t sitting around missing him.

you had built a life without him. and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

he thought about the way you smiled at marcus. the way you looked relaxed. safe. he thought about the way marcus touched you. not possessive. not insecure. certain.

as if he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

michael hated how jealous it made him. because technically he had no right. he knew that. you’d left. he’d hurt you. he’d failed you.

and yet—

some irrational part of him still wanted to be the person you looked at that way.

he heard marcus was leaving on a long tour with another group at the label that would last for at least a few months.

the information reached him accidentally. industry gossip. a casual conversation. nothing intentional. but once he knew, he couldn’t unknow it.

three days later flowers arrived at your apartment. white roses. your favorite.

you stared at them for almost ten minutes. then noticed the card. your heart immediately sank. because you knew before opening it.

i’m sorry. please forgive me. i miss you - xo, lovey

you closed your eyes.

“michael…”

the flowers sat on your kitchen counter all evening. mocking you and tempting you. infuriating you.

finally, around midnight, you grabbed the phone. determined. annoyed. ready to tell him exactly why he needed to stop. he answered immediately. like he’d been waiting by the phone all night.

“hello?”

your resolve weakened instantly. damn it.

“what are you doing, michael?”

silence.

then:

“i was wondering if you’d call.”

you sighed heavily.

“michael.”

your tone made him smile sadly. he could hear it. the frustration. the exhaustion. the history.

“you can’t keep doing this.” you told him.

“doing what?”

“showing up whenever you feel like it.”

silence.

long silence.

then quietly:

“i know.”

that wasn’t the response you expected. you paused.

“then why are you sending me flowers, michael?”

“because i love you,” his voice sounded tired. really tired.

suddenly you didn’t know what to say. because he wasn’t arguing. wasn’t defending himself. wasn’t making excuses.

for the first time ever, he sounded broken.

and that scared you. because you knew he didn’t have anyone. you were all he had. just you and bill.

the conversation stretched. five minutes became thirty. thirty became an hour. then somehow two. old rhythms returning despite yourselves.

you laughed once, then immediately hated yourself for it. he laughed too. soft and nostalgic. painful.

by three in the morning you were sitting cross-legged on your couch staring into darkness. exhausted. confused. emotionally raw.

“i should go to bed.”

silence.

“yeah, me too.”

neither of you moved. neither of you hung up.

“i miss you,” he said once again, quietly this time.

your eyes closed immediately. there it was. the thing hanging over the entire conversation.

“michael—”

“i do.” his voice cracked. “every day.”

your chest hurt.

“stop.”

“i can’t.”

the honesty startled both of you. another silence. then:

“let me come over.”

your stomach dropped. immediately. completely. utterly.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea, mike. you know marcus isn’t here-“

“baby, i don’t give a damn about marcus.”

“but i do, michael.”

“okay,” he said. “i’ll be respectful i promise. i just want to see you. i need to see you.”

your pulse started racing.

“please,” he begged.

your chest tightened. because a year later and his voice still did something to you. still reached places nobody else could. you hated that. you hated that you loved him enough for that to still be true.

“okay.” you said, wondering if you’d just made the biggest mistake in your life.

him coming over could cost you everything. all the months of healing. the work you’ve done to get over him. your healthy relationship with marcus.

all down the drain.

moments later, your feet carried you toward the window before your brain caught up. you moved the curtains slowly. carefully. and there he was. standing beneath a streetlamp, looking up at your apartment, at three o’clock in the morning.

your breath vanished. completely. gone. you couldn’t believe he actually came.

he spotted you looking down below and he smiled sadly. the same smile that used to make you weak. the same smile you’d spent a year trying to forget.

and suddenly every feeling you’d worked so hard to bury came rushing back at once.

every logical thought in your head screamed that you should. your boyfriend was on tour. you weren’t supposed to be standing here at three in the morning talking to the man who had broken your heart.

but logic had never been your strongest weapon where michael was concerned.

the knock came less than two minutes later.

two impossibly long minutes where you paced the length of your apartment, second-guessing every decision that had led you here.

by the time you reached the door, your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. you stared at the handle for a second. then another. then finally pulled it open.

michael stood on the other side. the glow from outside framed him perfectly.

he looked unfairly beautiful. he always had. a dark coat hung over his shoulders, curls falling across his forehead exactly the way you remembered. his eyes immediately found yours.

for a moment neither of you spoke.

the reality of seeing each other again after all this time seemed to hit both of you at once. his gaze moved slowly across your face.

“hi,” he said quietly.

his voice sounded smaller than it had over the phone. less guarded. more vulnerable.

you stepped aside.

“come in.”

he hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. you closed the door behind him. at three in the morning, your ex-boyfriend, michael jackson, stood in your apartment.

something about that felt absurd. surreal.

for a few moments he simply looked around. you stayed silent and let him. his eyes moved carefully over everything.

the bookshelf in the corner. the plants sitting near the window. the throw blankets folded across the couch. the framed artwork hanging on the walls. pieces of your life. a life you’d built without him.

he walked a few steps farther into the room. slowly. almost cautiously. like every object held information he wasn’t supposed to have. and then he saw it.

the photograph. you noticed the exact moment. his entire body stilled. it was a simple picture. nothing dramatic. just you and marcus, standing together at some industry event.

you both were smiling, his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, and your head tilted toward his shoulder.

happy. comfortable. secure.

the sight of it seemed to physically wound michael. he stared at the frame for several seconds.

long enough that you looked away. because suddenly you felt guilty. which was ridiculous. you had nothing to feel guilty about. he was the one who let you go. he was the one who made you leave.

and yet seeing the hurt on his face still affected you.

finally he turned away from the picture. his jaw tightened briefly. then relaxed.

“he seems good to you.”

he didn’t speak with bitterness. which somehow made it worse. it was sincerity.

“he is.”

michael nodded. a slow, thoughtful nod. then after a moment he asked quietly,

“are you happy?”

the question hung between you. simple but not simple at all. because you knew what he was really asking.

are you happier without me?

did somebody else give you what i couldn’t?

did you survive losing me?

you looked down at the floor.

thinking carefully. because despite everything, you didn’t want to lie. not tonight. not anymore.

“yes.”

his eyes flickered.

you continued, “most days.”

the honesty seemed to surprise him.

“most days?”

“life isn’t perfect.” you shrugged slightly, a small smile touched your lips. “but yes, michael. i’m happy.”

your voice softened. and michael looked away toward the window. toward anything but you. you watched his throat move as he swallowed.

the answer clearly hurt. but he nodded anyway.

“that’s good.”

that somehow broke your heart a little because if the roles had been reversed, you weren’t sure you would’ve handled it so gracefully.

for a few moments silence settled over the room then michael laughed softly. the sound was humorless. more sad than amused.

“you know what’s crazy?”

you raised an eyebrow. “what?”

his eyes met yours. and suddenly he looked younger. not the superstar. not the icon. just michael. the boy you used to love. the boy you probably, maybe, absolutely, positively still loved.

“i spent so much time thinking about whether you’d forgive me…” his voice trailed off. “and i never stopped to think about what would happen if you moved on.”

your chest tightened. he looked toward the picture again. just briefly.

“i didn’t think i could be jealous.” his laugh returned. quieter this time. “turns out i was wrong.”

“michael…”

“no. let me say it.” his voice cracked slightly. “please.”

you fell silent and he exhaled slowly. like he’d been carrying these words for months. maybe he had.

“i missed you.”

your heart immediately started racing. you hated how quickly it responded. hated how easily he still affected you.

“i missed you every day. i missed talking to you. i missed hearing your laugh.”

his eyes remained fixed on the floor as he smiled faintly.

“i missed how you used to roll your eyes at me whenever i said something ridiculous.”

despite yourself, your lips twitched.

he noticed. of course he noticed. he always noticed.

“i missed the way you looked at me. and i missed the feeling of you missing me.”

“that sounds selfish.”

“it does.” a small laugh escaped him. his fingers rubbed together nervously. “but it’s true.”

his gaze finally lifted to yours.

“i got so used to knowing you loved me.”

the words hit harder than you expected.

“i got so used to knowing there was somebody out there thinking about me.” his voice softened. “somebody rooting for me. somebody who cared.”

and with that, your chest ached. because once upon a time that person had absolutely been you. without question. without hesitation.

“and then one day you were gone and i realized i’d taken all of that for granted.” his eyes glistened.

“i was stupid.”

you didn’t argue. because he was.

he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. he looked exhausted.

“i was so stupid.”

you sat motionless. watching him. listening. letting him finally say the things you’d wanted to hear a year ago.

the things that would’ve changed everything back then.

“i thought i had time.” his voice lowered. “i thought you’d always be there.”

you felt your stomach twist. because you’d heard that before. but hearing it in person somehow hurt more.

“i kept thinking i’d figure things out eventually. and by the time i realized what i was losing…” his voice cracked, “…you were gone.”

the room fell silent. you could hear your own heartbeat. hear the distant hum of traffic outside. hear michael breathing. then he looked directly at you.

and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. real tears.

“I would never make that mistake twice.”

your breath caught.

“I wouldn’t.” he shook his head immediately. firmly. like this was the one thing in life he was absolutely certain about.

“if i got another chance, i’d spend every day proving how much you matter.”

your throat tightened.

“michael—”

“i mean it.” his voice became stronger. more desperate “you have no idea how hard it was. after you left… it felt hard to breathe.”

something inside you snapped. instantly. a year’s worth of pain erupted before you could stop it. you stood so quickly the couch cushion shifted beneath you.

“hard for you to breathe, michael?”

your chest heaved. all the grief. all the loneliness. all the nights you’d spent crying into your pillow. all the unanswered questions. all the journal entries. all of it came flooding back.

“how do you think it was for me?!”

his face fell immediately.

“baby—”

“don’t.” your voice cracked. “don’t do that.”

tears burned behind your eyes.

“I don’t want to hear about how hard it was for you.”

michael looked devastated but you couldn’t stop now. not after holding it in for so long.

“you wanna talk about not being able to breathe? try loving somebody who keeps choosing somebody else.”

his eyes shut immediately. pain flashing across his face.

“try wondering every single day why you weren’t enough. your voice trembled. “try hearing somebody call another woman their real and true love while you’re sitting there loving them with everything you have.”

the tears finally escaped, sliding down your cheeks.

“do you know what that did to me?”

michael looked shattered. actually shattered, but for once you needed him to hear it. all of it.

“i spent months thinking there was something wrong with me.” your hand pressed against your chest. “months.”

your voice lowered.

“I kept wondering what she had that i didn’t.”

michael’s eyes filled instantly.

“nothing. baby, nothing. i swear to you…” his voice cracked violently. “nothing.”

you shook your head. angry now. hurt. you were so hurt by michael. you just had to ask. the one question every girl in their 20’s wonder:

“then why wasn’t i enough for you, michael?”

silence. absolute silence. because that was the question. the real question. the one buried beneath everything else.

michael stared at you. tears sliding down his face now. and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

“you were.”

you laughed bitterly.

“clearly not.”

“you were.”

he stood again. slowly. carefully. like approaching a wounded animal. his eyes never left yours.

“you were enough.”

another tear slipped free.

“i just wasn’t ready.”

the confession landed like a punch. because somehow that answer hurt almost more than the alternative. not because you weren’t enough. because he knew you were. and still lost you anyway.

“i didn’t know how to love you the way you deserve to be loved. i was your michael, your lovey, your sweet boy. never in my life have i had someone love me in the same capacity as you. you know how i grew up. i was scared. scared of failing. scared of not being enough for you, my love.”

he took your hand into his.

“so please, don’t say such ridiculous things anymore. that was never the case.”

michael stood completely still. his eyes were red. his face wet with tears he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.

and for the first time since you’d known him, he looked completely stripped bare. no walls. no defenses. no carefully chosen words. just honesty.

raw and painful.

the question still lingered between you.

why wasn’t i enough?

and his answer sat heavy in the room.

you were. i just wasn’t ready.

you stared at him. really stared at him. at the guilt carved into every line of his face. at the regret. at the sadness. and suddenly, something inside you softened.

not because what happened didn’t hurt. not because it didn’t matter. it did. it always would but you were tired. tired of carrying it. tired of reliving it. tired of bleeding from wounds that had already healed.

slowly, you wiped your face.

michael watched every movement. carefully. like he was afraid you might disappear.

“michael, i forgive you.”

the words were quiet. but they hit him harder than anything else you’d said all night. his breath caught. completely. his eyes widened.

“what?”

you gave a small, sad smile.

“i forgive you.”

he stared, unable to believe it.

you shook your head gently.

“i forgave you a long time ago.”

a tear rolled down his cheek. then another. and another. he looked completely shattered.

your own eyes watered again.

“holding onto all that anger was exhausting. i didn’t want to be mad at you anymore. i still don’t.”

michael looked down. his shoulders trembling slightly. you could see him fighting for composure. failing.

“I don’t deserve that.”

his voice cracked badly.

“I know.”

a surprised laugh escaped him and you smiled. small. genuine.

“I didn’t say you deserved it.”

that earned a weak chuckle. the first real laugh either of you had shared all night. then silence settled again. comfortable this time. different and lighter.

you both stood. neither of you quite knowing what to do with yourselves. what to do with a year’s worth of grief suddenly laid bare between you.

and then he opened his arms. hesitantly. carefully.

“can i hug you?” he said, asking rather than assuming.

your heart squeezed. because once upon a time you would’ve run to him without thinking. now there was history. hurt. distance. choice.

but there was also love.

so much love.

you stepped forward. and michael wrapped his arms around you. immediately. completely. like he’d been starving.

his face buried against your shoulder. his grip tightened. and for several long seconds neither of you moved. he smelled the same. that familiar cologne. that familiar warmth.

for one brief moment it felt like no time had passed at all. then you felt him exhale shakily. the kind of breath someone takes after carrying something heavy for far too long.

“i missed you,” he whispered.

you closed your eyes.

“I know.”

another pause. another squeeze. then finally he pulled away. reluctantly. looking at you one last time. memorizing you.

again.

“goodnight, beautiful.”

“goodnight, michael.” you replied, saying his name once more for the fifty millionth time that night.

he smiled softly and left.

the next morning felt different.

not magical. not perfect. just different. for the first time in a very long time, your chest didn’t feel heavy.

you sat alone at your kitchen table with a mug of coffee growing cold between your hands while sunlight spilled through the windows.

the conversation with michael replayed over and over again in your mind.

every word. every look. every confession. every tear.

you’d spent so much time imagining what it would be like if he ever came back. what you’d say, what he’d say, how you’d react. but somehow none of your imagined scenarios compared to the reality of seeing him standing in your apartment looking completely devastated.

completely human.

for years you’d convinced yourself that michael had simply moved on. that he hadn’t cared. that losing you hadn’t affected him the way losing him affected you and last night destroyed that illusion.

but now there was another truth staring you directly in the face. you still loved him. you had tried not to. god knows you tried.

you’d done everything right. you’d healed. you’d moved forward. you’d opened your heart to someone else. you’d built a life.

but underneath all of that, there had always been michael.

quietly existing in a corner of your heart you’d never quite been able to reach. and that wasn’t fair to marcus.

the realization sat heavily with you all morning. because marcus had never done anything wrong. he’d been patient and kind and consistent. everything you’d once begged for. yet every time you imagined your future for the last three hundred and sixty five days, there was still another face you saw.

another laugh you heard. another pair of eyes you searched for in crowded rooms.

your phone rang.

marcus.

you stared at the phone. your stomach twisting. then answered.

“hey.”

his voice immediately brightened.

“there she is.”

your eyes closed. god. this sucked.

he spent several minutes talking about tour preparations. about travel schedules. about hotel bookings. about everything and nothing.

you listened quietly. eventually your throat tightened. you had to tell him.

“marcus.”

he stopped talking.

“yes?”

you stared down at the table.

“i need to tell you something.”

the silence that followed felt impossibly long. when he finally spoke again, his voice had softened.

“okay.”

you swallowed. hard.

“you’re one of the best men i’ve ever met.”

another pause. then a quiet sigh. and suddenly he knew. you could hear it. he already knew.

“hey, its okay.”

your eyes immediately filled with tears. because there was no point lying.

“i’m so sorry, marcus.”

silence. then another sigh. longer this time. sadder. you pressed your hand against your forehead.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.”

his voice was gentle. still gentle. even now.

“I tried.” you laughed weakly through tears. “i really tried.”

“i know.”

that somehow made you even sadder. because he wasn’t angry. he wasn’t yelling. he wasn’t accusing you of anything.

he was simply accepting a truth he’d probably seen long before you had.

another long silence followed. then marcus laughed softly. not because anything was funny. but because heartbreak sometimes sounded like laughter,

“I figured this would happen sooner or later. but i at least thought i had more time with you first.”

your chest tightened.

“when?”

“probably six months ago.”

you groaned. covering your face.

“marcus.”

“I’m serious.” his voice carried a sad smile.

“you cared for me in one of the darkest times in my life, and i thank you so much for that-“

“-but you love him.”

you couldn’t even deny it. because he was right.

the two of you continued to chat then you said goodbye nearly twenty minutes later. and when the call finally ended, you sat there staring at the wall. mourning what could’ve been.

mourning a good man who deserved someone capable of loving him completely.

then eventually you stood. grabbed your keys. and left.

the drive to michael’s house felt surreal.

your heart spent the entire trip trying to escape your chest. every red light felt personal. every stop sign felt unnecessary. by the time you pulled into the driveway your hands were shaking.

you almost left.

seriously.

you sat in the car for nearly five minutes staring at the front door. thinking. rethinking. overthinking.

what if you were making a mistake?

what if nothing had actually changed?

what if you got hurt again?

the questions kept coming. one after another. but then you remembered michael’s face last night. the tears and the regret.

the way his voice broke when he admitted he’d taken you for granted.

and suddenly you couldn’t sit there anymore. you got out, walked to the door, and rang the bell.

once.

twice.

then waited.

your pulse thundered in your ears. footsteps approached. the lock clicked. and the door opened.

michael appeared looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. plain white t-shirt. barefoot. his hair completely messy.

you nearly laughed.

for a second he simply blinked at you. confused. trying to process what he was seeing. because the last person he expected standing outside his front door was you.

“baby?”

the nickname slipped out automatically. instinctively. his eyes widened immediately afterward. like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to call you that anymore.

“what are you doing here?”

you stared at him. taking him in. really taking him in. the sleepy expression. the surprise. the hope already beginning to form behind his eyes.

and suddenly every doubt disappeared. all of it. gone.

you stepped forward.

grabbed the front of his shirt.

and kissed him.

michael froze. completely. for half a second. then melted. absolutely melted.

a breath escaped him. half laugh. half gasp. his hands immediately found your waist. pulling you closer.

closer.

like he’d spent an entire year dreaming about this exact moment. his forehead bumped yours briefly before he kissed you back.

soft at first. careful. almost disbelieving. like he was afraid you’d disappear.

your fingers slid into his curls and the sound that left him nearly broke your heart.

because it sounded relieved. truly relieved. the kind of relief that came after carrying pain for far too long.

eventually you pulled apart. both breathing harder. both smiling. both staring. neither quite believing this was real.

michael’s hands never left your waist.

not once.

his eyes moved across your face. memorizing every inch. the way they always had. and suddenly he laughed.

a genuine laugh.

bright. warm. happy.

the first truly happy laugh you’d heard from him in years.

“you’re really here.”

you smiled.

“I’m really here.”

his eyes immediately watered. and that smile somehow grew even bigger. more beautiful. more boyish.

more michael.

he rested his forehead against yours. closing his eyes. holding you close enough to feel your heartbeat.

for several moments neither of you spoke. neither of you needed to. because after all the years. all the mistakes.all the grief. all the longing. you’d finally found your way back to each other.

when michael finally opened his eyes again, they were shining.

filled with affection.

filled with relief.

filled with love.

his thumb brushed softly against your cheek.

you whispered with a smile so tender it nearly made his knees weak,

“oh how i’ve missed you, lovey.”

and for the first time in a very long time, you both smiled without sadness attached to it.

i believe this is the appropriate tag list, forgive me if i’m wrong!