he lets you win arm wrestling matches all the time. he fakes strain so convincingly you actually think youâve got himâuntil one day, mid-match, you catch the tiniest smirk twitch at his lips.
âwait a damn minuteââ
âwhat?â he laughs, acting innocent.
you slap his shoulder. âyouâre faking?â
âwouldnât dream of it,â he teases, letting you pin his hand again. âyouâre just⌠strong.â
youâre always checking on him after missions, especially after he saves a city, lands a plane, or tanks an explosion. youâll cup his face and search his eyes, even when thereâs no scratch on him.
âiâm okay,â heâll whisper every time. âyou donât have to worry.â
âi do worry, clark. you live a dangerous life.â
and heâll just smile softly, brushing a hand over your cheek. âiâll always make it back home to you.â
he thinks about proposing constantly. every time you fall asleep on his chest, every time you wake him up with a kiss, every time you run your hands through his curls and call him âbabyâ like itâs the easiest thing in the world.
but heâs scaredâterrifiedâthat bringing you deeper into his life could put you in danger.
he keeps little mementos of you everywhereâa photo of you at the planet, in his wallet, a pair of your earrings in the glove compartment of his truck, your favorite lotion tucked into his overnight bag. and he always smells like you after a night togetherâwarm, soft, familiar.
and in the bedroom, he holds backâuntil you tell him not to.
thereâs a night where youâre straddling him, mouth at his neck, and you say, âyou donât have to be gentle with me, you know.â
and something in him snapsâin the best way.
his hands clamp tight on your thighs, his voice gets low, and he flips you under him so fast the headboard groans.
âsay that again,â he breathes, eyes darker than youâve ever seen them.
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you canât help but notice them every single time he looks your way, those massive, dark doe eyes that seem to hold the entire universe inside them. they are so deep and incredibly expressive, framed by thick, lashes that rest perfectly against his high cheekbones. whenever he focuses that gaze entirely on you, your heart skips a beat.
"you're doing it again," michael murmurs, a soft, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
you blink, snapping out of your daze. youâre sitting on the plush couch in his living room, your fingers intertwined with his. your deep brown skin contrasts beautifully against his, a striking visual that he loves to admire, but right now, your attention is completely on his face.
"doing what?" you ask, though you know exactly what he means.
"staring," he chuckles, his voice a low, melodious rumble. he leans in a bit closer, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "what is it? do i have something on my face?"
"no," you sigh, entirely defenseless against his proximity. you reach up, the tips of your fingers gently tracing his jawline before resting softly on his cheek. "youâre just so pretty, mike. itâs so unfair, really. how does anyone look at you and not just melt?"
a soft, blush creeps up his cheeks, and he looks down for a split second, suddenly shy. it amazes you how a man who commands stadiums with a single movement can get so flustered by a simple compliment from you. when he looks back up, his doe eyes are wide, glassy, and filled with an overwhelming amount of affection.
"you always say that," he whispers, leaning into your touch.
"because it's true," you insist, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss just beneath his brow, right where those beautiful eyes rest.
michael lets out a soft gasp, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. the way he gazes into your eyes leaves you breathless, matching your intensity with a pure, unfiltered devotion of his own.
"i could say the same about you," he replies softly, his eyes scanning every inch of your face before locking back onto yours. "i love looking at you and i love the way you look at me."
he leans down, closing the small distance between you to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. but even as your eyes flutter shut, the image of his beautiful, doe-eyed stare stays burned into your mind, keeping you completely captivated.
you always make little decisions without clarkâs input. mainly because youâre used to your hyper-independence. but when you make one of the biggest decisions in your relationship without even consulting him. he gets very upset.
it wasnât the first time clark had felt like youâd decided something without him.
sometimes it was little thingsâlike when you rearranged the living room furniture while he was on night shift. he came home, half-asleep and bruised from a mission, only to stumble into the coffee table youâd moved. you just laughed it off, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, saying, âi thought itâd look better this way.â
then there was the weekend youâd gone and signed a lease on a bigger storage unit for all your things without even mentioning it to him. he only found out when you asked him to help you move boxes. when he asked why you didnât talk to him first, you shrugged, âi didnât want to bother you. youâre busy enough.â
he let those go. he told himself it was just your independence, something he admired most days. but deep down, each decision chipped at him, making him feel like he wasnât really in your lifeâjust orbiting around it.
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.
âi, uh⌠i was offered a job in central city and⌠i accepted it.â you shyly.
he froze, mid-sip of water, staring at you over the rim of the glass. âcome again?â
âitâs two hours out,â you rushed to explain. âbut i can commute, or weâll figure out weekends, andââ
âyou accepted a job two hours away? without even telling me you were applying?â his voice was sharp, sharper than youâd ever heard it.
you swallowed. âi didnât think it was a big deal until i got the offer. and then⌠i just thought iâd handle it.â
there it goes again. he set the glass down with a thunk, his jaw tight. âyou keep saying that. handle it. like iâm not even here.â
âclark, itâs my career. iâve always made choices like this for myself. i didnât want to slow down and risk losing it.â
âbut weâre not just you anymore. itâs us.â his voice cracked, raw and desperate. âdonât you see how it feels to find out something like this after the fact? like i donât matter enough to even be considered?â
âclark,â your chest ached. âitâs not that you donât matter. i justâiâve had to do everything on my own for so long, i donât even think about checking in sometimes. itâs instinct for me, im sorry.â
he shook his head, stepping closer but keeping just enough space between you that it stung. âinstinct or not, this is our relationship. i need to know you want me in it, really in itânot just tagging along for the pieces you decide to share.â
you blinked against the hot pressure in your eyes, because clark never yelled, but every word cut like steel.
âi am so proud of you. iâve always been proud of you. but right now? iâm scared.â his eyes burned into yours, his voice softer but still trembling with anger. âbecause if you can make this decision without me⌠what else can you decide without me?â
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.
âi didnât⌠i didnât realize how much i hurt you.â your throat tightened, and you leaned forward, trying to catch his eyes. âall those little thingsâthe apartment, the storage unit, even the furnitureâI thought they didnât matter. i thought they were just⌠me doing what iâve always done. i never once stopped to think what it felt like on your side.â
âyouâre not just my boyfriend, clark. youâre my partner. and i shouldâve treated you like that.â your words came out shaky. âyouâve done nothing but make room for me in your world, in ways i donât even deserve. and i shut you out without realizing it.â
his arms dropped slowly, âdo you know what it feels like to be standing right here, loving you with everything iâve got, and to keep finding out iâm the last to know about your life?â
tears blurred your vision. âiâm sorry. god, iâm so sorry.â you reached for him, hesitant, your fingers brushing his hand. âiâve been independent for so long, i didnât even think about what i was taking away from you. but i donât want you to feel like youâre standing on the outside. i donât want to keep making you feel like you donât matter.â
finally, finally, his hand turned and wrapped around yours. he looked down at you, eyes softer now, though still glistening with unspoken worry.
âi donât need to make your choices for you,â he murmured. âbut i need to be there. i need to know weâre building something together. because i canât⌠i canât do this if iâm not a part of it.â
you squeezed his hand like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground. âthen youâll be part of everything. no more shutting you out. no more deciding alone. i want us, clark. i want us more than anything.â
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.
âplease donât shut me out again,â he whispered.
âi wonât,â you promised, voice breaking. ânever again.â
and when he finally kissed you, it wasnât angryâit was relief.
synopsis: clark loses control and accidentally breaks the headboard during sex, but you stay on topâliterally. i just love sub clark omg.
you had him under you again â where he belonged.
his big body sprawled across your bed, muscles loose, mouth parted, already breathless like you hadnât even really started. the man could bench buildings, but you so much as breathed heavy against his throat and he was whining.
the best part? he loved it.
âhands where i can see them,â you murmured, running your palms slowly down his chest. âand donât get cute.â
clark smirked. âyes, maâam.â
he obeyed, resting his wrists by his head, fingers fisting the pillow. you knew he could lift you with one pinky, but he was always so careful. always so still when you told him to be. and tonight? he looked wrecked already â cheeks flushed, chest rising fast, thighs trembling under your knees.
you rolled your hips against him slowly, just to tease.
his breath caught. âfuckââ
âmm. already?â you smiled, dragging your nails gently down his stomach. âand here i thought superman had stamina.â
âi do,â he said, voice tight. âjust⌠not when itâs you.â
you bit your lip, amused. âdonât fall apart too fast, baby. weâre not even close to done.â
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 â 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 â eyes half-lidded, lips slack, those strong hands clutching the pillow like it was his only lifeline.
âyou look pretty like this,â you said, breath brushing over his jaw. âall big and helpless. you like it when i make the rules?â
his hips bucked a little before he caught himself. âyes,â he whispered. âyou feel so good. canât think.â
you tilted your head, riding him deeper, harder now. âdonât think baby.â
he moaned â loud and desperate.
and thenâ
CRACK.
everything stopped.
you blinked. slowly looked over your shoulder.
a chunk of the headboard had snapped clean off â 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.
ââŚclark.â
"i got excited," he mumbled.
"you broke the damn bed."
he winced. "i can fix it?"
you arched an eyebrow. "with what, laser vision?"
âi didnât even notice i was holding on that tightâŚâ
you sat back on his thighs, crossed your arms, and stared at the busted headboard.
ââŚthatâs the third bed this year.â
âi can buy you another oneââ
âyouâre damn right you can.â
you leaned back over him, hands pressed to either side of his head, and kissed him hard â 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, whatâ?"
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.
he obeyed without hesitation â arms back, fists gripping the pillow like his life depended on it.
and this time, you rode him slow, cruel, intentional â listening to every gasp and tremble, watching his knuckles turn white. the only sound in the room was his ragged breathing, your name under his breath like prayer, and the slow creak of the half-broken bed beneath you.
bringing michael to the cookout (based on @prettyangeliczzâs post!)
the southern heat hit you the second you stepped off the plane, but it wasn't until you were pulling up the gravel driveway of your childhood home that your stomach really started to do flips. for the past two years, youâd been living a double life. in la, you were a corporate professional with a chic apartment and a solid routine. but you were also the girlfriend of the biggest star on the planet.
when youâd first told michael about your familyâs annual juneteenth cookout, you hadnât expected him to get so wide-eyed and excited. heâd never celebrated the holiday before, and the sheer genuine curiosity in his voice made it impossible not to invite him. but trying to warn your parents over the phone had been a disaster.
âgirl, bring your lil boyfriend! nobody cares! youâre grown,â your mama had scoffed, completely brushing off your frantic hints. your daddy hadn't been any better, insisting that anyone was welcome at his table.
"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 hiâs 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. michaelâs 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 michaelâs 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 â"
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 cousinsânone of them more two apples tallâwere practically vibrating with excitement. they kept tugging on michaelâs 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 werenât sure youâd ever seen michael eat a rib, like, everâŚ
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!â 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 familyâincluding your grandma, who had finally abandoned her soapsâwas 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.
"give them my goodbyes, and thank your parents for me," michael murmured, leaning down to plant one last, lingering kiss on your lips before finally turning to get into the back of the car.
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you and michael have been in a relationship for months. suddenly, he becomes distant and cold, and thereâs only one explanation: the diana ross. part two found here :)
the first time you met michael, was insane. he looked at you like he already knew you. not in a cocky way. not flirtatious, either.
it was softer than that. curious, one might say.
you were standing off to the side at a music industry party you barely even wanted to attend, holding a sweating glass of cranberry juice and vodka, wishing your friend would hurry up so you could leave. the room was packed shoulder to shoulder with celebrities, producers, photographers, assistants. expensive perfume floated through the air thick enough to choke on.
and yet somehow, when michael walked in, everything shifted. people parted for him naturally. heads turned immediately. conversations stopped and restarted in excited whispers.
but michael himself looked uncomfortable underneath it all.
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 didnât want to stare. but you couldnât help yourself. every woman in the room already was.
your friend eventually returned to your side breathless.
âoh my god,â she whispered, gripping your arm. âthatâs michael!â
âi know who michael jackson is.â
âgirl, fix your face.â 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.
âiâm tired.â
âwell wake up because he keeps lookinâ over here.â
âgirl, please.â
âiâm serious.â
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 didnât 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.
âleaving so soon? was the party as boring for you as it was for me?â
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.
âiâm sorry?â
âat the party,â he clarified. âyou looked bored.â
you laughed before you could stop yourself. âmaybe because i was.â
his grin widened.
there was something disarming about him immediately. something warm. michael didnât 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 heâd laugh suddenly and grab your arm instinctively like he couldnât 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.
âyou are mean,â he accused dramatically.
âyou have terrible taste.â
âno i donât.â
âyou absolutely do.â
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 heâd somehow surprise you with it.
he adored making you laugh most of all.
sometimes youâd catch him staring at you while you talked, smiling to himself like he couldnât believe you were real.
those moments ruined you. because michael loved in such a tender way when he allowed himself to.
heâd call late at night just to hear your voice.
âwhatâre you doinâ?â heâd ask softly.
âtrying to sleep.â you joked.
âoh.â
ââŚwhy do you sound sad?â
âi miss you.â
simple. honest. and devastating.
sometimes heâd 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.
âyou spoil me,â he mumbled sleepily.
âyouâre dramatic.â
âno, iâm serious.â his eyes stayed closed. ânobody takes care of me like you.â
your fingers paused briefly. you looked down at him carefully.
âand who takes care of you, michael?â
his eyes opened and for a second, something deeply sad flashed across his face before disappearing.
ânobody,â 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 wasnât. michael talked about her constantly. stories from childhood. memories. phone calls. advice sheâd 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.
âdiana!â he breathed.
youâd 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.
âwhatâs wrong?â
ânothing.â
âbaby.â
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 heâd just told you outright that he didnât 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 itâs 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 iâm 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.
youâd been sitting in your kitchen making yourself a snack at nearly midnight when the television host smiled and mentioned dianaâs recent accident that left her slightly injured. nothing too serious.
âand michael was sweet enough to come check on you personally, right?â the interviewer asked.
diana laughed softly.
âof course, heâs always had a real and true love for me.â
real and true love.
you stared at the television so long youâd abandoned your food. because michael had looked you dead in your eyes weeks prior and told you there was nothing going on.
âsheâs family to me,â heâd said gently. âthatâs all.â
âfamily.â
but family didnât make him disappear for weeks while ignoring your messages. family didnât make his eyes soften that way whenever her name came up. family didnât 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.
heâd kiss your forehead while humming unfinished melodies under his breath. heâd tug you into his lap absentmindedly during studio sessions. heâd laugh at your jokes so hard heâd 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.
youâd 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.
âlook,â he whispered excitedly, pointing toward the city lights.
you laughed. âbaby, itâs literally traffic.â
âno,â he grinned. âit looks like stars.â
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.
âwhat?â he asked shyly.
ânothing.â
âyouâre lookinâ at me like iâm crazy.â
âmaybe you are crazy.â you joked.
he gasped dramatically. âsee? this is why i keep you around. you humble me.â
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.
âyou know i adore you, right?â
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.
âhey,â he said quietly.
âhey.â
he stood slowly. âyou okay?â
you almost laughed.
âam i okay?â
his shoulders tensed.
âiâve been worried about you,â he murmured.
âworried about me?â you repeated. âmichael, you disappeared.â
âI didnât disappearââ
âyou did.â
his jaw tightened immediately.
âi been busy.â
âbusy enough to ignore me for two weeks?â
he sighed heavily, already irritated. and somehow that hurt more.
âwhyâre you makinâ this into somethinâ bigger than it is?â
your eyes widened.
âbecause it IS bigger than it is!â
âsee?â he snapped suddenly. âthis is what i mean. you keep pushinâ and pushinâ and itâs annoyinâ.â
the room went silent. because there it was. annoying.
you stared at him like heâd slapped you. and the second the word registered on your face, michael regretted it.
you could see it immediately.
âbabyââ
âdonât, michael.â
his voice softened instantly. âi didnât mean it like that.â
âthen how did you mean it?â
he rubbed his face hard.
âi just⌠i got a lot goinâ on.â
âso do i but i find the time to show up for you, michael. i find the time to show up for us!â
âi know that.â
âno,â you whispered, tears rising. âi donât think you do.â
michael looked exhausted now. cornered.
âwhat do you want me to say?â
the question broke something in you. because if he loved you the way you loved him, he wouldâve known.
you swallowed hard.
âi want to know why she matters more.â
his eyes flickered immediately. there it was again. that hesitation. that tiny tiny pause that told you everything.
âshe doesnât,â he said quietly.
you nodded slowly.
âokay.â
âiâm serious.â
âi said okay.â
âwhy wonât you believe me?â
your voice cracked. âbecause youâre 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 arenât any boundaries.â
his face hardened defensively.
âthatâs diana.â
âexactly.â
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.
âi canât do this anymore,â you whispered.
michael blinked.
ââŚwhat?â
âi canât compete with a woman youâve loved your whole life.â
his face immediately crumbled.
âbabyââ
âdonât call me that right now.â
âplease.â
his voice cracked so softly it nearly made you fold. he stepped toward you carefully.
âyou know how much i care about you.â
âthatâs the problem,â you whispered. âyou care about me.â
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 werenât sure he did. and he wasnât sure either. you grabbed your bag before you could change your mind.
michael followed you all the way to the door.
âplease donât leave mad.â
you laughed bitterly through tears.
âthatâs the thing, michael. iâm not even mad anymore.â
that terrified him more than yelling wouldâve.
âwe can fix this.â
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.
âwe canât fix this, michael.â you breathed harshly. this was hurting you more than it hurt him, âi wish you the best lovey. i really do.â
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 heâd 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. iâm slowly realizing that. well i did know that, i just didnât want to acknowledge it. i wonât say i didnât love you, but i cared for you so much and i still do. iâm 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 canât anymore. but i wont. iâm better than that.
you paused there.
because were you?
you slept with his sweatshirt every night for nearly a month afterward. sometimes youâd 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.
youâd 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 shouldnât but i do. i really really do.
outside, rain tapped softly against your window.
i canât stop thinking about you. i wish i didnât think about you. i wish i didnât want you as bad as i do when youâre clearly over me.
you shut your eyes hard. because that was the worst part.
the idea that heâd moved on easier than you.
that maybe you were just another woman he cared for while still secretly loving diana ross forever.
that canât be true. i refuse to believe this and thatâs exactly my problem. i canât register this in my brain.
your throat tightened painfully.
iâm simply a girl who cared for a boy. things didnât work out and thatâs 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 iâm not. i miss you deeply.
my lovey, my michael, my superstar.
then came the worst night of all.
the night he called.
you almost didnât answer.
almost. but the second you heard his voice, your knees weakened.
ââŚhey.â
silence.
you sat down slowly on the edge of your bed.
âhi, michael.â
he sounded exhausted. small. âi didnât know if youâd pick up.â
âi almost didnât.â you said truthfully.
a quiet breath.
âthatâs fair.â
you closed your eyes. his voice still felt like home and that was the tragedy.
âwhy are you callinâ, mike?â
there was a long silence. then quietly he said,
âi miss you.â
your chest caved in. you covered your mouth instantly. because hearing it out loud nearly destroyed every ounce of healing youâd managed.
âdonât,â you whispered shakily.
âi do, baby.â
âplease donât do this to me.â you begged.
âi think about you all the time,â michael continued, âi miss everything about you.â
you laughed bitterly through tears.
âthatâs funny.â
âwhyâs that funny?â
âbecause iâve spent months thinkinâ i meant nothing to you.â
âyou never meant nothing to me.â his voice sounded horrified.
you wiped your face aggressively.
âthen why did you make me feel like i had to compete for you?â
silence again.
heavy silence.
and suddenly michael sounded heartbreakingly honest.
ââŚbecause i was confused. i was obsessed with the version of diana iâd created in my head. what i didnât realize is that i had what i was looking for in front of me the entire time.â
you inhaled sharply.
âthatâs not fair.â
âi know.â
âyou donât get to love me halfway because you canât figure yourself out.â
âI know.â his voice cracked. âI know, baby.â
the tears began to flow even harder. baby. youâd missed that. so so much.
you could hear it. the regret.
real regret all in his voice.
âdid you love her?â you whispered.
he took forever to answer.
ââŚyes.â
your heart shattered all over again.
but thenâ
âbut i loved you too.â
too.
not more.
but too.
and somehow that tiny word told you everything youâd feared from the beginning.
you squeezed your eyes shut.
âthatâs the problem, michael.â
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.
âi never wanted to hurt you,â he whispered.
âbut you did, mike.â
âI know.â
you pressed the phone against your forehead.
âmichael, iâm trying to do this. trying to sit here on the phone with you. trying to be there for you,â you admitted quietly. âi really am, lovey.â
he stayed silent.
âbut i canât.â
his breathing hitched.
âbecause i donât want friendship from you.â you cried softly into the receiver. âi wanted you. all of you.â
the silence afterward was devastating. because both of you knew love existed there.
the two of you stepped out of the shower in a haze of steam, laughter still lingering in the air from some joke clark cracked while rinsing the shampoo out of your hair. the mirror was fogged, towels clung to your bodies, and the world outside your little apartment might as well not exist.
you sat at the edge of the bed, towel tucked around your chest, squeezing lotion into your palms. clark watched from across the room, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. he couldnât stop staringânot at the towel, not at the curve of your body, but at the way your skin glowed. rich, deep, beautiful.
âyouâre staring,â you teased, rubbing lotion into your arm.
âi know,â he admitted easily, stepping closer. âi canât help it.â
you laughed, shaking your head. âyouâre ridiculous.â
clark knelt in front of you, gently plucking the lotion from your hand. âlet me.â his voice was low, careful, like this was sacred work. he warmed the lotion between his palms before sliding his hands over your calf, slow and thorough.
you tried to act casual, but the way his thumbs pressed softly into your skin made your breath catch.
âclarkâŚâ you started, but his eyes flicked up, stopping you.
âdo you have any idea,â he said quietly, smoothing lotion up your shin, âhow beautiful you are? how your skin is? iâve seen sunsets over kansas fields, iâve flown past entire constellationsâbut nothing looks like this.â
your heart thudded, and heat bloomed in your chest.
he shook his head, moving to your other leg, his touch reverent. âi get obsessed sometimes. iâll catch myself staring at you in the middle of the day, in the middle of the street, even at work. i canât stop.â
by the time his hands trailed up to your thighs, you were leaning forward, eyes searching his. clarkâs voice softened even more. âyouâre art. and i get to love you. do you know what that does to me? i canât ever get enough of you.â
you cupped his face, pulling him up to kiss you. his mouth was warm, insistent, like he was trying to pour every word into the press of his lips. when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath shaky.
âand iâll never stop telling you,â he promised. ânever.â
and with the way his hands slid back over your skin, steady and tender, you knew he meant it.
a year after leaving michael, you finally cross paths again. link to part one here :)
a year had passed.
three hundred and sixty-five days and counting.
fifty-two weeks.
twelve whole months.
and somehow, against all odds, life had continued. the sun still rose every morning. marvin gaye still played on the radio. the grocery store still carried the same brand of orange juice you liked.
the world hadnât ended just because your heart had. for a long time, though, it felt like it had.
the first few months after leaving michael had been brutal.
there was no dramatic healing montage. no magical moment where you woke up and suddenly didnât 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 werenât 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 didnât give him a chance. the first date nearly didnât happen. the second almost didnât 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 heâd call, he called. if he said heâd be there at seven, he arrived at six fifty-five. if he was busy, he communicated.
simple things.
normal things.
things that shouldâve been ordinary. yet they felt revolutionary. sometimes that made you sad. because it revealed just how little consistency youâd accepted before.
marcus never made you feel like you had to earn his love. you werenât in competition with anyone. he was yours. but something was missing.
he wasnât 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.
âfive minutes,â he promised.
you laughed, âthatâs what you said twenty minutes ago.â
he grinned.
âthis time i mean it.â
âliar.â
he bent down and kissed you quickly.
âfive minutes.â
âokay.â
âseriously, baby.â
âmarcus.â
âokay, okay.â
another kiss. then he disappeared toward the elevators.
you smiled despite yourself. shaking your head.
and thatâs 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 werenât prepared. he wasnât either. the shock on his face made that obvious.
his eyes widened. then softened. then widened again. like he couldnât quite believe you were real.
âhey,â 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.
âhey.â
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.
âhowâve you been?â
âgood,â you replied smiling politely.
good.
such a small word. yet it hit him like a punch, because you meant it. he could tell. you werenât pretending and you werenât trying to make him jealous. you actually looked happy. and that unsettled him immediately.
before either of you could continue, another voice interrupted.
âbaby.â 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 heâd done it a thousand times.
âready?â
you nodded. âyeah.â
marcus finally noticed michael standing there.
âoh.â
you watched realization click. recognition, surprise, then understanding.
âmichael.â
âmarcus.â
the handshake that followed was polite. professional. but michaelâs smile never reached his eyes. not once.
you were grateful that marcus wasnât 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 werenât waiting for him anymore. you werenât grieving him anymore. you werenât secretly hoping heâd 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 manâs hand resting comfortably against your lower back. another man making you laugh. another man being trusted with the parts of you michael had dropped.
âif was good seeing you,â you said.
and you meant it.
that somehow hurt him more. because you sounded sincere. not angry. not bitter. justâŚdone.
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 youâd 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 werenât waiting. you werenât coming back. you werenât sitting around missing him.
you had built a life without him. and he couldnât 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 werenât going anywhere.
michael hated how jealous it made him. because technically he had no right. he knew that. youâd left. heâd hurt you. heâd failed you.
and yetâ
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 couldnât 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.
iâm sorry. please forgive me. i miss you - xo, lovey
you closed your eyes.
âmichaelâŚâ
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 heâd been waiting by the phone all night.
âhello?â
your resolve weakened instantly. damn it.
âwhat are you doing, michael?â
silence.
then:
âi was wondering if youâd call.â
you sighed heavily.
âmichael.â
your tone made him smile sadly. he could hear it. the frustration. the exhaustion. the history.
âyou canât keep doing this.â you told him.
âdoing what?â
âshowing up whenever you feel like it.â
silence.
long silence.
then quietly:
âi know.â
that wasnât the response you expected. you paused.
âthen why are you sending me flowers, michael?â
âbecause i love you,â his voice sounded tired. really tired.
suddenly you didnât know what to say. because he wasnât arguing. wasnât defending himself. wasnât making excuses.
for the first time ever, he sounded broken.
and that scared you. because you knew he didnât 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.
âi should go to bed.â
silence.
âyeah, me too.â
neither of you moved. neither of you hung up.
âi miss you,â he said once again, quietly this time.
your eyes closed immediately. there it was. the thing hanging over the entire conversation.
âmichaelââ
âi do.â his voice cracked. âevery day.â
your chest hurt.
âstop.â
âi canât.â
the honesty startled both of you. another silence. then:
âlet me come over.â
your stomach dropped. immediately. completely. utterly.
âi donât think thatâs a good idea, mike. you know marcus isnât here-â
âbaby, i donât give a damn about marcus.â
âbut i do, michael.â
âokay,â he said. âiâll be respectful i promise. i just want to see you. i need to see you.â
your pulse started racing.
âplease,â 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.
âokay.â you said, wondering if youâd just made the biggest mistake in your life.
him coming over could cost you everything. all the months of healing. the work youâve 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 oâclock in the morning.
your breath vanished. completely. gone. you couldnât 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 youâd spent a year trying to forget.
and suddenly every feeling youâd 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 werenât 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.
âhi,â he said quietly.
his voice sounded smaller than it had over the phone. less guarded. more vulnerable.
you stepped aside.
âcome in.â
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 youâd built without him.
he walked a few steps farther into the room. slowly. almost cautiously. like every object held information he wasnât 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.
âhe seems good to you.â
he didnât speak with bitterness. which somehow made it worse. it was sincerity.
âhe is.â
michael nodded. a slow, thoughtful nod. then after a moment he asked quietly,
âare you happy?â
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 couldnât?
did you survive losing me?
you looked down at the floor.
thinking carefully. because despite everything, you didnât want to lie. not tonight. not anymore.
âyes.â
his eyes flickered.
you continued, âmost days.â
the honesty seemed to surprise him.
âmost days?â
âlife isnât perfect.â you shrugged slightly, a small smile touched your lips. âbut yes, michael. iâm happy.â
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.
âthatâs good.â
that somehow broke your heart a little because if the roles had been reversed, you werenât sure you wouldâve 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.
âyou know whatâs crazy?â
you raised an eyebrow. âwhat?â
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.
âi spent so much time thinking about whether youâd forgive meâŚâ his voice trailed off. âand i never stopped to think about what would happen if you moved on.â
your chest tightened. he looked toward the picture again. just briefly.
âi didnât think i could be jealous.â his laugh returned. quieter this time. âturns out i was wrong.â
âmichaelâŚâ
âno. let me say it.â his voice cracked slightly. âplease.â
you fell silent and he exhaled slowly. like heâd been carrying these words for months. maybe he had.
âi missed you.â
your heart immediately started racing. you hated how quickly it responded. hated how easily he still affected you.
âi missed you every day. i missed talking to you. i missed hearing your laugh.â
his eyes remained fixed on the floor as he smiled faintly.
âi missed how you used to roll your eyes at me whenever i said something ridiculous.â
despite yourself, your lips twitched.
he noticed. of course he noticed. he always noticed.
âi missed the way you looked at me. and i missed the feeling of you missing me.â
âthat sounds selfish.â
âit does.â a small laugh escaped him. his fingers rubbed together nervously. âbut itâs true.â
his gaze finally lifted to yours.
âi got so used to knowing you loved me.â
the words hit harder than you expected.
âi got so used to knowing there was somebody out there thinking about me.â his voice softened. âsomebody rooting for me. somebody who cared.â
and with that, your chest ached. because once upon a time that person had absolutely been you. without question. without hesitation.
âand then one day you were gone and i realized iâd taken all of that for granted.â his eyes glistened.
âi was stupid.â
you didnât argue. because he was.
he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. he looked exhausted.
âi was so stupid.â
you sat motionless. watching him. listening. letting him finally say the things youâd wanted to hear a year ago.
the things that wouldâve changed everything back then.
âi thought i had time.â his voice lowered. âi thought youâd always be there.â
you felt your stomach twist. because youâd heard that before. but hearing it in person somehow hurt more.
âi kept thinking iâd figure things out eventually. and by the time i realized what i was losingâŚâ his voice cracked, ââŚyou were gone.â
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.
âI would never make that mistake twice.â
your breath caught.
âI wouldnât.â he shook his head immediately. firmly. like this was the one thing in life he was absolutely certain about.
âif i got another chance, iâd spend every day proving how much you matter.â
your throat tightened.
âmichaelââ
âi mean it.â his voice became stronger. more desperate âyou have no idea how hard it was. after you left⌠it felt hard to breathe.â
something inside you snapped. instantly. a yearâs worth of pain erupted before you could stop it. you stood so quickly the couch cushion shifted beneath you.
âhard for you to breathe, michael?â
your chest heaved. all the grief. all the loneliness. all the nights youâd spent crying into your pillow. all the unanswered questions. all the journal entries. all of it came flooding back.
âhow do you think it was for me?!â
his face fell immediately.
âbabyââ
âdonât.â your voice cracked. âdonât do that.â
tears burned behind your eyes.
âI donât want to hear about how hard it was for you.â
michael looked devastated but you couldnât stop now. not after holding it in for so long.
âyou wanna talk about not being able to breathe? try loving somebody who keeps choosing somebody else.â
his eyes shut immediately. pain flashing across his face.
âtry wondering every single day why you werenât enough. your voice trembled. âtry hearing somebody call another woman their real and true love while youâre sitting there loving them with everything you have.â
the tears finally escaped, sliding down your cheeks.
âdo you know what that did to me?â
michael looked shattered. actually shattered, but for once you needed him to hear it. all of it.
âi spent months thinking there was something wrong with me.â your hand pressed against your chest. âmonths.â
your voice lowered.
âI kept wondering what she had that i didnât.â
michaelâs eyes filled instantly.
ânothing. baby, nothing. i swear to youâŚâ his voice cracked violently. ânothing.â
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 20âs wonder:
âthen why wasnât i enough for you, michael?â
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.
âyou were.â
you laughed bitterly.
âclearly not.â
âyou were.â
he stood again. slowly. carefully. like approaching a wounded animal. his eyes never left yours.
âyou were enough.â
another tear slipped free.
âi just wasnât ready.â
the confession landed like a punch. because somehow that answer hurt almost more than the alternative. not because you werenât enough. because he knew you were. and still lost you anyway.
âi didnât 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.â
he took your hand into his.
âso please, donât say such ridiculous things anymore. that was never the case.â
michael stood completely still. his eyes were red. his face wet with tears he wasnât bothering to hide anymore.
and for the first time since youâd 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 wasnât i enough?
and his answer sat heavy in the room.
you were. i just wasnât 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 didnât hurt. not because it didnât 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.
âmichael, i forgive you.â
the words were quiet. but they hit him harder than anything else youâd said all night. his breath caught. completely. his eyes widened.
âwhat?â
you gave a small, sad smile.
âi forgive you.â
he stared, unable to believe it.
you shook your head gently.
âi forgave you a long time ago.â
a tear rolled down his cheek. then another. and another. he looked completely shattered.
your own eyes watered again.
âholding onto all that anger was exhausting. i didnât want to be mad at you anymore. i still donât.â
michael looked down. his shoulders trembling slightly. you could see him fighting for composure. failing.
âI donât deserve that.â
his voice cracked badly.
âI know.â
a surprised laugh escaped him and you smiled. small. genuine.
âI didnât say you deserved it.â
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 yearâs worth of grief suddenly laid bare between you.
and then he opened his arms. hesitantly. carefully.
âcan i hug you?â he said, asking rather than assuming.
your heart squeezed. because once upon a time you wouldâve 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 heâd 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.
âi missed you,â he whispered.
you closed your eyes.
âI know.â
another pause. another squeeze. then finally he pulled away. reluctantly. looking at you one last time. memorizing you.
again.
âgoodnight, beautiful.â
âgoodnight, michael.â 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 didnât 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.
youâd spent so much time imagining what it would be like if he ever came back. what youâd say, what heâd say, how youâd 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 youâd convinced yourself that michael had simply moved on. that he hadnât cared. that losing you hadnât 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.
youâd done everything right. youâd healed. youâd moved forward. youâd opened your heart to someone else. youâd built a life.
but underneath all of that, there had always been michael.
quietly existing in a corner of your heart youâd never quite been able to reach. and that wasnât fair to marcus.
the realization sat heavily with you all morning. because marcus had never done anything wrong. heâd been patient and kind and consistent. everything youâd 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.
âhey.â
his voice immediately brightened.
âthere she is.â
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.
âmarcus.â
he stopped talking.
âyes?â
you stared down at the table.
âi need to tell you something.â
the silence that followed felt impossibly long. when he finally spoke again, his voice had softened.
âokay.â
you swallowed. hard.
âyouâre one of the best men iâve ever met.â
another pause. then a quiet sigh. and suddenly he knew. you could hear it. he already knew.
âhey, its okay.â
your eyes immediately filled with tears. because there was no point lying.
âiâm so sorry, marcus.â
silence. then another sigh. longer this time. sadder. you pressed your hand against your forehead.
âI never wanted to hurt you.â
âI know.â
his voice was gentle. still gentle. even now.
âI tried.â you laughed weakly through tears. âi really tried.â
âi know.â
that somehow made you even sadder. because he wasnât angry. he wasnât yelling. he wasnât accusing you of anything.
he was simply accepting a truth heâd 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,
âI figured this would happen sooner or later. but i at least thought i had more time with you first.â
your chest tightened.
âwhen?â
âprobably six months ago.â
you groaned. covering your face.
âmarcus.â
âIâm serious.â his voice carried a sad smile.
âyou cared for me in one of the darkest times in my life, and i thank you so much for that-â
â-but you love him.â
you couldnât 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 couldâve 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 michaelâs 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 michaelâs face last night. the tears and the regret.
the way his voice broke when he admitted heâd taken you for granted.
and suddenly you couldnât 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 heâd 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.
âbaby?â
the nickname slipped out automatically. instinctively. his eyes widened immediately afterward. like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to call you that anymore.
âwhat are you doing here?â
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 heâd 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 youâd 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.
michaelâs 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 youâd heard from him in years.
âyouâre really here.â
you smiled.
âIâm really here.â
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. youâd 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,
âoh how iâve missed you, lovey.â
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 iâm wrong!