#jacksons!michael jackson

childhoodbestfriend!michael who has been yours since before either of you understood what belonging even was. back when you had braces that caught every blinding camera flash during school photos and made you hate the sculpt of your smile. back when his vitiligo first started appearing across his knuckles like spilled milk, and he’d tuck his hands deep into his pockets during recess, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t aware of the fact he was forming his very first insecurity. that habit never really left him, even years later in his near twenties when his hands became something the whole world wanted to see.

you shared everything together. your firsts—an awkward, curious kiss when you were barely thirteen, all clumsy enthusiasm and uncertainty, teeth bumping and noses colliding because neither of you knew what you were doing other than the fact that you wanted to do it with one another, no matter what. you shared lasts as well, like the final time you brought your favourite stuffed animal to a sleepover because you’d realized his presence beside you was enough to keep the homesickness at bay. michael never made you feel small for needing that comfort. he just tucked the blanket around the both of you and pretended not to notice when you sleepily wrapped your arm around his waist and pulled him close like you had with your worn plush a mere week ago.

he was there during your worst days—the ones where you couldn’t stand your own reflection, where the face in the mirror looking back at you felt like a stranger wearing your features all wrong. and then he was there during your best days too, the brief windows when a new treatment or hack you found in a magazine at your local drugstore seemed to work and your skin glowed for three perfect weeks before it all came plummeting down into the familiar landscape of bumps and forming scars you’d grown to expect. he was there for the hope and the disappointment both, never flinching from either.

and now you’re both older, bodies settling into themselves in ways that feel both familiar and foreign. his face has sharpened into something striking—jawline defined, eyes deep-set and thoughtful, every angle of him transformed into an attractive specimen the camera loves. yours, on the other hand, softened and rounded in places you used to wish away, your features finding an alluring harmony.

but his acne started to show up as well. just like yours a couple years back.

and somehow, that made everything feel a little less lonely, because he looked just as beautiful despite the new texture residing on his features.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who always sits close to you during movie nights at hayvenhurst. his long legs folding up awkwardly on the couch because he’s still getting used to his height, still surprised by the way his body doesn’t quite fit into spaces it used to. his knees bump yours as he settles in beside you with a soft giggle, and your shoulders press together under the same blanket, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of laundry detergent and the cologne he started recently wearing—it was clean and safe, and it all smelt like home.

when you laugh at something on screen, he turns to look at you instead of the tv.

he loves the way your face moves when you’re happy—the way your cheeks lift and your eyes crinkle at the corners, the flickering illumination of the screen getting caught in the small creases of your skin like it’s been waiting for permission to land and rest there. he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, every bump and scar and soft curve, and he’s thought that for years now. but he doesn’t know how to say it without risking the only thing that matters to him.

so, instead, he opts for watching you laugh and memorizes the shape of your joy instead, cataloging it somewhere deep in his chest where he keeps all things he’s too afraid to say out loud.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who gets painfully self-conscious before interviews and photoshoots, and you always find him standing in front of the mirror in some backstage hallway, fingers hovering tentatively near his chin, his cheek, the side of his nose—taking inventory of every imperfection like he’s gathering evidence against every flaw. the fluorescent lights are merciless, washing out the glowing melanin of his skin and replacing it with harsh highlights of every insecurity he’s found over the years.

you walk up beside him and catch his judgemental eyes in the reflection, and you notice how he’s burning himself up from the inside with relentless criticism.

“you look handsome,” you say simply with a smile, and you mean it in the same uncomplicated way he always means when he claims how pretty you are.

he huffs a little laugh, shaking his head. “you don’ gotta say that…”

“i’m not jus’ sayin’ it,” you bump his shoulder with yours, grounding him. “you do. you always do!”

and the confident, unbothered way you say it makes something in his chest unclench. the harsh fluorescent burning softens into something warmer, like sitting by a fireplace on the coldest night of winter. he’s starting to think that warmth is coming from you standing unapologetically beside him.

he believes you, because you’ve never lied to him—not once in all the years you’ve known each other. because of that, a new sense of confidence surges through him and his frown is quickly replaced by a smile when he finally meets your eyes in the mirror.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who started seeing his own face differently after watching the way you learned to carry yours. you don’t hide anymore, not like you used to. you laugh louder now without covering your mouth, and you let him take pictures of you—candid ones where you’re mid sentence or rolling your eyes at a ridiculous thing he just said, completely unguarded and real in a way that makes his chest ache with something he can’t quite name just yet.

and if you can do that—walk into a room and not apologize for taking up any space—then maybe, he can too. maybe he’s been learning courage from you all along, the same way you learned it from the gentle insistence in his voice every time he called you beautiful.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who has the biggest, most ridiculous crush on you and does an absolutely terrible job of hiding it.

marlon teases him constantly. “boy, you’re starin’ again.” he whispers, elbowing his little brother in the ribs during rehearsal.

“i wasn’t—”

“you were.”

and he was. always. he can’t help it. you’re magnetic in a way that has nothing to do with symmetry or perfection, but everything to do with the way you exist in the world—you were finally unapologetically yourself after so many years of trying to shrink yourself into something inconspicuous. he’s watched you bloom into your own skin, and he can’t look away. and it’s not like he really wants to try.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who always asks before he touches your face, like he’s afraid of assuming he has the right even after all these years of knowing one another.

you’re sitting on the edge of his bed one night after a long day, exhausted and rubbing at your eyes, and he’s watching you like he’s trying to commit every second to memory—the slope of your shoulders, the way your hair falls, the particular shade of tired that softens your features.

“can i…?” he reaches out slowly, hand hovering in the space between you, and his fingers are trembling so very slightly that you don’t even notice.

you nod, expecting him to pull you into one of his warm, enveloping hugs.

but instead, his palm settles gently against your cheek, and the surprise must show on your face because the corners of his mouth curve upward into a small, nervous smile. his thumb traces a soft line near your temple, and his touch is so warm and careful that you find yourself leaning into it without thinking, like you’re a dainty flower turning toward the sunrays.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and his voice slightly cracks on the words, betraying just how much he means them.

you feel the embarrassing heat creep up your neck and spread to the tips of your ears. you tip your head down bashfully, trying to escape his intense yet also gentle gaze. “michael…”

“i mean it,” he tilts your face up with the tip of his slender, index finger, so gentle it barely registers as any sort of pressure to look at him. “i really, really mean it.”

childhoodbestfriend!michael who notices when you’re having a bad skin day—when you’ve been picking at your face without realizing it, or when your foundation is applied a little thicker than usual and you won’t quite meet his eyes the way you normally do.

he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. he just pulls you into a hug, rests his chin on top of your head, and whispers sweet reassurances about how breathtaking you are no matter what.

and you do know, because he never fails to tell you—you’ve counted about a hundred times this month alone. but hearing it again still makes your throat tighten with affection for this boy who has been yours for as long as you can remember.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who loves the way you touch his face too—with absolutely no hesitation or disgust, just pure tenderness that makes him feel more seen in a way he never is on stage in front of thousands of bodies.

you’re backstage after one of his destiny tour shows, and he’s sweaty and exhausted and slightly broken out along his jawline from the stress of wanting to perform perfectly. you reach up to brush his damp curls back from his forehead without thinking twice about it, your fingers gentle against his overheating skin.

“you were so amazing tonight!” you exclaim and your voice is flooded with genuine awe.

he closes his eyes and leans into your palm against his face like it’s the only thing keeping him upright through all this chaos. “you made it better by bein’ here, lil’ lady!”

you softly laugh at the silly nickname and roll your eyes. “uh huh, right.”

“i’m serious,” he insists, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re so sincere it makes your heart stumble over itself.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who gets quietly protective when other people make careless comments about your appearance.

he had invited you out to studio 54 one night after finally convincing the bouncer to let both of you in despite being underage through some networking techniques. after what felt like days of endless persuasion from the needy boy, you finally agree to go as long as you can wear a full face of makeup. under the colourful lights that paint you a mixture of pink, blue and gold, someone—clearly drunk and very thoughtless—says something cruel about your skin, and michael’s jaw tightens so fast you think he might actually crack and fracture the bone into two. 

“michael, it’s fine,” you murmur, catching his forearm gently before he can say something he’ll regret.

“they shouldn’t talk t’you like that.” his voice is low with annoyance, anger simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over any second.

you look at him seriously, squeezing his arm to bring him back to you until he takes a breath and nods. but his hand finds yours under the bar table and doesn’t let go for the rest of the night, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your knuckles like he’s reminding himself you’re still there beside him, safe and sound, still his in whatever way he’s allowed to have you.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who takes pictures of you all the time—polaroids, disposable camera shots, blurry images where you're mid-laugh or caught completely off guard in the most unflattering angles possible.

"why d'you always take pictures of me?" you ask one day, watching him shake out another polaroid, watching with a smile as the image of you in a silly pose develops in his slender hands.

he shrugs, smiling that shy, lopsided smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. "cause i like lookin' at you."

its such a simple answer that’s delivered so casually, but your heart does something so complicated in your chest that it leaves you light-headed for just a moment. because he says it like it’s so obvious—like there’s no other possible reason he could ever need.

childhoodbestfriend!michael who finally, finally tells you how he feels on a quiet night in his room when it’s just the two of you, the window cracked open and the sound of crickets drifting in on the warm breeze that smells like jasmine and summer.

you're lying side by side on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and he's been quiet for too long. the silence feels heavy with something unspoken that’s been building between you for years. it’s threaded in the thickness of the humidity, and it’s almost unbearable.

"what're you thinkin' about?" you ask, finally breaking the sickening silence as you turn your head to look at him.

he turns to meet your gaze and thoughtfully hums, falling into another brief silence before finally answering: "you."

you laugh softly, trying to lighten the sudden weight in the air. "what about me?"

"jus'... everything." he swallows hard, and you can see his throat jump up and down with the effort of trying to regurgitate the feelings he’s held for you since you were both kids with scraped knees and impossible dreams. "i love your face. all of it. every little part. the way y'smile, the way your nose scrunches up when you're concentrating, the way your skin catches the light... i love it."

your breath stops completely, caught somewhere between the confines of your lungs and the tightness of your throat. it feels like fireworks are being lit in your chest, sparking and crackling, and threatening to burst into an unsaid confession you’ve been holding for the same amount of time.

"and i know—i know you don't always like the way you look, but i do. i really, really do. and maybe tha's selfish, but i needed you t'know." his voice drops to barely a whisper, trembling a bit at the edges. “i’ve needed you t’know for so long now.”

you reach over, fingers finding his in the small space between your bodies, interlacing together like they’ve been anticipating this moment since the beginning of time.

"it's not selfish," you whisper. "i love you too."

his smile is so bright and relieved that it could crack the sky wide open, could lighten every dark corner of the world into something blinding. when he pulls you closer, tucking you safely against his chest where you can feel his anxious heart racing against your cheek, you finally come to the realization that maybe this is what home has always been—not a place, but him all along, the boy who has loved every version of you and taught you how to love them too.

i was listening to simulation swarm by big thief on loop while i wrote this and i was getting emotional I LOVE PROJECTING IN MY FICS!!! I hope u enjoyed