Can you do a Micheal olise fic where they get into an heated argument but they make up at the end btw I love ur writing!!!!❤
LET ME IN
a michael olise oneshot ✦ masterlist
synopsis you’ve spent your whole life learning how to survive on your own. michael just wants to learn how to survive with you.
warnings independent!reader, argument, michael just wants to fit in your life btw, he loves yoooou, he’s understanding, reader being vulnerable, make up
wordcount you know better than to ask me
a/n michael being understanding is kinda sexy. hope you'll like it bb !
sometimes, love didn’t end with slammed doors.
sometimes, it looked like unopened messages because you didn’t want to bother him.
sometimes, it sounded like “it’s okay, i’ve already done it.”
sometimes, it looked like carrying every grocery bag yourself because asking for help felt, unfamiliar.
the thing about surviving on your own for so long was that eventually, independence stopped being a strength.
it became instinct.
and instincts were hard to argue with.
even when someone loved you enough to try.
michael watched you hang your keys on the hook by the front door before disappearing into the kitchen.
“you didn’t wait for me ?”
you looked over your shoulder, confused. “for what ?”
“to pick up your prescription.”
“oh.” you shrugged, opening the cupboard. “i already got it.”
another “i already.”
he’d been hearing that sentence a lot lately. “i would’ve taken you.”
“i know, baby.”
“you didn’t even text me.”
“you were at training.”
“so ?”
“so ? you were busy, michael.”
michael leaned against the kitchen island, arms folded across his chest. “you keep deciding that for me.”
you frowned.
“deciding what ?”
“what’s worth my time or not.”
the room fell quiet. you busied yourself putting groceries away instead of looking at him.
“i was just trying to make things easier.”
“for who ?”
his voice wasn’t loud.
that somehow made it worse.
you paused, a carton of milk still in your hands. “what is that supposed to mean ?”
“it means i don’t know where i fit in your life anymore.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
he laughed once.
not because anything was funny.
“your car broke down.” he started to list. “you handled it.”
“you were sick, the other day.” two of his fingers were pointed out. “you went to the doctor alone.”
“you moved furniture.”
“you hired movers.”
“you had a terrible week.”
“you told your friends before you told me.”
each sentence landed softer than the last. not accusations. just observations. “i just,” he looked at you, jaw tight. “i want to be your partner.”
“you are.”
“am i really ?”
you stayed silent.
“you don’t let me carry anything.” his eyes met yours.
“not the heavy stuff.”
“and not the little stuff either.”
“you never need me.”
you looked away. “that’s not true, michael.”
“then tell me the last thing you actually let me do for you.”
silence.
long enough to answer for you.
he wasn’t asking because he wanted to feel useful. he was asking because he wanted to feel included.
and somehow, those weren’t the same thing anymore.
you hated the way he was looking at you. he wasn’t angry. he was hurt.
and that, was always harder to look at.
“michael,”
“no.” he shook his head before you could finish. “i’m not asking you to depend on me for everything.”
“then what are you asking ?”
his jaw tightened.
“to let me in.”
a bitter laugh escaped your lips. “you are in. more than anyone actually.”
“am i though ?”
his voice cracked so quietly you almost missed it. “because from where i’m standing…”
he gestured around the apartment. “it feels like you’ve already built a whole life that works perfectly without me.”
you stared at him. “I don’t understand why you’re making this into such a big deal.”
“i’m making it a big deal ?”
“i’m capable of doing things on my own.”
“i know you are.”
“then what is the problem ?”
“the problem is that you always choose to.”
silence.
“i don’t even get the chance.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
“so now you’re upset because i’m independent ?”
“that’s not what i said, don’t twist my words.”
“it sure sounds like it.”
“bro.” his voice was firmer now. “i’m upset because every single time life gets hard,”
he took a step closer to you.
“your first instinct is to make sure i never have to know.”
you opened your mouth and closed it right away. because he wasn’t wrong.
but he wasn’t right either.
“i just don’t like bothering people.”
“you don’t bother me.”
“i know.”
“no.” he shook his head. “i don’t think you do, though.”
you stayed silent again. this time that silence was heavy.
the kind that made the apartment suddenly feel too small.
“you know what hurts the most ?”
you looked at him despite yourself. “i find out about your life the same way everybody else does.”
“what ?”
“you tell me after.”
"You already handled it."
"You already figured it out."
"You already fixed it."
he chuckled, shaking his head. “you don’t even realize you do it anymore.”
your chest tightened. “i never meant to—”
“I know.” he cut you off immediately. “i know you didn’t.”
his voice softened a little, and somehow, that made everything worse.
“i’m not accusing you.”
“i’m just telling you how it feels.”
he swallowed. “it feels like…” he searched for the words. “you’ve convinced yourself there’s no room for me.”
you felt something defensive rise in your chest.
“okay now, that’s ridiculous.”
“is it ?”
“it is.”
“you don’t believe i love you ?”
your eyebrows knitted together. “what ?”
“if you believed I loved you, why do you act like asking me for help would be asking too much ?”
he looked straight at you.
the question hit you harder than you expected.
because you didn’t have an answer.
not one you wanted to say out loud.
You broke eye contact first. “i just,” your fingers nervously played with the sleeve of your hoodie. “i’ve always been like this.”
“i know.”
“i don’t know how to stop.”
michael closed the distance between you. not enough to touch you. just enough that his voice didn’t have to be loud.
“i’m not asking you to stop being strong.”
his eyes searched yours.
“i’m asking you to stop acting like you have to be strong all the time.”
it was your turn to chuckle. not because anything was funny. because if you didn’t laugh, you were scared you might cry.
“you think i want to act like this ?”
michael frowned.
“what ?”
“you think i enjoy feeling like i have to do everything ?” your voice cracked for the first time. “i don’t.”
you took a breath. “i hate it.”
michael stayed silent.
“i hate that asking for help feels wrong.”
“i hate that every time something happens my first thought isn’t ‘who can i call ?’ ”
your shoulders shook.
“it’s,”
you swallowed.
“it’s,”
you couldn’t even finish.
michael didn’t move, didn’t interrupt you, didn’t rush you.
and finally, you whispered, “i don’t know how to be looked after.”
his eyes softened. “so that’s what this is.”
you frowned.
“what ?”
“you don’t push me away because you don’t trust me.” he took one careful step forward. “you push me away because you don’t know what it feels like when someone stays.”
…
your lips parted. nothing came out. then, very quietly :
“do you know why i never ask ?”
he shook his head.
“because everyone leaves eventually.”
he stayed silent.
“so i learned how to do everything myself.”
you took another breath.
“that way,” you stared at the floor. “when they leave,” your voice barely existed anymore. “nothing changes.”
the apartment went completely still. michael didn’t answer. not because he didn’t have anything to say.
Because he finally understood. this had never been about groceries. or doctor’s appointments. or moving furniture.
it had never been about independence.
it was survival.
he crossed the space between you carefully. as though one wrong movement might make you disappear.
“baby,” his hand hovered near yours. just touching. just waiting. “i’m not trying to make your life harder.”
you closed your eyes.
“i know.”
“no, i don’t think you do.” he gave a small shake of his head, smiling.
he looked at you through his lashes “i’m trying to build one with you.”
a life.
not moments.
not emergencies.
not things you only faced once they’d already happened.
a life.
“let me be there before you need me.”
your bottom lip trembled.
“i don’t know how, michael.”
“i know.”
he smiled sadly.
“we’ll learn.”
“together.”
you looked at him for what felt like the first time since the argument had started. “i’m sorry,” your voice came out barely above a whisper.
michael looked almost offended. he let out the softest huff of a laugh.
“if anything i should be the one sorry. i’m sorry for not trying to understand you earlier.”
he finally reached for your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours like they belonged there. and for the first time in a very long time…
the idea of not carrying everything alone, didn’t feel quite so impossible.
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