todo mi amor eres tú.
✦ pairing: bad!michael x reader
✦ wc: 730
✦ summary: after the final show of the week, michael asks the driver to take the long way home. somewhere between the city lights and the quiet hum of the freeway, he finally finds the courage to sing something he’s been too nervous to share with anyone else.
✦ warnings: fluff, established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, late-night drive, post-concert vibes, shy!michael, bad era michael, nervous singing, hand holding, lots of yearning, no y/n, michael being an absolute sweetheart, mild spanish lyrics
✦ an: this one is for the softies. 🫶🏻 i don’t write enough non-smut and this request was way too fcking cute to pass up. thank you for trusting me with it! @sunsetdrivers hopefully the puerto rican/dominican heart energy has been received and returned with interest 💗
the los angeles night was warm, the kind that clung to skin and made everything feel slower. you were both in the back of the black van after the last show of the week, the rest of the crew already gone ahead. michael had asked the driver to take the long way, windows cracked just enough to let the city air in.
he was still in the red leather jacket from the stage, the one with the silver zippers, though he’d loosened it. the fedora sat on the seat beside him. a faint sheen of sweat still caught along his jaw from the encore. his curls were damp at the edges, and every few seconds his gloved hand would flex against his thigh like he couldn’t quite sit still.
you’d been talking quietly for the last twenty minutes, about nothing important, about everything that mattered. then the silence stretched, soft and charged, until he cleared his throat.
“i… i’ve been wanting to do something,” he said, voice low, almost shy. that soft, careful cadence that always made your stomach flip. “for a while now. but i keep… chickenin’ out.”
you tilted your head.
“what is it?”
he looked at you, then away, then back again. the gold of his eyes caught the passing streetlights.
“there’s a song. you know the one. the spanish one they had me record for the bad reissue.”
a small, nervous laugh.
“i practiced it a lot. more than i needed to, if i’m honest.”
your heart was already beating harder.
michael shifted closer on the bench seat, close enough that his knee brushed yours. he took a slow breath, the way he did right before a big note on stage, except this wasn’t a stadium. this was just the two of you and the low hum of the engine.
“i’m gonna mess it up,” he murmured, almost to himself. “my spanish ain’t perfect… and i’m kinda nervous.”
“why nervous?” you asked softly.
he met your eyes. the answer was right there, quiet and unmistakable.
“because it’s for you.”
he rubbed the back of his neck with a quiet laugh.
“you’d think singin’ in front of eighty thousand people would’ve prepared me for this.”
you smiled.
“guess not.”
he shook his head.
“not when it’s for you.”
he looked down at your joined hands. took another breath. smiled to himself.
then he started to sing.
not the big, soaring performance voice. something smaller. sweeter. the one that lived in the quieter moments, velvet and trembling just a little at the edges.
“todo mi amor eres tú…
y no puedo parar de amarte…”
his eyes never left yours. the spanish curled warm and careful off his tongue, every syllable deliberate because he wanted it to land right. his voice stayed soft, intimate, the way it only ever got when the lights were low and no one else was listening. his spanish was perfect.
“cuando estoy cerca de ti…
siento que el mundo se detiene…”
a faint flush crept up his neck under the collar. his gloved hand found yours, thumb brushing once over your knuckles like he needed the contact to keep going.
“no importa lo que digan…
yo sé que este amor es verdadero…
todo mi amor… eres tú.”
he held the last note longer than necessary, voice dipping into that gentle, almost shy register that made the words feel like a secret. when he finished, the only sound was the tires on the freeway and the quiet rush of your own breathing.
michael’s shoulders were tense, waiting.
he let out the tiniest laugh through his nose.
“…forgot half the words.”
“no, you didn’t.”
“…almost did.”
the bravado from the stage was gone. in its place was just a man in a red jacket, looking at the person he loved like he wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to keep looking.
you squeezed his hand.
a small, relieved smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, voice barely above a whisper.
“i meant every word.”
outside, the city kept moving. inside the van, time felt like it had finally slowed down just for the two of you.
“guess i didn’t chicken out after all.”
