#michael fic

No one quite loved like Michael Jackson. It was a unique and beautiful thing, the way he loved. Most days he worried his heart might burst with the amount of love he felt, for everyone and everything. When the world felt dark, Michael saw the light. Or in your words, he was the light.

It was a cool afternoon. You were in your room, home alone, when you heard the doorbell ring. You paused what you were doing and walked down the stairs to the front door. The door squeaked quietly as you opened it and peeped through the crack. It was Michael, looking like he was about to burst into tears. You immediately opened the door properly and looked at him in concern. “Mikey, what’s wrong?” You asked and gestured for him to come inside. Michael walked in and sniffled before asking if anyone else was home. You shook your head no. “Come on, let’s go to my bedroom,” you say gently and take Michael’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his as you carefully led him upstairs to your room.

As soon as you had shut yourself and Michael in your room, he approached, wrapped his arms around your waist, and buried his face in your neck as he finally let the tears fall. Your neck and shoulder was wet but you ignored it — you didn’t care — as you held him close. Michael’s body shook and trembled with emotion. He only allowed himself to be like this around you, his beloved girlfriend.

“He’s terrible to me, y/n,” Michael choked into your shoulder. “I know, love, I’m sorry…” you murmured, feeling deep pain for your boyfriend, and boiling rage for his father. Michael sniffled and looked up at you, his eyes wet and puffy from crying. Even in his sadness, his eyes were full of love and adoration as he looked at you. “This is going to sound crazy…” he said. You looked at him calmly. “Tell me,” you encouraged gently. Michael pulled back a little and took your hands in his. His eyes stared into yours intensely as he said, “I want us to run away together, start our own life.”

When he said those words, it almost felt like the world had stopped. You weren’t sure what to say, it was so sudden. Of course you wanted a life with Michael, but you still had a home here. You weren’t sure if you were ready to leave permanently yet.

“Michael…” you started gently. Panic flashed in Michael’s eyes at your tone and his grip on your hand tightened subconsciously. “Hear me out, baby, I know it’s crazy, but I’m in love you. I want to marry you and I want us to have children together,” he explained quickly. You bit your lip as you considered his words. “You really mean that? You want that? With… me?” You knew he wasn’t lying, he would never lie about that. But you still had to ask. Michael nodded. “Please marry me, y/n. Please have my children. I understand if you need time to think about it, but I want you, forever.”

“Let me sleep on it and we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” You said, deciding that you did need time to think about it. Michael nodded and leaned in to press a soft kiss on your cheek. “Of course, my love,” he said lovingly. You sighed and gave him a soft smile before gently pulling him over to your bed. “Cuddles?” You asked, to which Michael nodded eagerly. “Yes, always”. The two of you laid down and Michael laid on top of you, resting his head on your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you, Mikey,” you murmured lovingly. “I love you, too, baby,” Michael replied.

The next morning came, and you awoke without even realising you had fallen asleep. Michael was still fast asleep on you and showed no signs of waking up anytime soon, which you didn’t mind. You stroked Michael’s hair gently and thought about what Michael had said the day before. You thought about his relationship with his father and how good it would be for Michael to be away from him. Your home life was good, you’d always have a place there. Michael was the love of your life, of course you wanted to marry him. It was sudden yesterday, but thinking about it now after a good night’s rest, you realise that you love Michael enough to do this. Although, you would tell him to wait a while before having a child.

Michael eventually started to stir, and your fingers paused its rhythmic motion. His eyes fluttered open and he squinted his eyes up to look at you. “Mornin’, baby,” he murmured with a small smile on his lips. He exhaled and relaxed his head again. “Good morning, my love,” you said back and continued stroking his hair. He smiled and murmured, “I adore mornings like this.” There was a slight hesitation before you replied, with confidence, “me too. I was thinking, Mikey…” “hm?” He hummed. “I want to start our life together too. Marriage, moving…” After you said that, Michael froze then looked up at you to make sure you weren’t joking with him. You were serious. After coming to this realisation, he smiled warmly and leaned his head up to pepper your face with his kisses. He pulled back and giggled as he looked at you with a sweet smile. “You have no idea how happy I am. I love you so much, baby.”

His pulse pounds against his throat as he reaches his parents’ bedroom. There is no other way to get to his own room. He has no choice but to pass it. Holding his breath, he continues on his way and hears someone walking through the entrance hall, likely a maid. Suddenly, he hears a sound from behind his parents’ bedroom doors, as if someone is moving inside. He startles, a sharp breath catching in his throat, and hurries past.

His bedroom door at the end of the hall comes into view, and with every step, the sound of his heartbeat grows louder in his ears, drowning out everything else. His hand trembles as he reaches for the doorknob and steps into the safety of his room. Leaning his back against the door, basically blocking it, he immediately lets out a breath, relieved that no one has seen him.

Michael knows he cannot hide his nose surgery forever; it is far too noticeable a procedure. Yet, in his mind, it makes sense to put off the inevitable revelation as long as possible, especially since he hasn’t told a soul about it. One morning, he simply looked in the mirror and saw Joseph staring back at him through his own reflection – specifically Joseph’s nose, that is – and booked the consultation before he could lose his nerve.

He was terrified, incredibly and utterly terrified. Medical procedures always frightened him and the significance attached to this one made it all the worse.

He dreads the day he will have to stand before him and admit what he has done. The day he gives him the satisfaction of knowing what his ugly words drove him to do. That years of being told he was ugly, that his nose was too big, too awkward, too wrong, had finally gotten to him.

“You’re back!”

Michael’s body goes rigid when he realizes he isn’t alone. You lie sprawled across his bed, absentmindedly kicking your feet as you flip through a magazine. You haven’t looked up yet; the article you’re reading apparently too interesting to spare your boyfriend a glance. For one fleeting second, Michael is grateful for it as it gives him a few extra seconds to figure out his next move. However, his mind has gone completely blank; he can’t think of a thing, except – SHIT!

You lift your gaze from the magazine and smile at him, but he immediately turns his head away, his cap and sunglasses obscuring his face. You caught a brief flash of something white on his face, your smile fading almost instantly. You frown, sensing that something is wrong.

“Michael?”, you whisper, barely making a sound, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the magazine long forgotten. With each step you take toward him, he flinches and your stomach drops. His entire body is tense; he presses his back against the door so hard he’s practically trembling. One hand is behind his back, gripping the door handle tightly, as if he’s about to bolt at any moment.

“What’s.. going on?”, you ask, but the question dies halfway through.  You are close enough now, close enough that him turning his head away no longer helps. Your gaze falls on his nose and the bandages wrapped around it.

“What..?” The word escapes in a shaky breath. Michael presses his lips into a thin line and his eyes remain fixed on the floor. Because he is terrified of what he might see in your expression when you look at him like this. He couldn’t bear it if you were to see him differently now.

You cautiously raise a hand, very slowly. He notices from the corner of his eye and instinctively shrinks away, as though making himself smaller could soften whatever you’re about to say. You gently cradle his chin and turn his head toward you, leaving him no choice but to look at you. He doesn’t resist.

The extent of what he has done is now unmistakably visible right there on his face. Behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. When he spots a hint of sadness in your gaze, not disgust, not disappointment, his shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Evidently, he senses no threat coming from you. You had never given him any reason to fear judgment or condemnation, but Michael’s mind liked to convince him of the worst.

Without saying a word, you gently remove the sunglasses from his face to look into his eyes. You almost drop it when you look into his deep brown, big, beautiful eyes, a hitched breath escaping your throat. Dark purple bruises surround both eyes, a sign that his nose was likely broken. His eyes radiate such profound sadness and vulnerability that it takes your breath away, leaving you momentarily dizzy as you realize what it all means. Why he did it.

You don’t dare touch his face, afraid even the gentlest contact might hurt him, so your hands just hover uncertainly beside his face while you’re searching for the right words to say. You can’t come up with anything and because Michael can’t bear it any longer, the uncertainty of it all, he beats you to it.

“It’s for my sinuses”, he says softly, his voice cracking at the end. He can’t even look at you when he says it, averting his gaze once more.

“Oh, Michael”, your breath trembles as the words leave your mouth. You know he’s lying and he knows that you know that he’s lying. You know why he did it and he knows that you know why he did it. He has told you about it often enough. That he wants to look like a real superstar, that his nose is simply too big, too ugly. All words his father drilled into him from early childhood, until eventually, he came to believe them.

You have witnessed firsthand how Joseph talks to him even to this day, how he tears him down at any chance he gets, mocking him, belittling him, calling him ugly when he is quite literally the most beautiful man in the world. The irony of it all makes your blood boil.

You had loved his nose, it fit him so well. You still do. His entire face was perfect to you, is perfect to you. Changing it won’t change how you see him. But it hurts knowing he never got the chance to see himself through your eyes instead of Joseph’s. You feel like you’ve failed him. That you didn’t do enough to blur Joseph’s words out, to make him feel comfortable in his own skin, to accept himself the way he is. But you never had any chance, Joseph’s damage had been done long before you came into his life.

What hurts most is watching him try to hide from you.

It’s all becoming too much for Michael. He simply can’t meet your gaze, a single tear slipping down his cheek. He reaches for his sunglasses and squeezes past you, flexing his hand because he had been gripping the door handle far too tightly. You don’t let him get far, though. Quickly, you grab his wrist. He stops abruptly and looks at you, so sad and hurt that it breaks your heart. A grown, beautiful man, broken by the words of a man who ought to be supporting him, who ought to love him just as he is. Who terribly failed him.

Without hesitation, you pull him into a tight embrace, careful not to touch his nose. At first, Michael is taken aback and stands rigid in your arms, caught completely off-guard.

“Does it hurt?”, you murmur against his shoulder, planting a feather-light kiss there. His breath shudders and then, slowly, almost hesitantly, his arms wrap around you. He pulls you close until there’s no space left between you, squeezing you tightly against his chest.

Only then does his body relax. You can tell by the way he hugs you back, that he’s so grateful to have you, to have someone who will always have his back, no matter what. You can feel his heartbeat underneath his skin.

“A bit”, he sniffs. You both know he isn’t talking about the surgery. The deepest wound had been there long before the bandages ever were. Neither of you says so.

Michael’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly. You feel it in the way his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, in the way he leans just a little more of his weight against you, as though holding himself upright has suddenly become too exhausting. Silence stretches between the two of you, broken only by his uneven breathing against your shoulder. Gently, you rub your hand up and down his back, reminding him that you are there.

“I ruined my face.” The words are so quiet you almost miss them. Your heart cracks and you pull back just enough to look at him, keeping your hands resting lightly against his sides so you don’t risk brushing his nose.

“What?”

“I know you loved my old nose. Now I look like this, awful”, he swallows hard.

“Do you want to know why I loved your old nose?”, you ask, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“Why?”

“Because it was yours”, you explain, your fingertips carefully smoothing the sleeve of his overall. “And I’ll love this one for exactly the same reason.”

For a long moment, you simply look at him. Michael doesn’t know how to respond to that. He is overwhelmed by the gentleness in your voice, in your eyes. It feels almost foreign, being looked at with so much love when he’d spent most of his life expecting criticism instead. He wants to believe you, desperately, but Joseph’s voice is louder, older, woven into him too tightly to simply disappear.

With the same care you’d shown when removing his sunglasses, you reach up to the brim of his cap now, lift it from his head and set it aside. Soft curls, flattened from being tucked beneath it for hours, spring free. You gently comb your fingers through them, brushing them back from his forehead, careful not to go anywhere near the bandages.

“I just..”, your voice catches for a moment, unsure how to phrase it. “I just wish you would’ve told me.”

He lowers his gaze, feeling embarrassed that he ever thought, even if it was only for the split of a second, that you could ever resent him for what he’d done. You slip your hand into his, the touch making him look up nervously as he squeezes your hand.

“I would’ve been there to hold your hand”, you tell him, your thumb stroking over his knuckles. “You didn’t have to be scared by yourself.”

A fresh tear rolled down Michael’s cheek. “I know”, he whispers hoarsely. “I just.. I couldn’t.”

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you”, you say, your own voice trembling now. “How incredibly beautiful you are, inside and out. I hate that he spent your entire childhood convincing you that you weren’t enough. Because you’re more than enough, Michael.”

The bandages are covering the aftermath of what has been done to him. Years of shame, years of hearing the same cruel worlds, years of pretending they didn’t matter – all of it crashes over him at once. Immediately, you wrap him in your arms again. This time he doesn’t hesitate and buries his face against your shoulder as carefully as he can, mindful of his bandaged nose, while his body shakes with quiet sobs.

The rain was so loud it felt like it was inside the house with us. We’d been rotting on the couch for hours, half watching some movie we didn’t care about, just eating snacks and poking at each other like bored cats.

I was still in Michael’s white button-up from earlier, the one I stole after getting caught in the rain. It barely covered anything, and I knew it. He kept looking. Not even trying to hide it anymore.

“You’re such a little shit tonight,” he said, dragging me closer by my ankle until my legs were across his lap. His fingers traced slow circles on my calf.

I smirked and let the shirt ride up higher on purpose. “You like it though.”

His hand paused, then kept moving, sliding higher. The tension between us had been stupid for weeks all those almost moments and late texts. Tonight it felt like it was finally going to snap.

Then he got up without saying anything and came back holding that ancient Twister box like he’d just discovered gold.

I laughed. “You’re actually insane if you think I’m playing that.”

“Scared?” He raised an eyebrow, that cocky little smile I hated (and loved).

“Please. I’m not scared of Twister.”

“Prove it then.”

We shoved the coffee table out of the way and spread the mat on the floor. He was in those gray sweats and a black tank, looking way too good for a random Wednesday night. The game started normal, but it didn’t stay that way for long.

Every stretch made it worse. My thigh brushing his arm. His hand grazing the back of my leg. When I had to reach across him, my ass pressed right against his crotch and I felt him getting hard. Fast.

“Fuck…” he muttered.

I looked back at him, trying not to smile. “You good back there?"

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

I didn’t deny it.

A couple turns later I leaned way forward for a green circle and the shirt completely gave up, sliding up to my waist. I was bare underneath. Completely. I knew he could see everything.

Michael went dead quiet.

Then we both lost our balance at the same time and crashed. I landed on top of him, straddling his hips, shirt bunched around my waist. His hands grabbed my ass immediately, squeezing hard as he pulled me down against him. He was rock hard.

The laughing stopped.

His eyes were dark, breathing heavy. “You’ve been soaked this whole time, haven’t you?”

Before I could answer, his fingers slid between my legs from behind, stroking through how wet I was. I gasped as he pushed two fingers inside me, curling them.

“Michaelll”

He pulled me down into a messy kiss, all tongue and heat, while his fingers moved faster. I reached between us and shoved his sweats down, wrapping my hand around his cock. He groaned into my mouth when I started stroking him.

“Fuck the game,” he said against my lips, voice rough.

He flipped me onto my back on the mat. The shirt got ripped open, buttons scattering everywhere. His mouth was on my tits instantly, sucking hard, biting just enough to make me squirm. His cock rubbed against my pussy, teasing my clit until I was shaking.

“Tell me you want it,” he breathed, dragging his teeth down my neck.

“I want you to fuck me” I whispered, lifting my hips. “Now.”

He pushed in deep in one thrust. We both moaned. He felt thick, stretching me perfectly. Then he started fucking me hard no more teasing. The sound of skin slapping and the pouring rain filled the room.

I dug my nails into his back, legs wrapped tight around him as he drove into me. It was messy, desperate, and exactly what we both needed.

When I came, it hit me so hard I cried out, clenching around him. He followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning my name.

We stayed tangled on the stupid Twister mat afterward, sweaty and breathing hard, the rain still hammering the windows.

He finally looked at me, half-smiling.

“Best fucking game night ever."

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x

“Hi, Gertrude. How are you doing today?” you greet your patient with a smile.

“Oh, just fine, dear. You know I love seeing your face but I hate being back here.”

“I know. You did a great job last time. The cancer has gone down a bit. The treatment is working.”

“Good. I’m glad,” she smiles.

“I am here to take some blood and be on my say. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“You’re never a bother, dear.”

She puts out the same arm you’ve been using for the past year to take blood. She has been battling cancer for a long time and has been seeing you for treatment since the beginning. The best part about being a nurse is seeing patients grow and heal. Gertrude is on her way if she keeps up the treatments.

You grab the blue tourniquet and tighten it around her upper arm to constrict the flow of blood. It makes for an easy vein. You wipe an alcohol pad across her skin to sterilize it before poking at her skin to get her veins to show.

“You’ve been drinking water, right?”

“Eight glasses a day. My daughter makes sure I have it. I forget sometimes.”

“You have good veins. You’re doing everything right.” You grab the butterfly needle and she looks away before you stick her with the needle. She’s been doing this for a long time but seeing the needle enter her skin still makes her squeamish. “Alright, the needle is in, you can look now.”

“How have you and the baby been?” she asks with a smile.

You place your left hand on your growing stomach with a shy smile. When her blood is done filling one tube, you take it out and push in the next so that the second tube can be filled.

“He’s doing so good. Kicking a lot,” you chuckle.

“Awh, that’s good, dear. I’m glad to hear it. I remember having my first child. It seems like she never slept because all she would do is kick me.”

“Yeah, I’m glad he’s not much of a mover, especially when I’m sleeping. He must sense I need a break,” you wink. You get done filling all three tubes before taking the needle out and placing a cotton swab over the wound before tying it down with two pieces of skin tape. “Alright, I will be back in a little bit. You just relax.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she smiles.

You leave her room and head back to the nurses’ station where you package the blood correctly and have an intern rush this to the labs to get tested.

“So, when is Michael going to come by again?” one of your nurse friends, Jessica, asks. “We miss him.”

“You only miss his cookies,” you smirk.

“Maybe,” she shrugs with a smile. “I can’t help it. His cooking is so good.”

Whenever Michael does have time to come down, he always brings something he cooked for you to share with the other nurses. It’s his way of apologizing for never being around all the time.

“He’s busy with work,” you keep it vague. “I’m not sure when he’s gonna be back. All I know is that it’s soon.” You grab three more empty clean vials to take someone else’s blood who is next on your list. “Gotta go.”

You’re halfway to the patient’s room when you get a searing pain in your stomach. This kind of thing has happened before so you don’t want to alert anyone about premature labor or anything. You walk to the nearest bathroom and make sure it’s empty before leaning over the sink. You take three deep breaths and try to calm down in hopes it will ease your son’s worries.

“Baby, Mommy’s doing fine. I’m okay.”

That doesn’t seem to ease him so you look at your reflection and change the color of your eyes from their natural tint to pitch black. You use some of your magic to calm your son down which works once he feels the comforting aura. As soon as you know he’s not going to cause you any more pain, you turn your eyes back to their normal color and ease up on your magic.

“There you go, baby. See? Mommy’s fine.”

You’re half-demon and half-witch who doesn’t like to use powers unless you really have to. The only time you will is if a patient is in critical condition with no hope of survival. You have some healing abilities and try to help as many people as you can. You’re not as evil as a demon but you’re sweeter than a witch. Maybe that’s why Michael took to you many years ago.

You’re different than the others.

You leave the bathroom and continue with your shift, going from room to room to gather vitals, take blood, and check up on patients to get them anything they need. Once the clock strikes twelve, you take your badge and rush to the time clock.

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes!” you announce to your friends and clock out.

You’re on your way to grab a quick bite from the cafeteria when two men step foot into the hospital.

“Help, he needs help,” the taller one says.

“Are you okay?” you rush over without thinking you’re supposed to be taking your lunch. “What happened?”

“He’s been stabbed. I can’t seem to stop the bleeding.”

“Come here.” You take them to an empty room and lay the shorter one on the examination table to get a better look at what you're working with. You unbutton his shirt and see a deep ash on his abdomen. “Oh, yeah, they got you good. What happened?”

“I walked into a knife.”

“Accident,” the taller one says at the same time as the shorter one.

“He accidentally walked into a knife,” the taller one grounds out, giving the shorter one a weird look.

“Right. Let me get the doctor in here.”

You’re about to leave when the shorter one sits up.

“Sweetheart, I just need some stitches and I’ll be as good as new.”

“This is a stabbing. I need to get the doctor.”

“Alright, then I guess we’ll leave. Come on, Sammy.”

He tries to get off the table but you gently push him back down so he doesn’t go anywhere.

“You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he smirks.

“Wait here,” you sigh and leave the room. You return with a kit that will help you stitch his skin back together. You open his shirt the rest of the way to clean the wound when you notice something on the left side of his chest. An anti-possession tattoo. “You’re hunters.”

“I mean, sure, we like to hunt animals here and there but nothing serious,” the tall one stutters.

“That’s not the kind of hunters I’m talking about, and you know it.” You dab the wound to clean it and the man hisses. “I know an anti-possession symbol when I see one.”

“How do you know about hunting?”

You look at both men and flash your eyes black to show them what you really are. They lean back in shock but you’re quick to ease their concerns.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” You change your eye color back to normal and continue to fix the man. “I’m half-demon anyway. Half-demon and half-witch.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Helping as many people as I can with the curse I’ve been given. I didn’t choose to be this way. I was born a witch, a full-fledged witch who was happy in her coven. My coven was ransacked by a group of demons who took a liking to me. Long story short, I was with them for five tortuous years when they finally put a blade in my heart. Well, I had created a serum I kept in my body, much like the hex bags Rowena kept in her body to keep herself from dying, and I was brought back to life. Only this time, I was half-demon. I don’t know how or why because I never saw those demons again. Now I just keep to myself and help out as many people as I can.”

You don’t tell them about Michael because you know he’d be pissed if you kept telling people about him. He’s very hated in the hunting community, so the more people know about him the more you and your son can be in danger. You’re not sure why because Michael is nothing but sweet, kind, and loving. He’s good but most people don’t see that.

“What about you two? What really happened here?”

“I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean. We were on a demon hunt not far from here when one of them stabbed my brother. I usually do the stitching but this seemed a bit too deep to just patch up.”

“Winchester?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve heard about you two. I never thought we’d meet. I tend to stay away from hunters.” You quickly fix Dean up and place a large cotton pad over the wound, securing it with skin tape. “I was on my way to get something to eat if you two want like to join me?”

“Sure,” Sam smiles.

You clean up the mess you made and escort the two brothers to the cafeteria. You and Dean get a hearty lunch while Sam gets something mild like a salad.

“Not to point out the obvious but I can see you’re pregnant.”

“Your point?” you ask and take a bite of your food.

“We’ve met a half-human, half-demon child before. He was too powerful for his own good.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t met a witch-demon-angel tribrid before.”

Shit, you weren't supposed to tell them that an angel impregnated you.

“You got pregnant by an angel? Which one?” Dean asks.

“Doesn’t matter. I know what you’re going to say. Every child of an angel ends up motherless. They all die giving birth but not me. I am not going to let my child only know pictures and videos of me. I made a spell so powerful that I can draw from when I give birth. I don’t have to die.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Honestly, me either. It might not work. It’s all speculation at this point.” Your phone rings and you smile when you see who is calling. “Sorry, excuse me.” You answer it. “Hi, baby.”

“Darling, I’m sorry but it’s going to take a little bit longer until I can come home.”

“It’s okay, I get you’re busy.”

“I hate leaving you all alone without protection.”

“I don’t think that will be an issue. I met two hunters who I hear are the best. I just met them. Plus, I have my magic to protect me.”

“What hunters?”

“Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Michael’s ears ring at the mention of them. Panic envelops his entire body.

“Change of plans. I’m coming home right now.”

He hangs up abruptly and you pull the phone from your ear in confusion.

“That was weird,” you mutter. Since you stayed and helped Dean, your lunch break was cut down by fifteen minutes. “I have to get back to work. You can stay here and hang out if you want.”

“Sure, thanks,” Sam smiles. You leave the cafeteria to return back to work and Sam turns to his brother. “Are we staying?”

“She’s a demon/witch who got pregnant by an angel. Of course, we’re staying.”

Sam and Dean kept a close eye on you from a distance while you worked until your last break of the day. You don’t have to clock out for this one since it’s only fifteen minutes so you grab a granola bar to snack on and your tablet. You almost run into the brothers because you’re not watching where you’re going.

“Oh, hey! Have you been here the whole day?”

“Yeah, you know, just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Thanks but I’m okay. I have a couple of more hours left before I get to go home. You don’t have to stay here.” You walk around them to find an empty on-call room when you spot your boyfriend standing at the nurse’s desk. “Michael!”

You run into his arms and kiss his cheek but he’s staring at Sam and Dean with a deadly look.

“You alright?”

Sam and Dean are floored at who you’ve just kissed because they know exactly who this is. Dean met him when he went back in time to meet his father. It’s like he’s staring at someone he used to know but he has to remind himself that the person in front of him isn’t a young John Winchester. It’s Michael, the archangel.

“You know him?” Sam asks.

“This is my boyfriend,” you grin.

“Can I talk to you two alone?” he says and kisses the top of your head. “I’ll be right back, darling.” He takes them to an empty room and allows them to go in first. “I don’t care what you want. You win. Take whatever you want. Just leave her alone.”

“You don’t even know what we want,” Dean says.

“I don’t care. I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll leave Heaven alone. Just don’t bring her into it.”

Sam and Dean look at each other before the younger one nods in agreement. They make some sort of deal where Michael leaves everyone alone and no one will come after you or your son before and after birth. Michael leaves the room twenty minutes later and brings you into his arms.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re leaving.”

“Now? I have two more hours of my shift.”

“Don’t worry about that. We need to go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he smiles down at you. “I’m not leaving you anymore.”

You’re his entire world and he’d give up everything to make sure you’re safe and sound, even giving up the throne.

“Let’s go home, then,” you smile back.

x

Before, when he was off tour, he’d wake around 9. Though all of the health Tiktoks he’d get on his For You page (and his mother) would advise against it, he typically would immediately pick up his phone and scroll through the notifications that had gathered while he slept. Usually dumb things on Twitter and Instagram, late night DMs of dog videos from Calum, emails also from Calum related to something the PR team needs Michael to do. Eventually, he would climb out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen to wake up his coffee maker. 

While the coffee brewed, he would feed the dogs and turn on a podcast likely suggested to him by Ashton (he was big on podcasts for a while). He would let the dogs out to the backyard before sitting at the island with his coffee to continue listening to the podcast. His second cup would be accompanied by a scroll through his news app to check up on what was going on in the world. After he felt caught up, he would retreat back to his room, get dressed, and text Calum or whoever he was writing with or his manager, all depending on what was to be done that day. He didn’t spend all that much time with his mornings; there was always something to be done and he didn’t want to get behind on things.

But still, it was a mindless routine. His mother or Ashton would shake up the routine every once in awhile by sharing some tip they had heard or read somewhere that would have Michael adding in a glass of lemon water before the coffee or a gummy multivitamin that he kept on his nightstand to make sure he didn’t forget to take them. But ultimately the routine stuck to the same general pattern until Michael went on tour and would have to relearn the whole thing upon returning to LA so many months later.

That all changed after Luke became a part of Michael’s world.

It depended on the day of the week. He taught early morning labs on some weekdays and it made more sense for him to stay at his place closer to campus to get to those since sweetheart, I love you but rockstars live too far from the campus. This particular morning was a Tuesday, which meant Luke wasn’t due on campus until a meeting with his advisor at 3PM. That meant they could sleep in. That was the first change to Michael’s routine: rising a bit later in the morning. But the purple painted below Luke’s baby blue eyes worried him more than he would ever let him know, so they slept in a bit.

The ridiculous sleep schedule was one of the first things Michael learned about Luke. Though it had taken a week for him to respond to Michael’s first messages to him after being set up by Calum and Ashton (It’s not my fault they decided to set me up with their hot musician friend the week before my qualifying exams, okay?), Luke’s initial suggestion that they meet for dinner at 10PM was the first of an endless number of times he would make Michael laugh. It was the lack of predictability of their schedules that made their amateur match-making friends first think that they might make a good pair. Six months since their first date at the diner across the street from campus and everyday Michael thanks his lucky stars that his best friends love getting in the middle of his business.

On this Tuesday, something stirs Michael closer to around 9:30. They’ve managed to remember to close the curtains for once so the room isn’t too bright and Michael is grateful to not wake up to the blinding mid-morning sun. He hears a scratch at the door (the dogs are still getting used to routines a bit later than they like). Michael turns his gaze to Luke, worried that the sudden noise will wake him. 

Luke faces toward Michael, his chest pressed against the mattress and the blanket and sheets pushed down to the dip of his lower back. Michael’s eyes catch the constellation of freckles dotted along his back and shoulders that’s grown from summer afternoons at the beach with the dogs. If Luke were awake, Michael would probably trace a fingertip between them but again, his brilliant boy needs the rest. Blonde curls are splayed out on the pillow and half covering Luke’s face in a way that should look messy but somehow still looks like a piece of art. How Luke manages to look so angelic while unconscious is a mystery Michael thinks he could spend the rest of his life trying to solve and still come up with nothing. 

Chapped lips puff against the pillow at a slow tempo and Michael figures there’s no way Luke is close to waking. He gently slides off the mattress to keep the beat steady and shuffles across the carpet to the door. He hears a quiet whine behind him and turns. Luke has lifted his head just slightly from the pillow. His eyes are hidden behind the hair that’s fallen in his eyes and his bottom lip is pouted in Michael’s direction. Michael laughs quietly and walks back toward the bed. 

“Sleep for a few more minutes,” he mumbles through a kiss pressed to the top of Luke’s head and the tip of his scrunched up nose. “I’ll have coffee waiting on the patio.” Luke hums something that sounds like agreement to the plan (he rarely gets any argument from Luke when the promise of coffee has been made) and drops his head back to the pillow. Michael waits in the doorway for a moment, smiling at the scene of this boy he’s fallen so hard for even after just six months tangled up in his sheets. He pulls his eyes away and gently closes the door behind him, only just barely fighting against the temptation to crawl back into bed and let the whole day slip away from them under the cover of bright white blankets and sheets.

Michael shuffles down the hall and through a morning-sun soaked living room. The kitchen is lit up from the big windows over the sink, the light bouncing off of a flower vase sitting in the window sill painting the countertops with a pink glow. Michael starts brewing a pot of coffee, the dogs’ nails clicking against the kitchen floor behind him. Moose spends the whole thirty seconds it takes for him to dump a cup of food in her bowl whining and looking up at him with pleading eyes. He laughs quietly to himself and pets the top of her head before he returns to the coffee pot. Michael has taken a pause on the morning podcasts; he’s found that starting his days with quiet is more effective in lifting his mood. He likes not having to pause something when Luke eventually comes out to join him. 

He is comforted by the sound of the dogs eating their breakfast and the coffee dripping into the carafe. He remembers the first time he felt that, how he got so worried that he was settling into some kind of domesticity too young. When he raised the concern with his mom, she only laughed, saying she had felt the same thing at his age. He thinks about how his parents have spent their mornings for the last thirty years. 

He reaches into the cabinet above the coffee machine for a couple mugs (his, from a radio station in Cleveland, and Luke’s, bright red and reads Trust me! I’m an engineer.). He pours them each a mug (adding a couple spoonfuls of sugar to his own) before heading out the sliding glass door onto the patio. He’s found that the fresh air wakes him up probably even more than the coffee, if he’s being honest. It’s late September and living in LA means the tile under his feet is still warm despite autumn arriving a few days before. The dogs run around his feet before chasing each other into the grass and around the pool. Michael smiles, squinting against the light and takes a seat on the couch after setting the mugs safely on the coffee table. 

As he drinks his coffee, he finds himself trying to somehow savor the moment more than he normally does (he’s gotten a lot better at being present just in general, his therapist would be proud of him). He leaves for a short tour in a couple days and as much as he loves being on the road, he finds he misses the mornings most when on a bus for weeks at a time.

When he was away in June and July for a summer tour, he was reminded for the first time in a while of why he had spent so long guarding his heart from something like what he had with Luke. It was a tour with six bands Michael had spent the end of his teen years traveling across the country with during Warped Tour. It was like traveling with family, and yet Michael found himself missing someone other than his mom on tour for the first time pretty much ever. When he talked to Calum and Ashton about it one night in the parking lot before bus call and asked if they thought he was too into Luke and I don’t know guys, maybe this isn’t good for me, maybe we need to take a break. Calum had only rolled his eyes but Ashton smiled kindly and patted him on the back to tell him it was the exact way he had felt about Calum out on his first tour and then handed Michael his phone already dialing Luke.

Realizing his heart didn’t belong entirely to himself anymore was an adjustment but after six weeks of almost nightly phone calls (sometimes Facetimes when Michael found himself missing Luke’s too big smile and California skies and eyes to match it) and the trip Luke made to the Chicago stop (Michael, I want to visit the Bean), he thinks he knows how to go about things this time around. (It’s another thing his therapist would probably be proud of him for.)

It’s the Chicago trip that Michael is thinking about when he hears the back door slide open and a moment later, a pair of lips pressing against the bedhead he’s yet to bother taming. Luke joins him on the couch, immediately moving to fold his long legs up under him and settle under the arm Michael holds out. His hair is tied back in a tiny bun and he’s wearing one of Michael’s old stretched out t-shirts that’s threatening to fall from his shoulder. Luke looks so good in the mornings, it should be criminal. He takes a sip of his coffee and hums to himself, delighted at the taste.

“Good morning,” Luke says in a voice still gravelly from sleep, a lazy smile pulling at his lips. He presses another kiss against Michael’s jaw and drops his head against his shoulder. Michael lets his fingers tangle into the curls at the back of Luke’s neck while taking another sip of his coffee.

“Sleep alright?” Michael asks with a laugh when he hears Luke yawn. Out in the yard, South settles in for a nap in the sun. Moose continues to run in circles around the smaller dog.

Luke leans forward to set his mug on the coffee table. “Like a baby,” he replies, and leans back into the couch. “I’m going to come over here and steal all your fancy pillows while you’re out on the road. Costco pillows are like bricks to me now.”

Michael laughs. “You could just stay here while I’m gone, you know? Calum is going to be here to watch the dogs but I don’t think he’d mind the company.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Luke says with a wave of his hand. “We’ve already planned slumber parties so we can gossip about you and Ashton while you’re on the other side of the country.”

“As long as Moose gets her special treats, the place is all yours.”

“Thank you, honey.”

They sit in the silence for a while, the jingle of the dogs’ collar tags and the windchime around on the front porch a delicate soundtrack as they finish their coffee. Luke moves to stretch out along the couch when Michael gets up to leave their mugs in the sink and grab his journal. 

The remainder of their morning routine continues from there. Michael does some journaling, scribbling down some lyrics in the margins until he finishes up the prompt he had been working on. After a few minutes, Luke stands and wanders into the yard. He stretches and runs around with the dogs for a while (his bright laughter when the dogs run between his feet the music to go along with Michael’s doodled lyrics). Eventually, he returns to the patio and drops back onto the couch, his head dropping to the pillow on the opposite end of the couch from Michael.

Michael pauses in his writing and turns to look at Luke. He’s lost the hair elastic that had been holding the bun at some point and his hair looks something like a tiny lion’s mane the way it fans out against the pillow he’s resting on. His fingers are pulling at the bottom hem of the t-shirt he’s wearing in a way that just after they met earlier in the year, Michael has always interpreted as a nervous habit. He remembers being worried he was making Luke nervous somehow only to find out it’s just what Luke did when he was working through some puzzle or idea in his mind. Michael studies his face now, the way his nose will scrunch up just the slightest bit, the small lines forming between his eyebrows. Luke’s eyes don’t stray from their gaze up at the ceiling as he reaches a hand up to scratch at the pale stubble on his jaw. It’s like he’s tracing out invisible constellations on the ceiling of Michael’s back patio. 

Michael lifts a hand and gently pats at Luke’s ankle, a silent back in a minute with more coffee. As he heads for the door, he can’t be certain if the quiet buzzing he hears in between the windchime is the hummingbird visiting the feeder outside the kitchen window or the racing of Luke’s mind. He settles on the possibility of both and opens the sliding door. 

He leans against the island as the coffee maker whirs back to life and looks back out to the patio. Luke has sat up in preparation for more coffee and even from the far side of the kitchen, Michael just catches Luke’s dimple as he lets the dogs climb all over him on the couch. 

He thinks back to his parents again, about one particular picture that’s hanging in the dining room back home in Sydney. It’s the two of them, probably about the same age Michael is now, Michael’s dad laughing at something and his mom smiling fondly behind her mug. Growing up, his mom had always told him that that’s what love should be; someone who never stops bringing you joy, who never stops making you laugh. Michael spent a very long time thinking that it would be okay if he never found that romantically, that it wasn’t something he needed.

He thinks about the lockscreen image on his phone, a picture Calum had taken when the four of them had gone out for brunch in Chicago before Luke and Calum had needed to head for the airport. In the picture, Michael is wearing one of Luke’s hoodies and has an arm around the back of Luke’s chair. Luke’s eyes are closed in laughter and Michael is smiling as he reaches for his coffee with his free hand. 

Michael never intended to share his heart with someone else. But as he fills the coffee mugs again to head back outside, he finds himself making a mental note to print some pictures for the frames in his dining room.

+++

It’s their last night in Paris.

They had started the day ambitious, intent on trying the fancy place a couple blocks from the hotel for dinner but after a day of sight-seeing, they both knew that they were lacking the patience and energy required to get changed and be in public any longer. Michael had been trying to think of a way to make the suggestion to stay in to Luke in the back of their Uber when Luke lifted his head from Michael’s shoulder to shyly suggest that they chill that bottle of sparkling wine they had picked up the day before and order room service instead. Over three years together and it still sometimes surprises Michael how in sync they often are.

They pass a couple of the guys from Michael’s band and crew in the lobby (Ashton and Calum missing because there was something Ashton had needed to ask Calum at the bistro where they had their first date on Michael’s 2016 European tour). Michael waves to them while Luke asks for the ice machine location at the front desk. As they wait for the elevator, Michael intertwines his fingers with Luke’s, smiling at the way Luke never fails to squeeze their palms together every single time Michael holds his hand. It gives him butterflies that he was certain had all flown away when he was still a dumb teenager traveling across the country in cramped vans and kissing boys in the alleys behind shitty bars that had barely even let a teenage punk take the stage. He lifts their joined hands up to his lips as the elevator chimes its arrival. 

Their room is golden from the light pouring in through the open curtains as the sun starts its fall toward the horizon in between the buildings they can see from their balcony. They tend to be messy travelers (it makes Ashton anxious whenever he has to stop by for an allergy pill or Michael's Switch charger) and this trip is no exception, their clothes all mixed together between two open suitcases in front of the bed. It's not often they're allowed so much time in one spot but between some additional promo for the new single and actual begging with his booking agent, the band and crew (and partners with airline miles burning a hole in their pockets) got four whole days in Paris. Michael's been highly reflective for a number of reasons on this trip and thinking about how far he's come in his career, to be able to have that flexibility in his touring schedule, isn't lost on him. 

Luke doesn't wait for Michael to follow him before continuing through the entryway and launching himself onto the bed. Michael leans against the wall, a smile pulling at his lips at the sight of Luke wiggling out of a cardigan Michael is pretty sure was pulled from his own suitcase. He's been grateful to have Luke out on the road, though he's especially happy it was this week he was able to make it out rather than a week of back to back dates. As much as he loves being able to see his boyfriend standing side stage night after night, he felt that Luke needed the rest. It's been a long semester for him, finally nearing the end of his studies. Michael knows Luke loves the work (he has a habit of reminding him even in his sleep on his most restless nights) but he sent his advisor a last, final draft of his dissertation for edits a couple hours before boarding the flight to France and the weight off his shoulders is almost physically obvious. 

Michael tosses his hoodie toward the couch and grabs the room service menu before taking a spot beside Luke, Michael’s head dropping to rest against his shoulder. As the sun continues its daily descent, the sky painting their room in shades of orange and pink and purple as it goes, they call out anything that catches their eye to each other until Michael grabs the phone from the nightstand and dials for the room service line. Luke shuffles around and settles his head against Michael's lap and whispers last minute additions to their order as Michael smiles in between items to the person on the other end of the line. Luke doesn't move once Michael hangs up so he spends a few minutes running his fingers through Luke's hair fluffing up the curls that spent most of the day squashed by a beanie. He senses that the action is likely putting Luke to sleep so he asks him to lift his head back to the pillow, announcing that he needs to shower before food shows up. 

Luke sits up for a moment and presses a kiss against Michael's jaw before dropping his head back to the pillow. He mumbles a promise to not sleep through the food being delivered as he reaches for his phone to set an alarm. Michael laughs but by the time he reaches the other side of the room and turns back toward the bed, Luke is already asleep again. He leans against the wall beside the bathroom again and smiles at the scene before him. Their somehow lived-in hotel room is bathed in indigo as the last moments of the day fade from the Parisian sky with Luke nestled into the center of it. The whole scene is a combination of so many things that Michael loves: music, touring, this gorgeous city, the person he so head over heels for that he gets to share all of it with.  

He sometimes wonders if he should be worried, doing the long distance thing for as long as they have. Maybe he shouldn't be as comforted as he is by how well they work with Michael on the road and Luke as busy as he is with school but somehow it works for them. It's not something he's ever experienced with any other relationship in his life that exists outside of others in the industry. Up against everything that should make it all fall apart, they stand steady. He's never been religious, barely even spiritual if he's being honest with himself. But something about the view his eyes are taking in right now, Luke and their life and the skyline just beyond the balcony, feels like Heaven. Or whatever Heaven is meant to be.

-

A few hours later, Luke is twisting off the wire cage from the bottle of wine they had picked up. They're out on the balcony and the air is just on the cool side of a late summer night, perfectly comfortable with a hoodie tossed on. Michael doesn't bother closing the door when he comes back to join Luke with a couple of flutes he found hiding beside the mini-fridge. He smiles at the concentration shown on Luke's face when he carefully drops the cage on the table between them and starts twisting the cork. Michael places the flutes on the table a safe distance from where Luke is sitting right as the cork pops! into a potted plant next to Michael. Luke's laughter fills the air around them and he reaches for one of the glasses.

Michael watches Luke gently filling the glasses and finds his chest filled with an emotion he's been feeling every few hours since he woke up that morning. He's still doing a pretty good job at being present but he can't help the way he allows his heart to start longing for the boy across from him even before he's left to get back to the lab and the hallways of the university building Luke pretty much lives in when he's not with Michael. It's like there's a weight of something dropped onto his chest the moment Luke steps onto another flight away from him. It's a feeling Michael has had described to him from just about every person he's met on a tour who has a partner back home they’re waiting to get back to. It's a feeling Michael was hesitant to believe he'd ever experience himself. Now he's filled two albums just trying to describe it.

Luke leans across the table and sets a glass in front of Michael. He sits up for a moment himself and presses his lips to the corner of Luke’s mouth in thanks. As he settles back in his chair, his mind is pulled back to where they are right now: together, on a balcony in one of his favorite places in the world, in love, drinking horribly expensive bubbles. Beneath the table, Michael taps a slow beat against Luke's ankle with his foot. He feels floaty, like he's drunk on the moment before he's even sipped from the glass in front of him.

They talk about their plans for the week in the same kind of way that they would while making Sunday dinner back in LA. (In their kitchen, a title the space received about six months ago once Michael finally got the guts to ask Luke to move in. At that point, Luke had taken over a third of Michael’s closet, his entire bathroom counter, and was on a first name basis with every mail person that stopped by the house. Luke found the formality cute though and made a big show of changing his address in the university records when his lease ended the following month.) Michael and the band are headed onwards to Germany the following evening. Ashton had preemptively conspired some sort of reason to convince Calum to continue on with them to the Berlin show so they can be disgustingly in love and engaged for a solid 36 hours before Calum follows Luke home to LA. Luke has some meetings at the end of the week and needs to schedule a conference room for his defense at the end of October. Michael reminds him that the dogs have their checkup at the vet Friday afternoon and Luke runs inside for a moment for his phone to add that to his calendar because he had in fact forgotten. He returns with a quilt from bed and the slice of chocolate cake they had ordered earlier.

Michael shifts his chair closer to Luke so they can share both. It doesn’t get much better than this, he thinks, as Luke steals a kiss in between a bite of cake and a sip of wine. But then, he supposes, the city reads his mind somehow and the Eiffel Tower starts sparkling between buildings in the distance just behind Luke. 

Yeah, Michael thinks when Luke turns to see what Michael is looking at and gasps, pretty close to Heaven.

+++

They have three hours until Michael needs to be back at the bus and four until Luke needs to be checked in at the airport. But the previous night, drunk on chocolate cake and sparkling wine and each other, they decided they needed to visit the Louvre. Michael had bought the tickets online and texted his tour manager the plan with Luke kissing down his neck and laughing in bed.

They had to be strategic in their plan for this visit, knowing they were limited on time. Luckily for them, it’s gorgeous outside, meaning that the museum is a touch less busy than it might be on a rainier day. 

Luke decides they should finish their visit with the Mona Lisa since it’s likely to be one of the busier galleries and because he thinks it’ll be a cinematic way to finish off the trip. His labmates had been insistent that he tell them everything about his trip upon his return home, going so far as to schedule an additional meeting just before their lab meeting that week to catch up. He smiles to himself as he lets Michael lead him to the next gallery on their list, thinking about the chocolates in his suitcase he’s brought to share with Ellie and Jacob in their lab’s tiny break room.

Before he knows it, Luke is looking up and there’s a small crowd gathered around the center of the last room on their self-guided tour. They take a spin around the room first, admiring the other pieces gracing the space. Luke loves a museum day, but even more than that, he loves a museum day with Michael. He loves watching the way Michael will drop Luke’s hand to lift it to rest his chin in, his eyes slowly panning over a piece and then reading the card beside the frame, his fingers adorned with chipped black polish scratching at his beard. Luke loves art but there’s something about watching an artist love art that fills his chest up with a feeling he can’t even describe.

Finally they make their way to the room’s centerpiece, Michael’s eyes wide and maybe a touch watery as they take in the view. He’s been quiet in this room compared to most of the others. He reaches his hand back down for Luke’s, his eyes not leaving the piece in front of him. Luke keeps looking between the painting and Michael looking at the painting. He’s struck speechless, whether from the art or Michael, he’s not sure. He’s looking up at the piece again when Michael squeezes his fingers to get his attention.

“Not to be a dork but can you take a picture?” Michael asks shyly.

Luke smiles. “Of course,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Also you took like 60 of me with the Eiffel Tower, you are not a dork.”

He snaps a couple shots of Michael smiling just to the left of where the piece hangs several feet behind him, his cheeks pink and hair almost falling in his eyes.

Michael plucks the phone from Luke’s fingers as they step away, letting the people behind them take their turn in front of the painting. “How do they look?” Michael asks as he navigates to Luke’s photo app.

“Perfect,” Luke says. He reaches for Michael’s free hand as they head for the hall that will take them back toward the museum lobby. “Though she’s got nothing on you, honestly.”

Michael laughs brightly as they reach the stairs back to the Pyramid. “Now who’s the dork?” he laughs and lifts their joined hands to his lips. “Thank you for coming with me. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Luke echoes, and they step out into the light.