#michael*

God, it’s been awhile. 

Wow, you look amazing. 

How could you leave me? What we had? We were going to soar across the stars my love. How could you do this?

But when you open the door, he can’t make any of those words leave his mouth. It’s been so long since he’s seen you, and you look just like you did when you left. 

“Michael?” Your voice is light and airy but full of surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I…I, um,” he stumbles, shuffling his feet as his nerves rise. “I was in the neighborhood and—sorry, I’m just a bit drunk I guess.”

Leaning against your door frame, you smile at him. “No you aren’t. Your face gets red when you’re drunk.” 

Michael swallows. Of course you still remember the small, insignificant things. He remembers all of yours as well, no matter how many times he’s tried to forget them. It makes him question if you look at other people too and wonder if they share any similarities. If they have someone at home who knows every inch, every habit, every little thing about them. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go,” before turning on his heels and quickly walking down the hall. But he doesn’t get very far before you’re calling out for him.

“Are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask?” 

Michael stops in his tracks at your words. Suddenly he can’t breathe anymore. It’s like that day is replaying in his mind over and over and over—and it won’t stop. It never does. He sees your face covered in tears as if it was only a day ago. He turns around and swallows all of his fears. 

“Do you ever think about me? About us?” 

You smile at him. Taking a step forward towards the boy you left, you place a hand gently on his arm. “Always,” you whisper. “It’s not a full day until I do think about you, Mikey.” 

And when you call him your old nickname, his throat closes. You’re touching him again, you’re near him, you’re here and he’s all the way in outer space. All the missing pieces of the last year are finally falling into place but all it does is make his pain worse. You’re living your dream out in a place that doesn’t involve him and you’re happy. You think of him, but he questions it. You always knew how to lie to him, say the words he wanted to hear just to spare his feelings. 

He feels your thumb caress his cheek and he closes his eyes. “I mean it,” he hears. “You’re always on my mind. I may have left but that doesn’t mean you left my thoughts.” 

Michael finds himself not wanting to open his eyes in fear that this is all just a dream. A wicked, torturous dream that you were still in his life. That you still loved him. If you loved him, how could have possibly left him? Finally, he opens his eyes to see how close you are to him. 

“(Y/N),” he means for it to come out in a firm voice, but it cracks at the end of your name and you smile. Almost faster than light you press your lips to his, making his eyes go wide for a split second before he falls back into the old motion that never left his mind. Michael closes his eyes again and lets his hands fall to your waist. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, but it all ends too soon. 

You pull away from him, almost as if you’re pulling away the last of your memory, and you stroke his cheek again. “I’m sorry, Mikey. I really am. I never meant to hurt you the way I did. I loved you then and I still do. It’s just…it’s complicated, you know?” 

He can’t form words so he finds himself nodding. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Bye, Mikey.”