His room smelled like your perfume, and it was driving him insane.

You sat on his bed, your legs folded under you. Michael sat across from you, his knees against yours. He'd spent all night doing everything he could think of to make you laugh, and luckily, it was working. Though he didn't have to try very hard, you'd always thought he was hilarious. You guys had talked about everything under the sun, especially about what music he had been working on. You were the one person Michael could always count on to brighten his mood, regardless of the situation.

You absentmindedly placed your hand on his knee, tracing little patterns. It was something you always did when you were telling him a story. He was used to it, but for some reason, this time felt different. He froze for a split second before quickly trying to act natural. Luckily, you didn't notice, going on about something one of your friends said. "And get this!-" You continued, gently patting his knee excitedly. He couldn't help but grin at you and your excitement to tell him things. As you continued, he placed his hand on top of yours. You paused for a second, and he panicked. He pulled his hand away, and so did you. You both stared at each other before looking away, both of you embarrassed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to overstep-" he said with an anxious tone. You smiled softly."It's okay, Mikey," you said before placing your hand back on his knee hesitantly. In an attempt to ease the tension, you continued your story. You couldn't help but hope he'd place his hand back on top of yours. When he finally did, you smiled at him gently.

When you finished talking, he began to tell you about a new song he'd been working on. After silently working up the courage, he intertwined his fingers with yours, which you could tell made him nervous. He squeezed your hand gently when he got to talking about his favorite part of the song, which you adored. You admired him as he talked, and you admired his talent. You love listening to him talk about music because you know it means so much to him.

Eventually, you both had nothing else to share. A comfortable silence fell over you both. While in that silence, you suddenly became painfully aware that you guys weren't dating. He was just holding your hand, casually? You tried not to think too hard about it; he was your best friend. Likewise, Michael was just as confused as you. He sat and wondered if you were going to pull your hand away. What if you got weirded out by holding your 'best friends' hand? He felt like he was suffocating. The scent of your perfume, holding hands, your knees pressed together, it was all too much. "I'm gonna use the bathroom," he announced, leaving the room a little too fast.

In the short time he was gone, you were panicking. Did he get uncomfortable? Did you make it weird? You shifted on his bed, sitting up against the wall. When he walked back into his room, you tried to hide the panic on your face. Instead of sitting across from you, he sat beside you. His back was propped up against the wall, too, but your bodies were pressed against each other. The comfortable silence had shifted into something else. It was all the times you'd both chickened out of confessing how you felt, the stares that were definitely not "friendly", him getting an uneasy feeling anytime you paid too much attention to his brothers.

Michael turned his head, looking at you. You noticed him turn his head, and you did the same. Now, you were staring at each other. Michael's breathing suddenly changed, and he thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. He noticed you glance at his lips, which made his heart beat faster. You shifted a little on the bed, facing him fully now as your eyes scanned his beautiful face. He raised his hand, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Instead of pulling his hand away, he moved it to cup the side of your face. His thumb caressed your cheek, your faces getting closer.

Michael had always thought you were beautiful, but over the years, that simple thought shifted into something else. He started to get flustered around you, which he tried very hard to ignore. After denying the thought for so long, he realized he couldn't anymore. It happened one evening at Hayvenhurst. Michael had brought you outside while he visited all his animals. When you got to his llama, Louie, your smile widened. You pet him gently before kissing the llama's cheek. His eyes stayed glued to your face, admiring your features. When you turned your head to look at Michael, you had the biggest smile on your face. Right then, it hit Michael. He was in love with you. Your gentleness, the way you smiled all the time, and how kind you were to everyone. All the things Michael adored about you suddenly meant so much more to him. He smiled back at you, his heart swelling with affection.

Your lips met, neither of you knowing what you were doing. It was hesitant at first, both of you trying to find some sort of rhythm. After accidentally bumping noses a few times and whispering apologies through soft giggles, the kiss slowly became more passionate, almost desperate. Your hand found its way to the back of his neck. As the kiss continued, you felt him falling apart. He became more needy, almost like he was chasing your lips. When you guys broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. He didn't take his eyes off your lips, like he wanted, no, needed, more. He leaned back in, this time with more passion. It was almost like you could feel how badly he'd been wanting this. Without breaking the kiss, he turned his body to lie back on his pillows before wrapping his arms around you. He gently pulled you down with him, your body fully pressed against his.

When you pulled away, you couldn't help but laugh at him. Your lip gloss was smudged all over his lips. He gave you a shy smile, leaning up to give you a sweet peck. You smile back as he lays his head back down. You wipe the lip gloss off for him, still grinning at him. You carefully climbed off him, lying down beside him. Michael wasted no time turning over so he could face you, which made you laugh again. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close again. You moved an arm to wrap around him, running your hand up and down his back. He smiled at the sensation, kissing you again. This time, the kiss was soft, like he was kissing something fragile.

“Don’t trip now! Jermaine will say I pushed you.”

“And he would be right kiddo!” Marlon exclaimed, rushing past his brother.

The Jacksons' home seemed uncharacteristically more animated on this August afternoon. The parents went away for business in Manhattan, leaving the house at the mercy of the boys and Mr.Jones’ lovely daughter, you.

Michael watched as you disappeared out of the front door in a cloud of vanilla perfume and high pitched laughter. He trailed along, his gaze following the white frills of your dress. You danced around with Jackie, the both of you arguing about basketball and throwing in a bunch of comments he wasn’t particularly interested in.

His thoughts were cut short by a loud splash to his right. His head snapped towards the pool where Marlon had just jumped despite his brother Jermaine’s complaints and annoyed whines.

The brothers collectively erupted into laughter, Michael following suit. Yet his laughter caught in his throat, the sound dying on his tongue as he watched you, on the side of the pool, peeling off your white sundress.You tossed it on the lawn chair next to you and ran towards the water. The sunlight caught in your hair ribbons, and your skin shimmered like gold under the California sun. 

Michael was positive his cheeks had gone beat red and quickly looked somewhere else, suddenly finding the cracks in the patio terribly interesting.

His eyes drifted to the grass then, to the little clovers bending under the afternoon breeze. He rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to be fascinated by a line of ants marching toward the flower beds.

"You coming in or what?" Jermaine shouted before splashing water toward him.

Michael yelped dramatically, his brows furrowing in that endearing way of his.

"I just ironed these shorts!"

"You don't even own an iron!"

"I could!"

The yard filled with laughter again.

When he finally dared glance back in your direction, you were already sitting on the edge of the pool, your feet kicking gently through the water. Tiny circles rippled across the surface, the brown of your limbs paling under the artificial blue.

You looked happy.

Michael could’ve sworn he felt happier.

You looked over your shoulder and caught him staring, his gaze filled with a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t quite name. Lovesick, he would’ve told you, if only you asked.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"You always say 'nothing.'"

"'Cause it's nothin'."

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before grabbing a handful of water and tossing it at him.

The cold droplets hit his shirt, one of them landing on his burning cheek, and Michael let out a theatrical gasp.

"You got me wet!"

"That's the point!"

You barely had time to get back on your feet, and the next few seconds dissolved into chaos.

Michael chased you around the pool while his brothers, dispersed across the backyard and the pool area, yelled encouragement to whichever side they happened to support. Jackie nearly slipped trying to block him, and Tito was laughing so hard he had to sit down.

Eventually Michael cornered you near the orange trees, his breath ragged and a smile so wide it hurt plastered on his face.

"There ain't nowhere left to run."

"Oh yeah?"

Your foot blindly searched for the garden hose, and all it took was a moment’s distraction on  Michael’s end for a freezing spray to hit him straight in his chest. 

He squealed, a surprisingly candid sound, and the boys burst into hysterics.

With his curls sticking to his forehead and his shirt soaked, Michael looked at you with faux bewilderment. 

"You cheated."

"I improvised."

"That's cheating."

"It isn't."

"It is too." you laughed, your hands flying to your stomach.

For a second, Michael forgot about the teasing from his brothers, the rehearsals, the endless schedules waiting for him tomorrow morning. He forgot about cameras, the records, the expectations he knew Joseph and the world had for him.

There was only his brother’s laughter, the smell of cut grass, the sound of the cicadas buzzing lazily in the heat, and the sweetness of cocoa drifting from where you stood. His salvation and his normalcy alike.

Years later, he would remember that afternoon only in fragments. Your white dress drying over a chair, the taste of homemade lemonade you forced down his throat, and the wet footprints on the patio. 

Despite all his might, some memories refuse to stay whole. They become sunlight through closed eyelids, electric waves over his skin; warm, golden, impossible to hold.

But every now and then, when August rolled around and the air smelled sweet enough, he could almost hear your voice again.

"Come on, Michael!"