#xffthewall

𑣲⋆ summary : you go on an innocent arcade date with your boyfriend only to realise things get competitive, and quick.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ thriller era michael x reader

you and michael sat awkwardly on the king-sized bed as you both mutually stared focused on a random spot in the room.

his quiet voice murmurs beside you, “you wanna do somethin’ today?”

looking over to him, your eyebrows knit to together in confusion, “like what?”, shifting in the bed in an attempt to get more comfortable.

michael shifts himself closer to you as you do so, wrapping is arms around you before gazing up to the ceiling in thought.

“maybee… arcade?”

you ears perk up at his proposal, looking at him pleased. “that’s a good idea right there.” you point at him before sitting up and stretching your arms outwards, his arms still desperately wrapped around your waist like a clingy toddler.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you both made it to the arcade, michael renting the whole place out because you know—

it’s michael.

the arcade lights flickered in bright neon colors, flashing over the polished floors like it was some kind of dreamland. the place smelled like popcorn, soda, and that weird warm electronic smell that every arcade had.

you stood at the entrance, staring around in amazement at it being completely empty—no screaming kids. no annoying teens hogging the machines. no loud parents yelling about tokens.

just you and michael, and a million arcade games.

you turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing. “…michael.”

he stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, looking innocent—way too innocent.

“yes?” he asked sweetly, a polite smile on his lips.

“you rented out the whole arcade.”

he shrugged like it was no big deal. “i wanted it quiet. no one coming up to us.”

you stared at him like he was insane. “you could’ve just came here at like… 10am.”

he clicked his tongue and shook his head, like you just didn’t get it. “no, no. then there would be people. and know you, you’d punch me in the jaw if i woke you up that early anyway.”

you blinked. “okay, maybe true… but there’s still people here anyway”

he pointed a finger in your chest. “you’re people.”

you rolled your eyes sarcastically, laughing. “wow, thank you.”

michael’s lips curled into a smug smile. “yeah, you’re welcome.”

you grabbed his hand tightly and started pulling him deeper into the arcade, the bright machines reflecting in his sunglasses.

“okay, come on, we’re gonna be playin’ everything today.”

michael gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “everything?”

“everything.”

he leaned closer, voice dropping like he was sharing the most serious secret in the world. “…even the basketball one?”

you squinted at him. “oh. you think you’re good?”

michael scoffed like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “oh please, i know i’m good.”

“you’re so cocky when it comes to games.”

michael’s eyes widened in mock offense. “me?” he gasps. “me? cocky?”

“yes, you!”

he nodded slowly, stepping back like he was preparing for war.

“…alright then. let’s see.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the basketball machine stood in the corner, glowing almost in an attempt to lure us in—and it worked.

michael walked up first, stretching his shoulders like he was about to play in the nba finals. you leaned casually on the side of the machine, smirking. “why are you warming up. it’s arcade basketball.”

“it’s serious, i shift into michael jordan when playing this,” he said firmly.

you laughed. “alright, go on then.”

michael ignored you and grabbed the first ball firmly in his hands. the game commenced, the timer ticking down anticipatingly. at first, he was missing a couple shots—on purpose, you suspected—until suddenly he got into rhythm.

you straightened up, eyes widening. “oh, hell no.”

michael’s face was calm, but his lips were twitching like he was holding in the smuggest smile of all time.

you stepped closer towards him as you continue to watch the score increase by the second. “michael.”

he didn’t answer, tossing another ball effortlessly into the hoop.

“michael!” you said louder.

he finally looked at you, eyes innocent. “what?”

“you’re cheating.”

michael paused mid-shot, offended. “i am not cheating?”

“yes, you are.”

“how could I cheat?” he asked, holding the ball like it was evidence.

you pointed at him accusingly. “because you’re michael jackson. that’s how.”

he burst into laughter, bending forward slightly, almost dropping the ball. “that makes no sense!” he continued to argue.

“no, it makes perfect sense!” you snap back. “you probably bribed the hoop.”

michael wiped his eyes dramatically. “bribed the hoop—”

before finishing, he straightened, fixing his shirt and regaining his composure like the drama king he was.

“alright. fine. you play.”

you snatched the ball from him with a look.

“oh, i will.”

michael slotted in a token, the timer started and you were determined.

you threw the first ball—which bounced off the rim and rolled away.

michael’s laughter instantly echoed through the empty arcade. “oh my gosh,” he wheezed. “that was tragic.”

you shot him a death glare, eyes squinted and eyebrows sunken. “it was the warm-up.”

“the warm-up?” he repeated, sounding like he was about to collapse laughing.

you grabbed another ball.

ding.

you both froze before you grabbed another ball from the rack.

ding.

and another.

ding.

michael’s mouth dropped open in almost disbelief. your eyes narrowed as you started going faster, hitting shot after shot like you’d been secretly training for this moment your whole life.

he stared at you, baffled.

“…oh,” he said quietly. “so you’re cheating.”

you gasped dramatically, stopping mid-shot. “ME? cheating?”

he pointed at you accusingly. “yes. you’re using… like— witchcraft.”

“oh my gosh, shut up! you’re just saying stuff now.”

michael shook his head, genuinely appalled. “no, no. this is suspicious. very suspicious, mrs.”

you tossed another ball.

ding.

michael groaned like he was suffering. “suspicious.”

you kept going, and by the time the timer hit zero, your score flashed bright on the screen.

you had beaten him.

by a lot.

the machine played that stupid little victory tune, basically mocking him as you turned to him slowly, smirking.

“still think you’re good?”

michael stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him, glaring deeply at it. he then looked at you, eyes wide.

“…you’re cruel.”

you leaned closer, whispering, “you’re just mad because you lost.”

michael scoffed. “i did not lose.”

you pointed at it the screen which said otherwise with your mouth drawn into a line, eyes widened.

he shook his head firmly. “the screen is lying.”

you burst out laughing at his dedication of trying to seem like he won. michael crossed his arms, but he was smiling too, even though he was clearly fighting for his dignity.

“you got lucky,” he muttered.

“yeah,” you said smugly. “lucky and talented.”

michael narrowed his eyes at you before declaring, “we’re playing another game.”

“oh, we are?”

“yes.”

he grabbed your hand dramatically as he weaves around the variety of machines trying to find one which catches his eye. “you’re not leaving this arcade until i win something.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

he dragged you over to a row of classic arcade games—pac-man, galaga, space invaders, donkey kong…

you looked at them fondly as you pass them by, michael’s eyes lit up at space invaders like it was a long-lost soulmate.

“oh my gosh,” he whispered. “i used to love this one when i was younger.”

he eagerly tosses a token into the slot and watches excitedly as the start screen began to load up. you watched him play, and he looked genuinely focused, tongue slightly pressed to the inside of his cheek. his fingers moved fast over the buttons, and every time he dodged a hit he’d quietly mumble something like—

“okay… okay… got it…”

you leaned against the machine beside him, watching with a soft smile. he was adorable when he got competitive.

‘til suddenly, he lost a life—gasping like you would’ve thought he’d been stabbed.

“no!”

you laughed at the genuine distraught on his face. “michael, relax.”

“no!” he insisted. “this machine is rigged!”

you tilted your head, amused. “oh, now the machine is cheating?”

“uh-huh,” he huffed. “it knows who i am.”

you snorted. “it’s an arcade game, michael.”

he pressed the buttons again with determination. “i’ll show it.”

he ended up getting a ridiculously high score—the screen flashing NEW RECORD! his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning before jumping in the spot, his hands leant against the sides of the machine to make him jump higher into the air.

“damn, you’re really excited.”

michael turned to you with wide eyes, his eyes cheeks rounded as he smiled. “i am a champion.”

“congratulations, champ.”

he pointed at the screen proudly. “look at that.”

he leaned closer to you, smug. “you still wanna accuse me of cheating?”

you stared at the screen, then at him with a dead-serious expression on your face. “yeah.”

“you’re so rude!” he gasped.

grabbing his sleeve, you dragged him away. “come on, ‘champ’. let’s go win something real.”

“win something?”

you nodded. “a prize.”

michael immediately straightened upwards like a man with a mission, his nose up in the air. “…take me to the claw machines.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the claw machine section was lined up along the wall, glowing bright with stuffed animals inside—some had teddy bears and little cartoon characters, some had shiny keychains.

but then you saw it—a claw machine full of disney plushies, your eyes widening in excitement.

“oh my god.”

michael leaned beside you, looking into it. there were mickeys, minnoes, a few dumbo plushies, and even some winnie the pooh ones.

until you spotted him.

peter pan. small, soft-looking, green outfit, little hat, the whole shabang.

you leaned closer to the glass, staring at it like it was the most important thing in the world.

michael noticed your silence and tilted his head. “what?” he asked quietly.

you blinked, snapping out of it. “oh, nothing.”

he narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “you’re lyin’.”

“no i’m not,” you waved him off quickly, but you were already pulling out tokens.

michael’s eyes widened as you shoved them into the machine forcefully. “what are you doing?”

“jus’ playin’...”

he watched you suspiciously as you grabbed the joystick. the plushies looked all cozy and perfectly placed—the peter pan plush sat slightly to the side, wedged between a dumbo and a mickey.

you could already tell this was gonna be annoying, but you were dedicated.

michael leant behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a hug, leaning closer to the glass.

“you want that one.”

you glanced at him. “no i don’t.”

“yeah, you do,” he insisted.

“just… be quiet.”

you guided the claw with careful precision.

left…

left…

forward…

shit, that was too forward.

michael hovered close beside you like a commentator. “go right—no, wait, go left—wait—”

“michael,” you warned through gritted teeth.

“what?” he asked innocently.

“you’re stressing me out.”

“nuh-uh. i’m helpin’.”

the claw hovered directly above peter pan—pressing the button in a pleased manner. the claw dropped down slowly, grabbing onto the plush—

and then slipped right off, falling back into the pile like it was mocking you.

you stared blankly at it, michael gasping in your ear beside you like it was the most heartbreaking tragedy ever.

“no!”

you blinked before going back in focus. “oh my goodness, calm down.”

michael pointed at the machine, his finger resting on the glass. “it cheated.”

you narrowed your eyes. “michael, you’re saying that about every game.”

“because they do,” he insisted.

you shoved another token in.

“again?”

“yes, ‘again’.”

he watched you intensely as you tried again.

the claw dropped.

grabbed it.

lifted it up—

and then it slipped out again.

You stared at the plushies like you wanted to fight them—eyebrows knitted, tongue poking into the side of your cheek, eyes squinted.

michael leaned forward, shaking his head in disappointment. “this machine is evil.”

you huffed, determined to get it—for michael.

“i can do it.”

you put another token in.

then another.

and another.

michael slowly started looking amused. “you’re really committed,” he said, voice soft.

you kept your eyes on the claw machine.

“hush it, kiddo.”

michael giggled at the sheer seriousness in your voice. “you really want that peter pan.”

you glanced at him briefly, eyes narrowed.“…maybe.”

“why?”

you froze for half a second—you weren’t about to say it.

you looked back at the machine, trying your best to appear unbothered. “no reason.”

michael’s eyes softened slightly, like he already knew, but he didn’t push. he just stood beside you, watching quietly.

you put in another token.

at this point, you were pretty sure you’d spent $10.

maybe more.

you lined up the claw again, carefully—breathing in slowly.

then pressed the button.

the claw dropped, grabbing peter pan perfectly around the waist and lifting him up

yours eyes widened, the claw carrying him slowly towards the chute.

and then—

thunk.

there he was—in the prize slot.

michael yelled, grabbing your arm and shaking it excitedly before grabbing your face in his hands and placing a rough peck on your lips.

“oh my god, baby. you did it!”

you laughed, bending down and grabbing the plush from the slot, standing back up and presenting it in your hands as though it was a crown jewel.

michael stared at it like you’d just handed him the moon before he looked at you—hi expression shifting into something softer, warmer. almost shy.

“…you wanted that for me,” he said quietly.

you shrugged, trying to act casual. “you told me he’s your favourite.”

michael blinked, his face lit up so much it was unfair ‘til mouth fell open slightly, like he didn’t know what to say.

“yeah?” he whispered.

you nodded. “yeah.”

michael looked at the plush again, then back at you, smiling like an excited little kid.

“hes… he’s so cute,” he murmured as he fiddled with the felt clothing on it and turning it around in his hands, delicately inspecting it. he took it carefully, holding it to his chest, smiled down at it, then hugged it tighter.

he looked down at you again, his eyes so soft it actually made your stomach flip.

“you spent all that money… just to get me this?” he asked.

you shrugged again, trying to hide your smile. “it’s fine. money comes back, this won’t.”

michael shook his head. “no, it’s not just fine,” he said seriously.

before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, pressing his cheek against the top of your head as you laughed quietly.

his voice was muffled against your hair. “you’re too sweet, mama.”

you mumbled back, “you’re too dramatic.”

he pulled back slightly, staring at you like you were the best thing he’d ever seen. “mkay,” he spoke softly. “now it’s my turn.”

you blinked. “your turn for what?”

he adjusted the plush under his arm like precious cargo.

“to win something for you.”

you opened your mouth— but he was already walking confidently toward the otherprize machines. and you could tell by the look on his face, he was determined.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

michael stopped in front of another claw machine—this one full of cute teddy bears holding hearts.

you stared at him knowingly. “oh no.”

michael glanced at you, eyebrows raised. “what?”

“you’re about to take this way too seriously.”

michael scoffed. “pft, me? no.”

you crossed your arms. “you look like you’re about to avenge your ancestors.”

michael pressed a hand to his chest. “hey, just tryna win my baby a prize.”

that sentence was dangerous to you, yet michael didn’t even seem to realize what he said. he just popped in a token and grabbed the joystick then leaned in close to the glass, studying the bears like he was a scientist.

he muttered to himself, nodding his head to hype himself up, “okay… okay… yeah, i got this…”

you leaned closer to him, heads nearly bouncing off each other at the lack of space. “you look insane.”

michael glanced at you in the corner of his eye. “be quiet. i’m concentrating.”

you gasped. “excuse me!?”

he smirked, still staring at the bears. “you heard me.”

“oh my gosh, you’re rude.”

ignoring you, he moved the claw carefully, tongue pressed against his cheek again. you watched, amused, as you try to match his gaze.

he pressed the button.

the claw dropped, grabbing a teddy bear by the ear.

lifted it up—

then it fell.

michael stared down at it—his face blank.

you burst out laughing, kneeling over slightly at the bewilderment painted over his features.

he turned to you slowly, eyes narrowed. “…don’t laugh.”

that made laugh harder. “it grabbed it by the ear.”

michael frowned, “that bear should’ve held on.”

“oh, so you’re blaming the bear now?”

he sighed and put in another token.

“okay, again.”

you watched him play again.

and again.

and again.

…and again.

after around five tries, he still hadn’t won anything. you leaned against the machine beside him, arms folded with a smirk.

“so… how’s that going for you, champ?”

“shut up.”

“michael, you’re about to start a fight with a claw machine.”

“it’s personal.”

then he narrowed his eyes.

“you’re distractin’ me.”

you blinked innocently. “me?”

“yes, you.”

you leaned closer. “ohh, so now i’m cheating?”

michael nodded seriously.

“you’re using your beauty as a weapon.”

you doze instantaneously on the spot, your cheeks warming up immediately.

“michael.”

he smirked like he knew exactly what he was doing before rolled your eyes and turned your head away, smiling.

“you’re seriously ridiculous.”

michael put another token in—he tried again.

the claw dropped.

this time, it grabbed the teddy bear perfectly around the middle.

lifted it.

carried it over.

thunk.

it dropped into the slot.

michael gasped like he couldn’t believe it—whipping around to you, eyes wide, smiling like he’d just won the olympics.

“I DID IT!”

“alright, calm down.”

he eagerly grabbed the teddy bear from the slot and held it out to you proudly.

“here y’ go, princess.”

he held it out towards you proudly, smiling softly with his eyes gazing down at you.

“see?” he said smugly. “i told you.”

“okay, okay, you win.” you comply, holding the bear tightly into your chest and leaning your chin on its head.

michael’s smile widened. “i win.” he leaned closer, voice teasing. “n’ you thought i was the cheater.”

you squinted at him. “you are a cheater.”

“i’m not!”

“you are.”

“no, YOU are.” he quarrelled, playfully pushing your head back lightly.

“i literally just won you peter pan.”

“and i won you the bear,” he shot back.

“alright, fair.” you nodded along.

michael grinned down to you, stepping closer. “so what now?”

you looked around at all the glowing machines, the arcade still empty except for you two.

“now we do racing games.”

“oh, it’s over for you.”

you pointed at him with a stern look. “and no cheating.”

michael scoffed, placing a hand on his chest like he was offended.

“i never cheat, and never will.”

you raised an eyebrow. “michael…”

he smiled sweetly before it slowly began to falter. “…okay, sometimes.”

you softly giggle, grabbing his hand again.

“come on, peter pan.”

michael glanced down at the plush tucked under his arm, then back at you—smiling so softly it almost made you melt. as you pulled him toward the racing machines, he squeezed your hand tighter like he never wanted to let go—and neither did you

𑣲⋆ summary : you go on a walk to clear your head, happening to run into a boy with the same idea as you, an unexpected bond growing between yous.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jackson five era // pre-off the wall michael jackson x reader

a/n : wrote this at 1am so if it’s cheeks just bare w me i’ll fix it tmr ok. also this is longer than usual so enjoy ig👐🏽

“that’s not a real job.”

“there’s better things to do with your life.”

“you know you have the abilities and intelligence to do something better.”

you’d heard enough.

constant snarky comments thrown at you left, right and centre from your parents purely because you see a future in fashion—what’s so wrong with that?

walking out the front door with a loud slam echoing behind you, you drag your feet down the driveway and into the streets.

did you know where you were going?

no.

but just as long as it was away from your parents, it was good enough for you.

the evening air felt warm but not heavy, the kind of summer night that didn’t want to end. you wandered down the quiet streets of the encino, your steps slow and steady—taking your time to stall the time of your arrival back home.

the houses around you were big, tucked behind trimmed hedges and fancy gates, but still somehow felt lived-in. soft yellow lights glowed from windows, and through a few half-open curtains you could catch little pieces of people’s lives—families gathered around dinner tables, someone leaning over a sink washing dishes, a kid running past with a blur of energy. it was calm in that oddly perfect way, like the whole street was holding its breath.

the trees lining the sidewalk stretched tall and wide, their leaves swaying gently above you like they were whispering secrets to each other. the streetlights flickered on one by one as night approached, washing the pavement in a golden glow and making everything look softer, almost dreamy.

the air smelled expensive, like fresh-cut grass and clean concrete and maybe someone’s flowers blooming behind a fence.

you kept walking, listening to the quiet, until a sudden scurry made you pause. a squirrel darted across the sidewalk like it was late for an appointment, its tiny claws tapping against the pavement before it disappeared up a tree. you watch it, amused, letting out a small laugh without meaning to, watching it disappear into the branches like it owned the place.

abruptly, your gaze is diverted to a figure now beside of you, one you hadn’t seen before now—almost as if he appeared out of no where.

you snapped back in shock, clutching your heart in recovery. staring at him—trying to make sense of what’s just popped up in front on you.

he looked like someone you wouldn’t normally see wandering around this neighbourhood so late, not in a suspicious way but more like he didn’t quite belong in the stillness of it.

he was slim and a taller than you expected, dressed casually in faded blue jeans that sat low on his hips and a soft, a slightly oversized cardigan that hung open at the front and underneath it he wore a plain cotton shirt, nothing flashy, like he’d gone out of his way to look normal. the cardigan sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.

when the streetlight hit his face properly, you couldn’t help staring. his afro was full and perfectly shaped, thick curls framing his face like a halo, his beautiful, dark skin glowing warm under the light. his eyes dark and wide, almost like a deer, with long lashes that made him look softer than any stranger had a right to.

“o-oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to startle you, i was just looking at the squirrel,” a soft voice apologises.

“no, no. you’re fine, i just… didn’t see you there,” you laugh, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

both of yous look back up to the squirrel, who no longer can be seen—assuming it hid someone beneath the bushes of leaves.

“i-i like your dress,” he murmurs, delivering it quieter than he intended to—fiddling with the hem of his cardigan, holding eye contact with the floor.

you smile, looking down at your dress—a light yellow babydoll dress with a soft, floaty skirt that bounced when you walked. the sleeves short and puffy all in a buttery fabric which was highlighted further in the soft street lights surrounding yous.

“thank you, i made it myself,” you add, your voice soft but proud as you give him a small twirl.

his head lifts slightly at that, like you’d just said something way more interesting than a compliment deserved. the streetlight above catches his face properly now, and you finally get a clearer look at him. his afro is full and neat, like he’d spent time picking it out carefully, and his features are gentle—almost too gentle for someone who looked like he should be more intimidating standing alone at night. and then there was his smile. it wasn’t big or flashy, just small and shy, like he didn’t use it often unless he meant it.

“you… made it?” he repeats, sounding genuinely surprised. “that’s really cool.”

“yeah,” you shrug, suddenly feeling weirdly bashful. “i just like doing stuff like that.”

he nods slowly, his hands still fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie as though he didn’t know what to do with them. there was something nervous about him, but not in an awkward way—more like he was scared of taking up too much space, trying to make himself smaller.

“it suits you,” he says quietly, then pauses like he’s debating whether he should keep talking at all.

“you’re out pretty late,” he acknowledges.

you hum, glancing down the empty street before looking back at him. “i guess, i just… needed air.”

his eyes flicker over you for a moment, like he could tell that wasn’t the full story. not in a nosy way—more in a ‘i understand’ kind of way.

“bad day?” he asks tenderly, his voice careful.

you let out a small laugh, but it doesn’t sound funny. “more like bad parents.”

his eyebrows lift, just a little, and he tilts his head.

“bad parents?”

you hesitate, because it felt ridiculous saying it out loud to a stranger. but for some reason, it didn’t feel hard to talk to him. he looked at you like he wasn’t judging, like he was actually listening.

“they don’t think what i want to do is serious,” you admit, staring at the pavement.

“they keep saying it’s ‘not a real job’. that i’m ‘wasting my time’. how it’s ’just a hobby, not a career’, that i’m ‘too smart to be doing… something like fashion’.”

his expression shifts instantly—like something about that hit a nerve. his lips part slightly, and his eyes soften, almost sad.

he takes a long breath through his nose, and for a second he looks away, staring at the street like he was thinking of something personal.

“that’s… not fair,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

“they don’t get it,” you mutter. “they act like having aspirations is embarrassing.”

he shakes his head slowly, curls bouncing a little with the movement.

“dreaming isn’t embarrassing,” he says, almost like he’s correcting you. “it’s important.”

he looks at you again, properly—his eyes catching the light of the street and moon. they were dark and warm, like he carried a lot more emotion than he let on.

“if you can make something like that dress,” he gestures vaguely toward you, “then… you’re already doing it. you’re already being what you wanna be.”

your throat tightens a little, and you blink, caught off guard by how comforting it sounded coming from someone you’d met two minutes ago.

you give him a small smile, “you sound like you’ve had to tell yourself that before.”

his face freezes for a second—in such a way that you’d accidentally read him too well. his lips curl into a shy grin and he lets out a soft breathy laugh, almost embarrassed.

“…maybe,” he admits quietly with an exhale.

there’s a pause, the street seeming quieter than before. the trees sway above you both, and somewhere down the road a car passes slowly, the headlights gliding over the pavement like a wave.

he glances at you again, like he’s trying to decide something.

“i’m michael,” he says after a moment, holding out his hand.

you blink at it, then take it. his hand is warm, gentle—his grip careful like he’s afraid of squeezing too hard.

“i’m y/n,” you reply.

“y/n,” he repeats.

it’s strange how softly he says it, like he’s testing how it sounds—reflecting that he likes it.

he lets go of your hand, the silence returning, but this time it isn’t awkward.

“so,” michael starts, rocking slightly on his feet. “do you… go on walks a lot?”

you shrug. “not usually. only when i’m trying not to cry in front of my parents or need space that’s not my bedroom.”

his eyes widen slightly until he looks down again, lips pressing together like he’s holding back a reaction.

“…yeah,” he says quietly. “i get that.”

you tilt your head. “you do?”

he nods, slowly. “sometimes i walk around here too,” he admits, almost like it’s a secret. “just… to get away. to feel normal.”

you squint a little, studying him again. “you live around here?”

“sort of,” he says—the way he answers is vague, like he’s used to hiding details.

“i just like being outside when it’s quiet.”

you smile a little, glancing up at the streetlights. “same.”

michael’s gaze lifts to the sky, and for the first time, he looks genuinely peaceful.

“it’s nicer when nobody’s watching,” he murmurs.

you don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes your chest ache.

“who’s watching?”

“oh- uh, i perform sometimes…”

he briefly pauses, continuing with a sigh, “a lot. too much.”

“you sing?”

“i mean yeah, since i was really young.”

“alright, give us a sample,” you egg on, offering him a wide grin—your eyes crinkling in the corners, excited to hear him.

“o-oh… no, i can’t,” he smiles timidly down to the pavements, nervousness evident in his gentle voice.

chuckling, you lightly shove his shoulder, nudging him. “i’m only joking, i don’t expect anything. especially if you came out here to escape it.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

an hour had now passed, multiple laps of the neighbourhood taken and numerous conversations exchanged—varying from hobbies, family troubles and future aspirations.

“i really do hope you make it, michael,” you gaze up at him, his eyes meeting with yours with a soft glow to them—almost magnetic.

for a moment, he doesn’t speak. not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because it landed heavier than he expected.

the streetlights above casts a dim glow over his face, softening the sharpness in his expression.

he lets out a breath, almost a that of laugh, quietly.

“yeah,” he murmurs, nodding slightly. “me too.”

his hands shift in his pockets as he keeps walking, his pace slowing as if he’s trying to stretch the moment out, even if he doesn’t fully realise it.

“it’s weird,” he says after a pause. “i talk about it in my head all the time, but actually saying it out loud makes it feel… risky.”

you hum in agreement, the pavement crunching faintly under your shoes.

“but it’s… also kinda freeing,” you add.

michael glances sideways at you, his lips twitching as though he’s trying not to smile.

“yeah.”

there’s a small silence after that—not awkward silence, just the kind that settles when two people have already said enough to understand each other.

michael looks ahead again.

“you really think you’d be good at it?” he asks. “the whole fashion thing, i mean.”

you scoff, almost offended as you playfully glare at him.

“obviously.”

he laughs properly this time, shaking his head.

his laugh made everything around us drown out—time freezing. hearing his laugh felt almost euphoric somehow.

addictive.

“that’s fair. that was a stupid question.”

you bump his arm lightly with your shoulder as you walk, not enough to make him stumble, just enough to make your point.

“it’s not stupid,” you say. “i just… i don’t want to stay stuck. i don’t want my whole life to be small. and i don’t want to prove my parents right.”

michael’s smile fades into something more thoughtful. he nods slowly, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“yeah,” he says. “that’s the exact feeling.”

the two of you reach the corner of the neighbourhood where the houses start to thin out, the road stretching into a quieter lane. the air feels colder here, sharper, and the wind brushes past as if reminding you how late it’s getting.

“my parents are gonna start acting dramatic if i don’t show up soon,” he mutters, rolling his eyes slightly.

you laugh under your breath.

“they seem… intense. especially your father.”

“that’s definitely one word for it.” he pauses, then adds, “they’re not bad people. they just think everything that i do and achieve belongs to them too.”

you glance at him again, your expression softening.

“must be exhausting.”

he shrugs, but it isn’t convincing.

“it is. but…” he hesitates. “i’m tired of pretending i’m fine with it.”

a quiet beat passes.

he turns his head, meeting your eyes again.

“thank you,” he says simply. “for listening. most people just tell me i’m being ungrateful.”

you blink, caught off guard by how honest it sounds.

“well,” you reply, “they’re wrong.”

michael exhales through his nose, his shoulders relaxing as though the words loosened something in him.

“i’m glad i met you,” he says, casual, almost too casual, as if he’s trying to make it sound like nothing.

but it doesn’t—not to you.

you look away quickly, pretending to focus on the road.

“yeah,” you say, voice light. “me too.”

the two of you keep walking, the night settling deeper around the neighbourhood but somehow the air doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

however, your body doesn’t know that.

abruptly, your whole body jolts in a shiver from the cold air regarding the fact you’re in a dress in the night breeze. you tense in an attempt to keep warm, crossing your arms and placing your hands beneath your armpits.

this doesn’t go unnoticed by michael—staring down at you with worry showcased on his features.

without asking nor hesitation, he begins to remove the fleecy cardigan he had around him at placed it gently over your shoulders—adjusting it to make sure it covered your arms.

his fingers grazed your bare arm lightly in doing so, followed a chill running up your spine, but this time it wasn’t from the night’s cold air.

rubbing it off, you peer up at him, a tiny, appreciative smile delivered to him.

“you didn’t have to.”

“but i wanted to.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the streets had long since quietened, the neighbourhood settling into its usual night-time stillness. lights from the passing houses glowed dimly behind curtains, and the distant hum of the nearby motorway carried through the cold air.

two hours. two full hours of walking and talking and laughing, circling roads neither of you even cared to memorise, because the destination had stopped mattering a long time ago—only worry about each other and what to talk about next.

and then, finally, your house appeared.

your house.

the one you’d spent half your life desperate to escape from, yet tonight it stood there almost mocking you, because it meant this was the end.

at the gate, your fingers tightening around the edges of the cardigan around you. the windows were dark, but you knew that didn’t mean anything. your parents could sense your freedom from a mile away.

michael stopped beside you, hands in his pockets again, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. he looked up at your house, then back down at you—neither of you spoke.

it was a strange kind of silence. not awkward or empty, just more reluctant.

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

“well,” you said, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite sound like you. “this is me.”

michael nodded once, slowly, as if he didn’t believe it.

“yeah,” he murmured. “figured.”

your eyes met his, the moment holding longer than it should’ve. the streetlight above painted his features in soft gold, catching in his eyes and making them look warmer than they had any right to.

you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how close he was, his features now noticable—his full lips, the random pimples on his cheeks and forehead that stood nothing against the beauty of his appearance, his nose that slightly widened when he would smile…

“i don’t want it to end,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “this.”

michael’s gaze flickered, something in him tightening at your words. his jaw clenched, not out of anger—out of restraint. as if he was holding back a thousand things he could say, and choosing only one.

he stepped half a pace closer, just enough for you to feel the heat of him in the cold air.

“let me see you again.”

his words weren’t rushed, not nervous. only soft, but firm, almost commanding yet not arrogantly—more in a ‘i’ve decided this and it’s happening’ way.

your heart stuttered, lips parting slightly as if your body needed a second to catch up with your brain.

you blinked.

michael lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little less composed.

“sorry,” he said quickly, voice lower. “that sounded intense.”

“it didn’t,” you reply, maybe a little too fast.

“it didn’t sound intense.”

he studied you for a second, searching your face as if trying to figure out whether you were lying. his mouth twitched.

“okay,” he whispers to himself. “good.”

a breath escaped you, half laugh, half disbelief.

“but… how?” you asked, glancing down the street. “i don’t even know your number.”

michael’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he looked at you as if you’d asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

“then give me yours.”

the confidence in his tone made your stomach flip.

you opened your mouth to answer but interrupted by the echoing sound of the front door of your house swinging open.

a bright hallway light spilled out into the night, blinding after the dim streetlamps, a voice followed immediately.

“where were you?!”

your entire body tensed at the voice.

your mother’s silhouette stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly. your father appeared behind her, his face already set in that familiar look of irritation—one that always made you feel twelve years old again.

“you can’t just leave like that!” your mother snapped.

“you didn’t even say where you were going!” your dad added, louder, as if volume made his point more valid.

your stomach dropped, dread crawling up your spine, then you looked back at michael.

and suddenly, none of it mattered.

their voices were distant, blurred into background noise. the only thing that felt real was him standing there, waiting, his expression unreadable but steady.

you took a step back toward the door.

“sorry!” you called quickly, not even meeting your parents’ eyes.

“i’ll explain in a second!”

your mum’s face tightened. “no, you’ll explain now.”

your dad pointed down the hallway. “inside. now.”

you didn’t answer. instead, you turned sharply and bolted inside.

the warmth hit you instantly, but it didn’t comfort you. the house felt suffocating compared to the open air outside. your feet flew across the floor as your parents’ voices rose behind you.

“are you joking?!”

“what is wrong with you?!”

you didn’t care. you hands were already searching the kitchen drawer—moving too fast, too frantic, until your fingers closed around a pen. you gripped it like it was the most important thing you’d ever held.

“don’t run off like that!” your mother shouted, following you into the kitchen. “you think you can just-“

you spun around. “i’ll talk to you later,” you said, breathless.

your mother’s mouth dropped open.

“what did you just say to me?”

but you were already moving.

back through the hallway, past the living room, past the framed family photos that suddenly looked fake and staged and nothing like real life.

you threw the front door open, the cold air slapped your face again—michael still there.

still waiting.

for you.

his hands were in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense, but his eyes lifted the second he saw you—something softening in his expression.

you ran down the path without thinking, straight to him.

he barely had time to react before you reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging it free from his pocket. His palm was warm against your freezing fingers, his hand larger than yours, steady and solid.

his eyes widened slightly, “whoa-“

“give me your hand,” you said quickly.

michael’s lips parted, caught between confusion and amusement.

“my hand is already given,” he argued, but he didn’t pull away.

you rolled your eyes, breathless, and uncapped the pen with your teeth. your fingers trembling as you pressed the tip to his skin.

he stared down at you, the streetlight catching the curve of his cheekbone.

“you’re vandalising me,” he said, half laughing.

“obviously,” you whispered, concentrating.

you wrote your number carefully across the palm of his hand, the ink dark against his skin. it wasn’t perfect—your handwriting slightly shaky, but it was readable. proof that tonight wasn’t something you’d imagined.

when you finished, you capped the pen again and looked up at him.

he was watching you in a way that made your chest tighten.

not hungry or flirty—fascinated. as if he’d found something rare by accident.

“call me tonight,” you whisper gently.

michael’s eyebrows lifted, “tonight?”

“yes,” you replied, almost daring him to say no.

his gaze dropped briefly to the number on his hand. he looked back at you, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“i was going to anyway.”

and without overthinking it—without giving fear the chance to ruin it, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, his warm skin making contact with your lips.

a faint smell of cold air and aftershave and something uniquely him hit your senses.

when you pulled back, michael stood completely still.

frozen.

his eyes flicked to yours, expression unreadable for a beat. he blinked, his lips parting in a quiet exhale.

“…huh,” he breathed out softly, a small smirk looking down at you.

you smiled, small and quick, as if you were scared the moment might shatter if you held it too long.

“goodnight, michael.”

he watched you, his hand still slightly raised, your number fresh on his skin.

“g‘night,” he replied, still looking at you—an expression with confusion, shock and amusement.

you turned and ran back up the path before you could second guess yourself, before your heart could talk you out of everything.

behind you, you could feel his eyes following you until the door shut.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

your parents were waiting the second you stepped inside.

“care to explain?” your mother snapped, stood with the iconic arms crossed, leant hip.

your dad didn’t speak, but his disappointment filled the hallway like poisonous smoke.

you didn’t answer properly, mumbling something about “walking” and “losing track of time” and “i’m sorry”, but the words felt meaningless.

your mind was already outside again.

already back under the streetlight, replaying the way michael’s voice sounded when he said ‘let me see you again’.

you managed to escape to your room the first chance you got, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it as if you’d just survived something—heart still racing.

you looked down at your hands, as if you expected to see his number there too.

instead, there was nothing.

only the faint warmth where his skin had touched yours.

you crossed the room and collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, the pen still in your pocket.

suddenly, the phone began to ring. your breath caught—freezing.

you grabbed it so fast it nearly slipped out of your hands, your stomach flipping violently.

for a second you just stared at it—frozen, hovering, but not moving it next to your ear.

then you answered.

“hello?”

a pause hung in the air before a voice echoed through the receiver—soft and familiar

“hey there,” michael said.

the way he said it made your chest tighten, as if he’d spoken directly into your ribs.

you smiled into your pillow, trying to hide it from nobody.

“you did call.”

“of course i did,” he replied, and you could hear the faint grin in his tone. “you thought i wouldn’t?”

you rolled onto your back, staring at the dark ceiling, your room suddenly feeling different—less lonely.

“i didn’t know what to think,” you admitted.

michael exhaled, and you could picture him somewhere—maybe in his bedroom, holding his phone with that same calm grip he had on everything else.

“well,” he said, “i called.”

a beat of silence.

you asked quietly, “did i get you in trouble?”

michael laughed under his breath.

“not yet. my mother asked why i was late and i said i got kidnapped.”

you snorted, “and she believed you?”

“no,” he chuckled. “she told me to stop being dramatic. which is rich coming from her.”

you laughed again, the sound coming easier now, and for the first time that night, your shoulders relaxed.

a comfortable silence settled between you—his breathing flowing down the phone, gentle exhales every so often.

then he spoke again, quieter.

“your parents seemed… intense.”

an inaudible sigh escapes your lungs.

“yeah,” you muttered, looking g down at your bed covers under you. “told you so.”

michael didn’t push. he didn’t ask you to explain. he just let the silence sit, as if he understood that some things weren’t ready to be spoken yet.

“your house looked nice.”

you scoffed.

“it’s a prison with fancy wallpaper.”

michael chuckled before another pause occurred.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” you replied, though your voice softened. “i’m used to it.”

he went quiet again.

“you’re not meant to get used to that.”

your throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice, laying your head into your pillow, staring at the wall now, blinking slowly.

“you sound like you care,” you said lightly, trying to tease the seriousness away.

“i do care,” michael replied instantaneously.

zero hesitation, no awkward backtracking—only honesty.

your heart did that stupid thing again, skipping ahead of itself.

“thank you.”

his voice dropped, quieter, gentler.

“i keep thinking about when you kissed my cheek.”

your stomach dropped.

“oh my god,” you whispered, embarrassed, bringing your empty hand up to cover your face in embarrassment. “don’t.”

he laughed softly, “i’m serious, i didn’t expect it.”

“you looked shocked,” you muttered.

“i was,” he admitted. “you just- you did it so confidently. no thoughts, only action.”

you buried your face deeper into your hand.

“i wasn’t confident,” you said, voice muffled. “i was panicking.”

“that’s terrifying. you panic and become fearless.”

you smiled again at his banter, cheeks aching.

“stop,” you groan with a smile.

you didn’t want him to stop.

“i’m not stopping,” he replied.

you could hear the smile in his voice, and it made your heart feel full in a way you weren’t used to.

the conversation kept going with minutes turned into hours.

you talked about nothing and everything—music, his family, the way he hated being treated like a background character in his own life.

you told him about fashion again, about your sketches, about the dream you kept tucked away in the back of your mind because it felt too fragile to say out loud.

he listened.

like it mattered.

he tried to make jokes when he noticed your voice got too heavy.

he went quiet when you needed him to.

at some point, you ended up lying on your back with your phone resting next to your head on the pillow, staring at the shadows on your ceiling.

“you still awake?” you heard michael’s voice faintly ask through the neighbouring phone.

“mhm.”

“good.”

you smiled slightly at that.

“why?”

another pause—almost hesitant.

he speaks, quieter than before :

“because i don’t want to stop talking to you.”

your breath caught, flustered at the bluntness of it.

outside your window, the night stretched on, calm and endless. the world felt asleep as if it had given you both permission to exist in your own little space for a while.

you swallowed, voice barely above a whisper.

“me neither.”

you heard michael exhaled softly, almost relieved, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel trapped.

not by your house, by your parents, not by your own fears.

because somewhere on the other end of the line, michael was there—his voice low, steady, and present.

as the hours slipped by, you realised something quietly terrifying.

this wasn’t just a random meeting.

this was the kind of night you’d remember, the kind that changed things, even if neither of you was brave enough to admit it yet.

you stare over at the cardigan hanging off the chair in the corner of your room, feeling it’s strong gaze beaming at you.

his cardigan.

you smile down at yourself, memories from tonight flooding your brain.

and you soon hope to make more.

𑣲⋆ summary : you find out michael’s never celebrated christmas before and you take it upon yourself to make sure his first is the best.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jackson five era // pre-off the wall michael jackson x reader

a/n : my phone crashed three times trying to upload this so if there’s error bare with pls pls

𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟕

you and michael were both sat in his bedroom at hayvenhurst. now that your friendship has blossomed fully, you’ve found yourself making more frequent visits to his home, being introduced to his siblings and his parents and even forming a slight relationship with them.

the late autumn air pressed softly against the bedroom window, the glass slightly fogged from the contrasting warmth inside. you sat cross-legged on the carpet, your back resting against the side of michael’s bed while he lounged nearby with a notebook balanced on his knee.

the room smelled faintly of clean laundry and whatever cologne he’d been obsessed with lately. everything about hayvenhurst felt lived in, full of noise even when it was ‘quiet’—footsteps down the hallway, a distant laugh, the muffled sound of someone calling for someone else, and for some reason, being there always made you feel comoforted.

you stared at the posters on his wall for a second, letting out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding.

“oh my god,” you blurted suddenly, turning your head toward him with wide eyes. “michael… christmas is soon.”

the words came out in a rush, the excitement bubbling out of you before you could even pretend to be calm about it.

“i swear, i can already feel it,” you continued, sitting up straighter. “like, it feels like the festivities are already starting. the cold air and the early nights, everyone rushing around, the little lights in shop windows, like have you seen the decorations downtown? it’s actually insane. and the tinsel everywhere. like, everywhere. it’s so tacky but also so perfect. it just never lets you forget it’s christmas time,” you rant, pure excitement coursing through you.

michael’s gaze flickered up from his notebook. he watched you with that familiar, gentle attention, the corners of his mouth tugging upward as if your excitement was contagious.

you leaned forward slightly, completely unable to stop yourself. “and my mum’s already started talking about what we’re doing this year,” you went on, your voice animated.

“she’s been making lists and everything. she’s one of those people who treats christmas dinner like she’s hosting the queen. i’m not even kidding, she’ll be standing in the kitchen in an apron acting all stressed, and then she’ll start bossing everyone around.”

you made a dramatic face, putting on a mocking cranky voice as you try set the scene, “she’ll be about the place yelling ‘don’t touch the mince pies, they’re for later!’

your own laughter slipped out, warm and breathy. “and i know my dad’s going to fall asleep on the sofa again,” you added. “every single year. he always claims he’s just ‘resting his eyes’ and then next thing you know he’s snoring and the telly’s blaring some old christmas film that can be heard around the whole house.”

you rambled on, your hands moving as you spoke, the words tumbling out faster the more you thought about it.

“and the presents. oh my god, the presents. i love wrapping them even though i’m god awful at it. i always end up using too much tape and it looks like the gift has been trapped in plastic or something. but it’s fine because it’s the thought that counts, right?”

michael nodded along quietly, listening in that way he always did, like every detail mattered. his expression stayed soft, but there was something else underneath it, something faint that didn’t belong with your excitement.

you didn’t notice it at first. you kept going.

“and christmas music! everyone complains about it but I love it. i love the stupid jingling bells and the choirs and the cheesy lyrics. i’ll be humming it all day, and it drives my dad crazy. last year he threatened to throw the radio out the window.”

you giggled at the memory, then paused, finally taking in michael properly. he was still nodding, still smiling a little, but his eyes had drifted down, unfocused—the smile didn’t reach them. his shoulders seemed more tense than they had been a moment ago, and his fingers tapped lightly against the edge of his notebook, almost distracted. the excitement in your chest slowed, fading into confusion.

“…hey,” you murmured, tilting your head. “you okay?”

michael blinked, snapping out of it, his smile tried to come back stronger, like he could force it into place.

“yeah,” he replied softly, though his voice lacked its usual brightness.

you didn’t buy it for a second, shifting closer, your tone gentler now. “michael… what’s wrong?”

he hesitated. for a few seconds, the only sound was the distant creak of the house settling and a muffled voice somewhere down the hallway. his eyes stayed on his hands, thumbs rubbing together slowly.

he let out a quiet breath. “it’s not… it’s not anything bad,” he began, carefully choosing his words. “it’s just…”

he paused again, jaw tightening slightly.

“we don’t… celebrate christmas.”

your eyebrows lifted. “you don’t?”

michael shook his head, gaze still lowered, “my family, we’re jehovah’s witnesses,” he explained.

the words sounded almost heavy coming out of him, like he’d said them a hundred times to people who didn’t understand. “we don’t do holidays. not christmas, not birthdays… none of that.”

your mouth parted, the realisation settling over you slowly.

“oh.”

you didn’t mean for it to sound so small but you were disappointed on his behalf.

michael glanced up at you then, his expression was unreadable—soft, but edged with something quieter, one you couldn’t fix with a joke like usually.

“it’s just how it is,” he continued, voice calm but distant. “i’m used to it.”

however, the way he said it didn’t sound like he was used to it at all. you stared at him for a moment, your heart twisting in your chest. suddenly all your tangents about decorations and presents felt unfair, as though you’d been waving something shiny in front of him without realising he wasn’t allowed to touch it.

you swallowed before speaking, “…do you want to celebrate it?” you asked carefully, not sure if it’s ‘offensive’.

michael didn’t answer straight away. his gaze drifted to the window where the sky was fading into a pale grey-blue, the kind of evening that promised the upcoming winter.

“i-… i don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “sometimes i wonder what it’s like. i hear people talk about it all the time. the trees, the food, the music…” he trailed off, then shrugged slightly, forcing a small laugh that didn’t quite land. “it sounds… nice.”

that was all it took.

your face lit up again, but this time it wasn’t just excitement—it was determination.

“well then,” you declared, sitting up straighter, as if you’d just made the most obvious decision in the world. “you’re coming to my house.”

michael blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

you pointed at him like you were accusing him of something. “you heard me. you’re literally coming to my house for christmas. no arguments.”

his eyes widened, and a nervous smile flickered across his face. “i don’t think I’m supposed to-“

“oh, please,” you interrupted, waving your hand dramatically. “i’m not asking your whole family to start singing carols and dancing around a tree. i’m just saying you should come over. just for the day. you can eat with us. you can open a present. you can watch my dad fall asleep mid-film. it’s basically a cultural experience.”

michael let out a quiet laugh—the first real one since the conversation shifted.

you leaned closer, voice dropping into something softer, more sincere. “seriously, michael,” you added. “you shouldn’t have to sit here and pretend you don’t care. christmas is… warm. it can be annoying and loud and chaotic, but it’s warm. and you deserve that too.”

michael stared at you, his smile fading into something gentler, something almost stunned. his eyes softened, and for a moment he didn’t look like ‘michael jackson’, the star everyone’s obsessed with. he just looked like a boy your age, sitting on his bedroom floor, quietly absorbing the fact that someone wanted to share something special with him.

“you’d really do that?” he asked, voice low.

you scoffed. “obviously. you’re my best friend. what, did you think i was gonna let you spend christmas day doing nothing?”

he glanced away again, but this time the sadness didn’t sit as heavily on his face. instead, something else appeared—something fragile, almost hopeful.

“i… i don’t know what to say,” he murmured.

“say yes.”

michael’s lips parted, hesitating for only a second before the smallest smile returned, more real than before.

“…okay,” he agreed quietly.

something in your chest warmed instantly, as if the christmas lights you’d been imagining all day had suddenly switched on inside you.

you came home that night telling your parents about michael’s situation and your proposal to have him over from the day.

luckily, they were delighted to have him over as they’d begun to grow fond of him once you both grew closer and his appearances at the house became more frequent.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

it was now one week before christmas and you were in a crisis on what to get him. you knew his interests, hell, you knew as much about him as he knows himself. yet you continued to panic on what to buy, telling yourself ‘it has to be perfect’ since it’s his first christmas and you had to make a good first impression.

you scrounged the mall for what felt like hours, analysing every shop on every floor to see if anything caught your eye… and it wasn’t much.

at the end of the day you settled on a gift basket containing all the things you knew he loved and what you think would be necessities for christmas ; fluffy socks, a new pair of red plaid pyjamas (which you found a matching pair of for yourself), his favourite assortment candy you always noticed him reach for when yous were out together, a new notebook along with a pen with ‘michael’ written on it in cursive gold letters, a framed photo of you and him that janet took of yous one time at their house, you both cuddled next to each other on the sofa as yous fell asleep in the middle of a movie marathon and she found it the cutest thing, and finally, a heart-felt, handwritten note you took the time to write—listing every single thing that came to your mind, pouring your heart into it.

you best believe you took ages to make sure it looked perfect for when you gave it to him as well, experimenting with putting the things in different places and adding a red bow on top once finally content.

it was perfect, and you couldn’t wait to show him. you knew michael would love anything you got him—you could get him a rock picked up off the floor and he’d be happy, just by knowing it was gifted by you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the second michael stepped through the front door, he knew he’d made a mistake. it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be there, i mean god, he wanted to be there more than he’d admitted out loud, but because the feeling hit him all at once, too fast, too big.

warm air wrapped around him, carrying smells he couldn’t place properly at first. something sweet too—cinnamon, maybe pine? and underneath it all, the faintest trace of something smoky from the fireplace.

his fingers tightened around the strap of his overnight bag as his eyes flickered over everything. your hallway was wide but still cosy, the walls dressed with framed photographs and little decorations he didn’t recognise but somehow understood anyway. a wreath hung on the door behind him, thick and green, with a ribbon tied neatly in the centre. there were also tiny lights strung along the bannister leading upstairs, glowing softly, making the whole house look like it was lit from the inside.

he stood there a moment too long, taking it all in. you shut the door behind him, grinning like you’d been waiting for this exact second all week.

“well?” you asked, dropping your voice like it was a secret. “watcha think?”

michael swallowed, his gaze still wandering, still absorbing. he didn’t even realise he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache slightly.

“it’s…” his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “it’s really nice.”

your smile widened triumphantly. “i told you.”

he nodded and followed you, wherever you were going, his shoes softly tapping against the floor as you led him further into the house.

then he saw it.

the christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room, taller than he expected, almost touching the ceiling. thick tinsel wrapped around the branches, ornaments hanging like jewels. red and gold, little glass baubles, tiny candy canes, ribbons, and lights blinking softly in warm colours. the whole thing glowed, throwing little reflections across the walls.

he stopped walking, his breath caught in his chest, sharp and strange, as though his body didn’t know what to do with the sight.

he’d heard about christmas trees. he’d seen them in store windows and on television, always in the background of things he wasn’t supposed to be a part of, but seeing one in real life, close enough to touch, inside a house where people were laughing, cooking and living felt unreal.

his eyes traced every detail, lingering on each ornament, each light. he felt stupid for staring, but he couldn’t help it. it was like his brain had been waiting his whole life to see this and didn’t know how to stop looking.

you noticed instantly, stepping beside him, folding your arms with a smug little tilt of your head.

“you can stare,” you told him. “i give you permission.”

michael let out a soft laugh through his nose, though his voice didn’t come.

“it’s…” he tried again, but the word wouldn’t form.

‘pretty’ didn’t feel like enough.

he slowly stepped closer, careful and cautious, as if the tree might disappear if he moved too fast. his fingers lifted, hovering over one of the ornaments—a small glass star. it caught the light and shimmered, throwing tiny sparkles across his skin as he touched it gently. the ornament swayed a little, and he watched it like it was alive.

“it’s beautiful,” he finally murmured, barely audible.

something in your expression softened. “i know,” you replied quietly. “that’s why i wanted you to come.”

michael’s throat tightened. he turned his head away quickly, pretending to examine something else in the room, but the feeling stayed lodged in his chest like a stone. not heavy, exactly. just emotional.

he hadn’t expected it to hit him like this. your house was warm in a way he wasn’t used to. not just temperature-wise, warm in the way people moved around without rushing, the way the lights were soft, the way everything seemed to glow with comfort. there were voices in the kitchen, the clinking of dishes, the hum of festive music playing quietly from a radio.

it made him feel like he was stepping into someone else’s world, one he’d never been invited into before.

before he could think too hard about it, your mum appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. she took one look at Michael and smiled so brightly it startled him.

“there you are!” she exclaimed. “michael, my love, come in, come in. you must be freezing.”

michael straightened immediately, polite instincts kicking in like they were automatic.

“yes ma’am,” he answered, his voice respectful. “thank you for having me.”

“oh don’t be so formal,” she waved him off, though her smile only grew. “you’re staying the night. that makes you family for the evening.”

the words made something flicker in his chest.

family.

he forced a smile, but it wobbled slightly at the edges.

you glanced at him as you noticed his nervous demeanour.

“see?” you whispered, leaning toward him. “i told you she was gonna adopt you.”

michael let out a small laugh, then lowered his voice, almost shy. “she really nice,” he admitted.

your mum ushered him toward the kitchen with an energy that made him feel like he didn’t have a choice.

“sit down, sit down. i’ve got cookies and hot chocolate. you both can have some.”

michael hesitated, eyes widening slightly, “oh-, i-“

“no ‘I’,” your mum interrupted, pointing at him with playful authority. “you’ll have some. christmas eve rules.”

he blinked, caught off guard, and you burst out laughing causing him to glance at you, eyebrows raised as if to ask ‘is she serious?’

you only grinned harder. “she’s serious,” you mouthed.

he sat himself down at your kitchen island while your mum moved around with practised ease, humming to herself. the kitchen smelled even stronger than the hallway—sweet, rich and warm. something was baking, its chocolatey aroma flowing through the kitchen.

his stomach twisted slightly, not with hunger but with nervousness. he wasn’t used to being treated like this. not without expectations, without cameras, not without someone wanting something. but here no one seemed to want anything from him except for him to eat.

your dad wandered in a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up from a nap even though it was barely evening. he looked at michael, then smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“a’right, bud?” he greeted, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he walked by.

michael stood up quickly. “hello, sir,” he replied.

your dad waved a hand with a light chuckle. “sit down, sit down. you’re in the house now. no need to stand like you’re meeting the president.”

michael sat again, his cheeks warming in embarrassment.

you leaned closer, whispering, “you’re so polite it’s embarrassing.”

michael shot you a look. “i’m not embarrassing,” he muttered.

“you literally just stood up like he was gonna knight you,” you teased.

michael’s lips twitched. “…maybe he will.”

you laugh at that, loud and bright, and for a second michael forgot to be overwhelmed—he just laughed too.

later on, you brought him back into the living room with two mugs of hot chocolate, steam curling into the air. marshmallows floating on top, melting slowly into creamy clouds on the surface of the hot drink. he held the mug with both hands, careful not to spill.

as he took as small sip, his eyes widened immediately.

“oh,” he breathed.

you watched him with a grin. “good, right?”

michael nodded slowly, almost reverently. “this is… really good.”

“it’s basically liquid happiness,” you declared before taking another sip of yours, a moustache of marshmallow forming on your upper lip.

he took another sip, pausing as he stared at the mug as though it had personally changed his life.

“i think i’ve been missing out,” he admitted quietly.

something about the way he said it made your teasing smile soften, you sat down beside him on the carpet, close to the tree. the lights flickered gently, reflecting in michael’s eyes. he stared at them again, the same look on his face as earlier—half wonder, half disbelief.

he didn’t know how to explain the feeling, it was excitement, yes, but also something heavier that he couldn’t quite name. it all felt unfair. unfair that he hadn’t been before, how it all was robbed from him during his childhood.

michael shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his mug balanced between his hands. his gaze lingered on the ornaments, he noticed how each one was different. some looked expensive, shiny and perfect. others looked handmade—paper stars, little glittered cut-outs, a lopsided angel that clearly had been glued together by someone with no patience.

it made his chest tighten again because it wasn’t about perfection. it was about memories.

and he never had that.

you bumped your shoulder gently against his, snapping out of his thoughts with a blink.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you told him.

“am not,” he replied automatically.

you raised an eyebrow.

“you’re doing that thing where you go quiet and look like you’re about to write a sad song.”

michael let out a breathy laugh. “maybe i will.”

“well don’t,” you warned. “it’s christmas eve. sad songs are banned until at least january.”

michael glanced back at the tree. “it’s just…” he began, then stopped, unsure how to come about what he was thinking. his fingers tightened around the mug. “i didn’t know it would feel like this,” he admitted, voice softer now. “i thought it would just be decorations. stuff. but it’s-… it’s more than that.”

your expression softened completely. “it is,” you agreed.

“it’s almost sorta overwhelming,” he confessed, the honesty in his voice surprised even him. “in a good way. but… still overwhelming.”

you nodded slowly, understanding his point of view, eyebrows furrowed with sympathy. “that’s okay,” you comfort gently. “it’s your first christmas. you’re allowed to be overwhelmed.”

his eyes flickered to you, something warm stirring in his chest at the way you said it.

‘your first christmas.’

you reached over and plucked one of the candy canes off the tree, holding it out. michael blinked blankly at you, confused on what you were doing.

“is that allowed?”

“michael,” you replied, dead serious, “it’s my tree. i make the rules.”

he hesitated, taking it carefully from your hands. he began to delicately unwrap it, like it could easily snap in his fingers, and tasted it, his face twisted slightly.

“it tastes minty, like toothpaste,” he commented.

“that’s the point!”

he chewed slowly, his facial expressions changing as he made a new inner-opinion on the candy.

“…it’s strange,” he decided, not sure on if he actually liked it on not.

“you’re strange,” you shot back.

he glanced at you, suddenly smiling wider—the corner of his eyes crinkling with the

“i am not strange.”

“you’re literally chewing a candy cane like it’s a life decision.”

he laughed properly then, shoulders shaking slightly, his eyes bright.

and for the first time since he’d arrived, the tension in his posture eased. the tightness in his chest loosened, just a little, finally letting himself exist in the moment instead of worrying about what it meant.

later that night, you ended up upstairs in your room with sleeping bags spread across the floor. the radio played softly in the background, some christmas song crackling through the speakers that you happily hummed along to.

you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, while michael lay beside you, hands folded neatly over his chest.

it was quiet now, the kind of quiet that felt safe. safe because you were with him.

you turned your head slightly towards him in the dark, the faint glow of the moon through the lace curtains highlighting his features.

“you okay?”

“i think so.”

“that sounded like a lie.”

michael exhaled through his nose, amused. “it’s not a lie,” he insisted. “it’s just… I feel weird.”

“weird how?”

his gaze stayed on the ceiling, but his voice lowered. “like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to,” he admitted.

you went still before michael continued before you could respond, his voice gentle but honest.

“i know it’s silly. i’m nineteen years old. i shouldn’t feel nervous over a tree and hot chocolate.” he paused, adding, almost embarrassed, “but I do.”

you shifted onto your side, facing him, propping yourself up on your elbow as you looked down at him.

“it isn’t silly, michael.”

his eyes flickered to you, “its not?”

“no,” you replied firmly. “it’s human.”

his stared at you in the dim light, the faint glow from the hallway slipping under the door. his face looked softer when he wasn’t performing—less guarded.

“i’m glad you invited me,” he murmured.

“good, because you’re stuck here now.”

michael’s lips curved slightly. “am i?”

“uh-huh,” you confirmed. “you’re part of Christmas now. sorrry. no refunds.”

he let out a quiet laugh, his expression turning gentle again. “i’ve never had… a night like this,” he admitted.

your throat tightened a little but you still tried to keep it light.

“well, get used to it. because you’re having another one next year.”

“y’promise??” he asked, the words came out smaller than you expected as his gaze softened.

you hadn’t realised how much he meant it, how much he wanted something stable that wouldn’t disappear.

your voice softened completely. “i promise,” you whispered.

michael didn’t speak after that, he just looked at you for a long moment, his gaze holding something you couldn’t name—too warm, too sincere.

he turned onto his side too, facing you. in the quiet, he murmured, “merry christmas, y/n.”

“it’s still christmas eve,” you whispered, smiling gently.

“i know,” he replied. “but i wanted to say it first.”

you stared at him, the room feeling suddenly too small, too warm.

“merry christmas, michael,” you answered softly.

he closed his eyes after that, his breathing slowing as sleep finally began to take him. but even as he drifted off, his expression stayed peaceful, like he’d finally found something he didn’t realise he was missing.

for a while, you lay there awake, listening to the quiet, feeling the weight of the moment settle gently around you, because this wasn’t just a sleepover—it was the beginning of something.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

christmas morning came too fast.

the first thing you noticed was the cold. not in the room, your room was warm, but the kind of cold that came from the world outside. a pale light seeped through the curtains, soft and grey, and the air felt crisp, fresh, new.

you blinked slowly, still half asleep before you hear an uprupt rustle of movement from beside you.

you turn your head abruptly towards see michael was already awake, sat upright in his sleeping bag, hair slightly messy, eyes wide as if he’d been awake for hours. he looked like a kid trying to stay quiet so he wouldn’t wake anyone, but failing miserably because his excitement was practically vibrating off him.

you stared at him from a second, trying to get to grips of what you were seeing before groaning.

“michael,” you mumbled, voice raspy with sleep. “why are you sitting like that?”

he looked over at you immediately, like he’d been caught. “oh-, sorry,” he whispered, his voice hushed.

“what time is it?”

“…six.”

your eyes widened at his reply. “six?!” you repeated, horrified. “michael, it’s christmas, not a military operation.”

“i couldn’t sleep,” he admitted.

you rolled onto your back dramatically.

“you’re such an old man.”

michael scoffed quietly, offended. “i am not an old man.”

“yes you are,” you argued. “you’re basically a grandfather trapped in the body of a pop star.”

michael laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“i’m just… excited,” he confessed, and his voice softened on the last word. he stared down at his lap not meeting your eyes—a small smile growing on his face

you sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “alright,” you sighed. “come on then. let’s go see the tree before you explode.”

his face brightened instantly at your proposal. you got out of your sleeping bag and crept downstairs together, careful not to make too much noise. the house was still asleep, the air quiet, the floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet.

when you reached the living room, the tree lights were still on, glowing gently in the dim morning light.

and there they were.

presents.

michael froze again, just like he had the night before, but this time his expression wasn’t overwhelmed, he was almost ed amazed at the sight in front of him.

he stepped forward slowly, crouching down near the tree. his eyes scanned the pile of wrapped gifts, each one in different paper, different ribbons, different sizes.

his fingers hovered over one, not touching as he looked at the tags—names written in neat handwriting, ‘y/n’, ‘mum’, ‘dad’

and then :

michael.

his name.

under the tree.

he stared at it as if he couldn’t believe it was real, looking up at you slowly.

“that’s…” he began, voice cracking slightly.

you smile softly at him. “yeah,” you replied. “that’s yours.”

michael swallowed hard as he looked back at the present—whispering, almost to himself, “that’s mine.”

he didn’t move for a moment as if he was afraid to touch it, that it might be taken away if he reached too fast.

“hey, not just yet. presents are an after-dinner activity,” you ordered before playing swatting his hand away.

the hours after that felt like they passed in a blur. eventually, your mum came downstairs first, wrapped in a fluffy robe, her hair a mess but her face bright with that warm christmas morning glow with your dad followed not long after, half asleep and yawning like his body physically wasn’t built for mornings.

michael stood up immediately when they walked in, like it was instinct, like his body couldn’t stop itself.

“mornin’, pet” your mum chirped, her voice loud enough to make michael flinch slightly.

“good morning, ma’am,” michael replied politely, straightening his posture.

your dad blinked at him, then laughed quietly. “christ, he’s still doin’ that standin’ thing.”

your mum walked over and squeezed michael’s shoulder gently, like she was already used to him being there. “merry christmas, sweetheart.”

michael paused for a second, “…merry christmas,” he said back, softer.

your dad shuffled into the living room, scratching the side of his face. “right,” he muttered. “where’s my coffee before i collapse.”

“dad,” you groaned.

“what? i’m a simple man.”

michael let out a small laugh under his breath, the sound surprised even him. it was such a normal moment. so stupidly normal. and for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was trespassing in someone else’s life. he felt like he was part of it.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

christmas dinner came quicker than anyone wanted.

your mum had been in full christmas mode all day, the kitchen basically becoming her personal battlefield. there was music playing from the radio, pots clanging, the smell of roast filling every inch of the house. every time you walked in, she’d shove something into your hands.

“taste this.”

“stir that.”

“tell me if this needs more salt.”

and every time michael tried to help, she’d practically shoo him away like he was a stray kitten.

“no, no, no. you’re a guest. you sit down.”

michael would blink, confused, like he wasn’t used to adults being kind without expecting anything in return.

“are you sure?” he asked, polite as always.

“yes, i’m sure,” your mum insisted. “and if you try to argue, i’ll make you peel potatoes for an hour.”

michael’s eyes widened.

you leaned toward him and whispered, “she’s not joking.”

he glanced at you, dead serious. “yeah, i believe you.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

by the time dinner was ready, the dining table looked insane.

it was covered in everything—roast meat, golden potatoes, endless vegetables, stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce—a ridiculous amount of food that could’ve fed a small army.

michael sat at the table quietly at first, hands folded neatly in his lap, watching everything like it was a scene from a movie he’d only ever heard about.

your dad poured him a drink, “there y’go, boy.”

michael blinked. “thank you, sir.”

“don’t call me sir,” your dad replied instantly. “makes me feel like i’m about to arrest someone.”

your mum smacked your dad’s arm. “stop teasing him.”

“i’m not teasing him!” your dad protested. “i’m bonding.”

michael let out a soft laugh, his shoulders loosening.

you watched him, and your chest warmed at the sight, because he was laughing like he belonged here.

and maybe he did.

as dinner went on, the conversation became louder, warmer. your dad told the same old story he told every year about how he once nearly set the christmas pudding on fire, and your mum kept correcting him mid-sentence.

“that’s not what happened!”

“yes it is!”

“no it isn’t, dramatic idiot!”

michael laughed harder at that, covering his mouth slightly like he was trying not to.

you leaned closer to him. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

he hesitated, then nodded. “…yeah,” he admitted. “i really am.”

your mum glanced at him. “good. because you’re stuck with us now.”

michael smiled, and it wasn’t the polite kind he usually forced out, it was real.

your dad pointed his fork at michael. “so, michael. what’s it like bein’ famous?”

michael paused mid-bite, his expression shifting slightly, like he’d braced himself. he’d heard that question a thousand times. every interview. every stranger. every adult who looked at him like he was a product instead of a person.

before he could answer, your dad shrugged. “actually, no. don’t answer that. boring question. everyone asks that.”

michael blinked, surprised as your dad continued, “what i wanna know is… what’s your favourite food?”

michael stared at him, “my… favourite food?”

“aye,” your dad said. “everyone’s got one.”

michael’s lips parted slightly, like his brain had short-circuited.

“i mean, i like enchiladas,” he admitted slowly.

your dad slapped the table. “YES. i like him, he’s well cultured.”

you burst out laughing along your mum rolled her eyes. “you like anyone who likes enchiladas.”

“exactly,” your dad replied proudly.

michael laughed again, properly this time, head tipping forward slightlyx it hitting him then, quietly, like a soft wave—no one was asking him to perform, no one was asking him to sing, no one was asking about shows or cameras or albums or fame.

they were just talking to him.

like he was michael.

not michael jackson.

and god it felt so good it almost hurt.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

after dinner, your mum made everyone sit in the living room.

“right,” she announced, clapping her hands once. “presents.”

your dad groaned dramatically. “finally. my feet are goin’ numb.”

you grabbed michael’s wrist and pulled him toward the tree before he could overthink it. his eyes immediately went to the gifts again. the ones with his name on them.

he crouched down slowly, like he still couldn’t believe it was real as your mum handed him one small present first.

“from me,” she said sweetly.

michael froze.

he looked at the tag, then up at her, and his voice came out quiet. “…for me?”

your mum smiled like it was obvious. “of course for you.”

he unwrapped it carefully, almost painfully slow, like he was terrified of tearing the paper too much.

inside was a warm knitted scarf, dark coloured, soft-looking.

michael stared at it before he touched it, his face softened instantly.

“oh…” he whispered. “it’s… beautiful.”

“put it on,” your mum ordered.

michael did, still looking slightly stunned, and your mum beamed like she’d just accomplished her life’s mission.

your dad handed him another, the wrapping messy, tape just slapped on when it felt right. “from me.”

michael blinked again. “sir— i mean… thank you.”

your dad snorted. “there ya go.”

inside was a record—a classic one, stevie wonder.

michael stared at it like he’d been handed a piece of treasure.

“i heard you like music, ‘n y/n mentioned you liked a bit of wonder” your dad said casually.

michael’s lips parted.

“…i love music,” he corrected softly.

your dad nodded like he’d just won something. “good. then i picked right.”

michael smiled at him, quiet but genuine. “thank you, so much,” he said again.

your mum clapped. “right. now your best friend’s present.”

you scooted forward, heart thumping stupidly hard, and grabbed the basket you’d worked on for hours.

you handed it to him nervously, michael’s eyes widening the second he saw it. he didn’t even move for a second.

“…what is this?” he asked, voice small.

“open it,” you urged.

slowly, he pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the top.

and then he saw everything.

the socks.

the pyjamas.

the candy.

the notebook.

the pen with his name.

the photo.

his fingers froze on the frame, his eyes stared at it for so long you almost got nervous.

“janet took that,” you explained softly. “remember? when we fell asleep.”

michael didn’t answer, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. he began picked it up carefully, like it could break in his hands.

then his gaze dropped to the note, pulling it out gently. you watched his face change as he read.

slowly.

his expression shifted from curiosity, to softness, to something dangerously emotional.

his expression shifted from curiosity, to softness, to something dangerously emotional.

his eyes shimmered, your stomach dropping immediately.

“…michael?” you whispered.

he blinked hard.

once.

twice.

“…you wrote all this?” his voice cracked slightly.

you nodded, suddenly nervous. “yeah.”

michael stared at the paper again, like he couldn’t believe words could be that gentle. his eyes filled properly this time.

he looked down fast, wiping his face with his sleeve like he was embarrassed.

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, voice shaky. “i’m sorry, i don’t know why i’m-“

“michael,” you cut in softly, scooting closer.

he kept wiping at his face, but the tears didn’t stop. your mum’s face softened instantly, and even your dad looked awkwardly emotional, clearing his throat and pretending he suddenly found the carpet fascinating.

michael sniffed quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “no one’s ever… gotten me something like this. put so much effort into something for me.”

your heart clenched as you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him without even thinking.

michael froze for half a second before he melted into it, leaning into your touch. his hands clutched the note and the photo against his chest like he was scared it would disappear as you held him tighter.

“you deserve it,” you whispered.

michael’s voice was muffled against your shoulder.

“…it’s too much.”

“no,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look at him. “it’s not. it’s literally the bare minimum because you’re amazing. you’re the best thing to happen to me, michael.”

michael’s wet lashes fluttered as he looked at you, his eyes red but glowing. “…thank you,” he whispered.

you smiled gently. “you’re welcome.”

he hugged you again, this time tighter, like he meant it with his whole soul, burying his head into your shoulder to hide the fact he was crying.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

once everything was cleaned up and your mum had forced everyone to eat dessert, you dragged michael back into the living room.

“movie time,” you announced.

michael blinked. “now?”

“yes now,” you insisted. “christmas tradition, you can’t escape.”

your dad immediately sat down like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“if it’s not a good one, i’m leavin’.”

your mum rolled her eyes. “you always say that and then fall asleep anyway.”

“that’s not true.”

“uhm, yes it is.”

you shoved a blanket at michael and flopped down onto the sofa. he hesitated before sitting, carefully, like he still wasn’t fully convinced he was allowed.

the movie began to start—it was one of those cheesy christmas ones, full of snow and dramatic music and characters making ridiculous decisions, your dad making commentary the whole time.

“why’s he runnin’? why’s he always runnin’ in these films?”

your mum hissed, “shut up.”

michael laughed quietly, his eyes on the screen and you watched him from the side.

his face was soft—peaceful, as if the weight of the world had finally stopped pressing down on his shoulders for once.

at some point, without realising, you shifted closer… and michael didn’t move away. instead, he leaned slightly too, your shoulders touched, then your arms, then your side pressed against his.

you both pretended it was accidental. but it wasn’t.

your heart started beating stupidly fast. michael’s breathing was slow, calm, but his fingers twitched slightly near his lap, like he was debating whether or not to do something.

then, carefully, he lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the couch.

not quite around you… but close.

so close.

you glanced up at him, but he was staring at the movie like it was the most important thing in the world. his ears were slightly pink and you swear your brain almost exploded.

slowly, you leaned into him more, and this time, he let you.

his arm lowered gently, wrapping around you properly as your head slowly started

to rest against his shoulder. michael’s whole body tensed for a second, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to before soon he relaxed.

your dad yawned loudly halfway through the movie.

“this is borin’. i’m goin’ to bed.”

your mum smacked his arm again.

“it’s the best part!”

“it’s literally the same plot every year,” your dad argued, already half asleep.

michael chuckled softly, and you felt the vibration of it through his chest—it was warm.

everything about him was warm ; the blanket, the couch, the lights from the tree, the quiet laughter.

it all felt safe.

michael, without even meaning to, slowly started to drift off, you could feel it. his head tipped slightly toward yours as his breathing deepened, his body grew heavier against you.

and before you knew it…

he was asleep.

like, fully asleep.

curled into you like it was the most natural thing in the world. your heart basically stopped once you realised because michael jackson, your best friend, was literally sleeping on you like you were his favourite pillow.

you sat there for ages, not moving, scared that if you shifted even an inch you’d wake him.

and you didn’t want to because he looked so peaceful, like he’d never felt peace like that before.

eventually though, the movie ended. your mum peeked in, smiling softly when she saw the two of you.

“aw,” she whispered.

you mouthed back, “don’t.”

she giggled silently and disappeared again.

sighing , you gently shook michael’s shoulder.

“michael… hey…” you whisper softly to him, trying to wake him up slowly.

he stirred slightly. “…hmm?”

“you fell asleep.”

he blinked slowly, confused, then looked down at himself like he’d forgotten where he was.

“…oh,” he murmured, voice sleepy.

you smirked. “old man.”

michael scoffed weakly. “shut up…”

you stood up and offered him your hand. “come on. bed time.”

michael hesitated. “i can sleep on the floor again.”

“no,” you insisted. “you’re not sleeping on the floor on christmas.”

he looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. he just nodded and followed you upstairs quietly.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

when you got back to your room you handed him the pair of pyjamas that laid in his gift basket before reaching into your dresser to pull up your matching pair.

his eyes flickered up to you. “…we match?”

you shrugged innocently. “yeah. obviously.”

michael’s lips twitched. “…you planned this.”

“maybe,” you murmured, smirking.

michael shook his head with a quiet laugh, but his cheeks were pink again.

you both changed, and when he stepped back into the room wearing them, he looked almost stunned.

like he couldn’t believe he was actually wearing christmas pyjamas.

you grinned. “aw, you’re adorable.”

michael’s eyes widened. “i am not adorable.”

“yes you are.”

“no i’m not.”

you pointed at him. “you’re literally a christmas elf.”

michael gasped, offended. “a christmas elf?!”

“yeah.”

he shook his head, laughing. “you’re mean.”

“i’m honest.”

but you could tell—he liked it.

he liked matching. he liked feeling included. he liked being part of something, especially when it’s with you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you both got into the sleeping bags again and within ten minutes, you were already regretting it.

you shifted, annoyed in your sleeping bags, the rustling echoing around the room. “this is so uncomfortable, how did we do this last night?”

michael sighed too, shifting slightly. “yeah…”

you rolled onto your side. “why does it feel like i’m sleeping on concrete.”

michael stared up at the ceiling. “…your bed looks very comfortable.”

“…do you wanna sleep in it?”

michael’s eyes widened, immediately sitting up slightly.

“i— i don’t want to invade your space.”

you rolled your eyes. “michael. you literally cried over fluffy socks earlier. you’re not invading anything.”

michael’s cheeks flushed. “…i didn’t cry over the socks.”

“you cried over my love. which is worse.”

michael let out a quiet laugh at the comment.

you sat up and patted the mattress. “come on. just sleep. it’s christmas.”

michael hesitated again then slowly nodded. “m’kay.”

you both climbed into bed, the covers warm, instantly better than the sleeping bags.

you turned onto your side, facing away from him. “g’night,” you murmured as you pulled the covers close underneath your chin.

“‘night,” michael replied softly.

you closed your eyes, but you didn’t actually fall asleep, you just stayed still, breathing evenly, pretending.

you could feel him behind you, shifting slightly like he was trying to get comfortable—maybe debating something.

and then slowly, carefully…

you felt his arm gently slide around your waist as though he was scared you’d pull away.

his hand rested there, light but warm, and his body pressed closer behind you. your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed still—pretending you were asleep.

michael’s forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, his breathing slow and calm felt faintly against your skin, and for a long moment, everything went quiet. just the sound of the house settling, the faint hum of christmas lights downstairs, his warmth radiating behind you, his arm holding you like it was the safest place in the world.

and you realised, suddenly :

this wasn’t just a christmas sleepover anymore.

this was something else, something that was starting to bloom, quietly, right under your skin.

it was something that neither of you were brave enough to say out loud yet but you could feel it anyway. the both of you.

𑣲⋆ summary : on your usual trip to your local movie rental store you run into a familiar boy, things continue and you invite him over. will this lead into something bigger?…‎

⊹ ࣪ ˖ post-off the wall // pre-thriller era michael x reader

disclaimer : this is my first ever fanfiction ever, i had to start writing my own since the ones i were reading never fulfilled me.. i’ll post this part and if it does well and gets some interactions ill consider doing a part two soon :) please feel free to leave advice and criticisms in the comments if i need it. also please ignore any grammar errors i put commas and shit where it feels right lmao

rain lightly tapping at the windows, slightly dusted VHS tapes welcome me in with faint jazz playing from a, who knows how old, speaker.

slowly stepping in, i routinely make my way towards the horror genre aisle, feet coming to halt.

there was… a boy?

“huh,” i ponder to myself. in the countless amount of times i had been in the small store, not once had i really ever seen anyone here—especially the horror aisle.

a slightly oversized hoodie hung off his frame, soft and worn-in like it had been his comfort item for years, the sleeves pushed up just a little, exposing his wrists and the delicate bones of his hands, the hood resting comfortably over his head, simple grey sweatpants, loose and casual, sitting low on his hips like he’d thrown them on without thinking twice and on his feet were classic sneakers—clean yet slightly scuffed like they’d actually been worn instead of displayed with the white leather creased at the toes.

…jeez, someone seems to have just woke up.

i slowly made my way over to him, curious to see the movies he was looking at. peering over his shoulder, slightly having to lean on the tips of my toes to do so, i look down at the film in his hand : ‘the shining.’

“oh my god, i love that movie!” i abruptly blurt out, louder than i had meant to.

the boy jumped, quickly turning his head behind him—eyes wide in confusion and shock, dropping the film as he did so.

my eyes widen at what i did, hands immediately slapping over my mouth in embarrassment.

“im so sorry, i didn’t mean to say that out loud! i was just confused seeing someone else here for once, especially in the horror aisle and i wanted to be nosy and see what you were looking at,” i rant, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs to avoid further potential embarrassment. i groan to myself.

what a first impression.

he chuckled quietly, “you’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

unbeknown to us, we both kneel to the floor to pick up the dropped film—our hands touching as we both try pick it up.

he quickly diverts his hand away, “o-oh sorry…” he muttered as i picked up the film and handed it to him.

i smile gently, “don’t worry about it, i felt bad making you drop it.”

a small yet noticeable smile painted on his face.

the more i look at him, the more familiar he became. his soft black curls, small strands flowing down on his forehead, those deep brown eyes… holy sh-

“are you michael jackson?!” i squealed excitedly, grinning so wide it pinched my eyes nearly shut.

he winced, looking around in a panicked manner—to his luck no one was around except the cashier who was too busy smoking to care.

“shh! keep your voice down, i’m trying to stay unseen and you are not helping me!” he whispered urgently, only loud enough for us two to hear.

i, again, slap my hands over my mouth.

“i’m so sorry, it just- i’ve been listening to you and your brothers since i was 10! your voice is so beautiful,” i whisper back to him erratically.

a pink tint mounted his cheeks as he spoke, “oh uh… thank you,” he spoke shyly—looking down towards his feet.

he cleared his throat before continuing on, trying to divert the conversation off of him.

“so, you like horror movies?”

“do i like horror movies?!” i gasp, holding my hands against my heart in sarcastic offence. “i fucking love horror movies! i could almost say i’ve watched nearly every one in the shop.” i snap back, nose in the air snobbily, a small smirk on my face.

“so what do you think of ‘the shining’ then, since you’re so passionate for it?” michael teases playfully, squinting his eyes and grinning.

“well, i don’t think you’d be able to handle it. you’d definitely faint or something.”

“what?! i’m sure i’ve watched just as many as you have, little girl.”

offended by the nickname, i decide to interrogate him.

“alright then. how about ‘house of wax’?”

“yup,” he responded—arms folded cockily.

“friday the 13th?”

“come on, who hasn’t?”

“fair enough…” thinking hard and long it comes to me, a short grin adorned my face.

“island of terror?”

silence.

“aha! got you there,” i squeal, digging a finger childishly into his ribcage.

shrieks fill the air he attempts to gently guide my hand away. “stop that! p-please… i’m ticklish!”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

hours passing, yet feels like minutes.

we talk about anything and everything : our favourite horror movies, michael’s… peculiar taste in pets, our hobbies—the list could be endless.

“so about that movie… i was going to rent it but i don’t really want to watch it alone,” he murmurs, fidgeting with the case of the VHS tape in his hands.

“why? you too scared, scaredy-cat?” i mock playfully nudging his side with my elbow as we sat side by side on the rough red carpet of the store. the rain had well stopped by now but went unnoticed within our conversations.

“uhm, excuse me! scared is the last thing i could be.” michael sneered, facing away from me and shooting me a look.

i roll my eyes before looking at him with a “really?” look written on my face.

“well… if you want to go to my apartment and watch it there with me, we could do that?” … “i-if you want to, of course!” i catch myself before glancing away.

did i get the memo wrong? shit—that’s so embarrassing. i already messed up by screaming his name like a ‘freaky fan-girl’ earlier on.

he smiled warmly at me, “yeah, i’d like that. it would be nice to finally get away from all the…” he hesitated. “…commotion.”

michael’s fingers tightened around the VHS case, like he was still debating whether this was a terrible idea or the best one he’d had in weeks. his gaze flickered up to mine, hesitant.

“so…” he started, then stopped. his lips parting like he was about to say something else, but instead he just exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose.

“are you sure it’s not… weird? me coming over, I mean.”

i blink before letting out a breathy laugh, “michael, you’re acting like i just invited you to my wedding.”

his shoulders relaxed slightly and the smile he gave you this time was softer. realer.

“i just-“ he rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing a little as he looked down. “i don’t really do this. not with… people, usually just with my mom.”

something about the way he said it made my chest feel warm, like the store’s heating had suddenly turned up.

“well,” i said, nudging his arm gently with mine, “congrats. today you’re doing it.”

he laughed—like an actual laugh. quiet but bright, like it surprised even him.

“okay,” he murmured, nodding once as if he’d made up his mind. “okay. lead the way, m’lady.” he teases childishly.

i stood up first, brushing dust off my jeans, and held my hand out like i was inviting him on some dramatic adventure.

michael stared at it for a second, then looked up at me—amused.

“you’re… very confident,” he said.

“well i have to be,” i replied, grinning. “you’re the one scared of horror movies, princess.” i wink

he scoffs, eyes narrowed playfully, “i’m not scared.”

“mhm,” i respond in a sarcastic tone.

he rolled his eyes, but when he stood up, he stayed close—close enough that you could feel the warmth of him through your sleeve as you walked toward the counter.

i glance back at him, but to my surprise, he was already watching me.

! part 2 , part 3 , part 4 🤍🪽

𑣲⋆ summary : after being ditched on prom night your childhood best friend saves the day last minute.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 70s michael jackson x reader

a/n : i think i reused to same adjectives like 20 times sorry..

you and michael had been best friends for as long as you both can remember with your mums both being friends from a mutual book club they attended and history continued.

frequent visits to each others homes, numerous outings into the city side by side, multiple sleepovers—you both were inseparable.

your senior prom was coming up and it was all you could talk about to michael—your dress, what colour you’d want, what you planned to do with your hair… and your prom date.

excitement overjoyed you at the thought of the ‘perfect’ night.

one of the popular boys, jonathan, had asked you out to prom a week prior, making a cardboard sign in pink writing as he knocked on your front door with a bouquet of red roses and of course you were thrilled. you’d found him attractive for the whole of junior and senior year, so the idea of him picking you to go to prom with left you flattered.

michael sat across from you on your living room carpet, legs folded, leaning back against the couch like he lived there—which, honestly, he basically did. one hand rested on his knee with the other holding a half-finished can of soda you’d shoved into his hands the moment he walked in.

you were perched on the edge of the coffee table like it was a stage, rambling with the kind of excitement that made your words tumble over each other.

“and i think i’m gonna wear the pearl studs because the dress is already kinda dramatic, so I don’t wanna overdo it, but then again, it’s prom, so like… you have to overdo it a little, right?”

michael nodded along, slow and patient, like every word you said was important enough to be memorised. his eyes stayed on you, attentive, warm.

every now and then he’d hum in agreement, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh at how passionate you were about earrings.

“mhm,” he said softly. “pearls would look pretty.”

you spun around, pointing at him like he’d just solved world hunger. “see! that’s what i said!”

he smiled a little wider, tilting his head. “and the shoes?”

yo practically gasped, delighted he was asking questions. “okay, so i was thinking heels, but not the kind that make me look like a baby deer learning to walk. like, i wanna be able to dance. i don’t wanna spend prom sitting down ‘cause my feet ache.”

he nodded again, but this time he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “, yeah, i can see you dancing a lot.”

“oh, definitely.” you grinned, already picturing it. “i’m not wasting my night standing around like a lamp, that’s what losers do.”

michael laughed quietly at that, his eyes crinkling for a second before settling again. he looked relaxed, but there was something about the way his fingers tapped lightly against the soda can, like his energy couldn’t sit still for too long.

“and makeup,” you continued, completely unstoppable. “i’m gonna do the sparkly eyeshadow. like, silver.. or maybe blue? like a soft blue.”

michael’s gaze flickered, thoughtful. “blue would suit your eyes.”

you smile softly as he starts to try match it to you, making sure it would compliment you—the comment on your eyes leaving you feel remarked. noticed.

michael shrugged, acting casual, but his ears turned just a tiny bit pink. “i’ve known you forever, i know what suits you.”

you leaned closer like you were about to reveal state secrets. “and i’m doing my lashes—the dramatic ones. because i want to look like one of those girls in magazines.”

michael hummed, nodding, as if he could already picture it. “and my necklace,” you said, holding up a little sketch you’d drawn of your outfit. “i’m thinking something dainty, but also-“

you paused only briefly before blurting, like it was the cherry on top. “jonathan’s takin’ me.”

michael’s nod didn’t stop, but it slowed—just barely. the air shifted in a way you didn’t notice since you were too busy spinning your dream prom night into existence.

“jonathan said he’s gonna wear a suit,” you added. “can you imagine? him in a suit. he’ll probably try and act like some gentleman from a movie,” you continue with a giggle.

his eyes stayed on you, his expression still calm, still polite, still listening, but omething in his chest twisted. it wasn’t anger or even bitterness—it was that sharp, quiet ache that came when something you cared about was suddenly not yours.

he still kept his smile though, kept his posture relaxed, keeping his voice even, but his fingers tightened around the soda can for just a second.

jonathan.

michael had heard that name enough times to feel like it belonged to someone he didn’t like, even though he’d never met the guy.

he still swallowed the feeling down, i mean you were excited. and michael—michael would never be the one to ruin that.

so he nodded again, like he always did. “that’s good,” he said softly, the words tasting strange in his mouth.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the night of prom came faster than you expected. it felt like the whole day moved in a blur, like the hours were racing each other just to reach six o’clock.

your room smelled like hairspray and perfume with your bed covered in scattered makeup products and jewellery like the vanity exploded all over it.

the dress hung from the closet door, shimmering softly in the warm yellow light of your bedroom lamp. every time you looked at it, your stomach fluttered.

this was it—the night you’d been talking about for months.

your mum was downstairs, humming as she set out snacks like you were hosting royalty. she’d been excited too—maybe not as excited as you, but enough that she’d been smiling all day.

you sat at your mirror, curling your hair carefully, piece by piece as you daydream about how perfect the night will be—jonathan, the music, the lights…

the curling iron made your room warm, your cheeks already flushed as you concentrated, pinning the top section back, letting the bottom curls fall over your shoulders like waves. when you finished, you sprayed your hair until the air tasted like chemicals.

then came makeup, dusting powder over your face, smoothing blush onto your cheeks, and applying the blue eyeshadow you’d decided on last minute which shimmered when you blinked.

you lined your eyes with a steady hand, holding your breath as you dragged the pencil along your lash line following mascara, slow and careful, making your lashes dark and thick.

when you finally put on your lip gloss, a soft pink with a little shine, you stared at yourself for a long moment.

you looked… grown. not like the little girl who used to chase michael around the garden, laughing so hard you’d fall into the grass.

you looked like someone who belonged in a the magazines you read.

you slipped your dress on slowly, careful not to smudge anything. the fabric hugged your waist, accentuating your curves perfectly, flowing down in a way that made you feel like you were floating.

for a second, you just stared at your reflection, hands pressed lightly against your sides—taking in sight, adjusting your jewellery and hair to make sure you looked perfect.

grabbing your purse, you walked downstairs, every step echoing against the wooden staircase.

your mum turned when she saw you and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“oh my goodness,” she breathed. “you look… absolutely beautiful.”

you smiled, feeling your face heat up. “stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

she stepped forward, adjusting a curl that had fallen out of place. “i mean it. you look like a princess.”

you laughed, nervous energy bubbling in your chest as you glanced at the clock.

5:50.

ten minutes.

your heart began to thud loudly in your chest, your stomach tightening with nerves as you started to wait patiently.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

six o’clock came.

and then went.

you stood by the window, peeking through the curtain every few seconds, your nails tapping against the fabric.

cars passed, a dog barked somewhere down the street. sky outside was turning that soft evening purple, the kind that made everything look dreamy.

then, 6:10.

6:15.

6:20.

your mum tried to distract you by asking about your corsage, but your attention kept snapping back to the driveway.

6:30.

the smile on your face started to strain slightly—maybe he was late.

you swallowed, trying to stay calm as you gave yourself more excuses to try comfort yourself.

6:45.

your stomach now sunk, your makeup feeling too heavy on your skin now and the dress suddenly feeling too tight, your heels pinching and suffocating your feet.

7:00.

and still no jonathan.

the silence in the house became unbearable, thick like fog. your mum hovering nearby, her face tense—lips pressed into a line.

you didn’t want to believe it—not after the roses, not after the sign, after all the stupid promises.

but the truth was slowly crawling its way into your chest, cold and sharp. your eyes evoked a hazy layer of tears over your vision, burning sensations filling your senses as you try to hold them back—you don’t want to ruin your makeup, right?

yet, before you could stop yourself, the tears spilled over—sinking onto the stairs, clutching your purse like it was the only thing keeping you together. your shoulders shook as you tried to breathe through the lump in your throat.

your mum rushed to you immediately, sitting beside you and wrapping her arms around you as she gently traced her finger up and down your arm in an attempt to ground and comfort you.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, rubbing your back. “oh, honey…”

you tried to speak, but it came out broken.

“he-… he was supposed to come.”

“i know,” she whispered. “i know.”

you buried your face into her shoulder, mascara threatening to run as your chest tightened with sobs.

it wasn’t even just about prom—it was about the humiliation. the waiting. the way you’d been so excited and now felt like a fool.

you’d dressed up like a dream, only to be left behind. your mum held you tighter, her voice gentle as she began to speak.

“you don’t deserve this. not ever.”

you sniffled, wiping your face quickly, but more tears came anyway before the atmosphere shifted from a knock sounding at the door.

your heart jumped violently, hope flashing through you for half a second but it died just as quickly. because if it was jonathan, you didn’t even know if you wanted to see him anymore.

the door opened slowly before a familiar voice echo’s through the front door.

“i heard he didn’t come.”

your head snapped up only to see michael stood in the doorway.

for a second you thought you were imagining it—like your brain had decided to create the one person who could fix everything.

he stepped inside slowly, holding out a bouquet of lilies, their pale petals glowing under the hallway light.

your favourite flowers.

he remembered.

of course he did remembered.

he was dressed in a suit, crisp and perfectly fitted, dark fabric sharp against his skin, his shirt underneath was spotless, his tie neat. his afro was styled carefully, round and full, like he’d spent time making sure every detail was right.

and his smile :

it wasn’t big.

it wasn’t flashy.

it was small and comforting.

you stared at him, your mouth slightly open as michael’s eyes flicked to you on the stairs, meeting yours, and something softened in his expression.

he stepped closer slowly, holding the bouquet out gently.

“i… uh,” he cleared his throat quietly. “i brought these.”

your voice came out small. “michael…”

he crouched slightly so he was closer to your level, not towering over you. “i heard he didn’t come,” he repeated, softer this time.

you swallowed hard, your eyes stinging again. “i feel stupid,” you admitted.

michael’s smile didn’t fade, softly comforting you. “you’re not stupid, mama.”

you gave a watery laugh. “i sat here for an hour, expecting his ass to actually turn up.”

his jaw tightened just a fraction—not enough to be obvious, but enough that you could tell he was holding something back. he looked at you like you were the most important person in the room before he held the lilies out again.

“so,” he said gently, “w-wanna go with me instead?”

“what?”

he tilted his head, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“i don’t have a prom,” he said. “and you… you’ve been talking about yours for months.”

his eyes dropped to your dress, then back to your face.

“and you look too pretty to sit on the stairs crying over a boy who doesn’t know what he lost.”

your breath caught at that, your mum stood behind him, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes already glossy as she watched the scene in front of her play out.

michael stayed calm, patient as though he’d already decided.

he’d already chosen you.

you blinked quickly, trying not to cry again and ruin your makeup further before you finally nodded—slowly at first, then with more confidence.

“yeah,” you whispered. “yes, i do.”

michael’s smile widened, just a little. “good, good...”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the ride to prom felt unreal. michael sat beside you in the car, his knee bouncing slightly as the streetlights flickered past the windows as you held the lilies carefully in your lap, their scent sweet and soft.

“you okay?” michael asked, glancing at you with concern, his eyebrows slightly furrowed with a frown.

you nodded, smoothing the fabric of your dress. “yeah. i think so.” your words coming out quieter than you’d intended.

he hummed, not pushing you. “you look…” he paused, like he didn’t know how to say it without sounding too much. “like princess, like one of the ones we used to watch together,” he finishes, almost shy, as he stared down at his hands in his lap.

you turned to him, smiling through the last traces of sadness. “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

“yeah, i know,” he teases with a playful smirk.

you laughed, and suddenly, jonathan wasn’t even a second though anymore.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

once you arrived, the gym was glowing with decorations. steamers hung from the ceiling, fairy lights twinkled around the walls like stars trapped indoors and a disco ball spun lazily above the dance floor, throwing glittering reflections everywhere.

the second you stepped inside, heads turned—not because of you.

because of michael.

people stared openly, whispering, pointing, eyes wide like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing, yet he didn’t react.

he didn’t stiffen or shrink, he simply offered you his arm and you took it.

you both walked in together like you belonged there, owning the night.

the music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and when you stepped onto the dance floor, you couldn’t help it. you started moving—not who watched.

michael soon followed, his movements smooth and effortless, dancing was stitched into his bones—nothing existed except the music and the lights and the moment.

and michael—michael couldnt take his eyes off you.

the way your dress swayed when you turned, how your laughter cut through the noise like something bright and real and your cheeks glowed from dancing, sweat collecting lightly at your temples, making you look warm and alive.

he thought you looked beautiful, but he obviously couldn’t say it.

i mean, it was michael.

but it was there in his eyes every time he looked at you.

it wasn’t because of your makeup or your jewellery or your hair—it was because you were you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

after what felt like hours, the music shifted—the beat slowed as the lights dimmed slightly and a slow song began to play—soft, romantic, the kind that made the entire gym feel like it was floating.

you slowed, catching your breath, brushing hair away from your face as michael stepped closer slowly.

his hand hovered near yours for a second, like he was asking permission without words, before he spoke :

“may i have this dance?”

“yes, you may.”

michael delicately placed one hand gently at your waist, then other taking your hand in his.

you rested your hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him through the suit fabric, the two of you beginning to sway slowly to the music naturally, like you’d been doing it your whole life.

you looked up at him, only to be met with his gaze already looking at you. his eyes were dark, soft, almost glowing under the dim lights.

for a moment, everything else disappeared.

no gym, no classmates and their whispers—only you and michael.

your voice came out quietly, almost like you were scared to break the moment.

“i’m glad he didn’t come.”

michael blinked, his brows lifting slightly.

“why?” he asked, his voice low as he scanned your face in confusion.

you swallowed, your heart pounding harder than it had all night.

“because then…” you whispered, squeezing his hand gently, “then i wouldn’t be here right now.”

you continued, voice trembling a little. “i wouldn’t be dancing with you.”

michael stared at you for a long second, like he was trying to process it, like your words were too good to be real before his mouth curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“i’m glad too,” he admitted.

and as you swayed together under the spinning lights, it felt like the universe had rewritten your night—not into what you wanted, but something better.

…with michael.

jonathan completely left the picture as you beamed up at michael, a small smile painting you face as you admired the sight in front of you.

slowly, but surely, you both mutually leaned in as you swayed to the music before you absentmindedly move your hand from his grasp and up to his cheeks, rubbing your thumb gently over his soft skin.

the gap between you both eventually sealed, his soft lips providing a sense warmth—delicate and comfortable against yours.

it wasn’t dramatic nor rough, just almost a conformation of what you two had been feeling for the past years.

as yous deliberately begin to part, yous look at eachother again, but it wasn’t the same look as earlier.

this was different.

different how?

you don’t know—but you could sense it.

it had always been michael, it only just took one dick of a boy for you to realise it.

𑣲⋆ summary : michael invites you out to a skating rink together, fun and games until he feels something he’s not familiar with when he sees you with another boy.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jackson five era // pre-off the wall michael jackson x reader

a/n : ts lowkey long but if ur anything like me you’ll eat it up so🤞🏽. also tysm for 100 followers thats so insane omg ily all

four days had now passed, but it didn’t feel like four days. it felt like a week, a month—one of those stretches of time where everything is technically normal except your brain refuses to act normal because it keeps replaying one specific moment on loop.

the call, his voice so soft it could put you to sleep after a sentence, and his quiet laugh—the one where time feels frozen when you hear it.

morning light slipped through the curtains in thin, pale stripes, warming the edge of your pillow. you groaned softly, half-burying your face into the blanket like you could physically hide from the fact that you’d barely slept.

barely slept thinking of him.

you blinked a few times, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to every question your heart kept asking.

and then, like your body remembered before your mind could, you turned your head slightly and saw it.

the cardigan.

his cardigan

draped over the back of the chair near your dresser, hanging there like it belonged, as though it had always been part of your room and had every right to be there.

you still remember the chill left on you when his fingers grazed your skin as he adjusted it, trying to keep you warm.

it was slightly rumpled, sleeves folded in on themselves, still carrying that faint scent of him—clean laundry, something warm and familiar underneath it, almost like vanilla or woody notes.

the room was quiet except for the distant hum of the street outside. somewhere far away, a car passed. somewhere closer, a bird chirped like it was nobody’s business, yet all you could think about was him.

your eyes flicked to the phone on your bedside table. you hadn’t called. he hadn’t called either.

it wasn’t because either of you didn’t want to… but because you were both probably doing the same thing—overthinking it, trying not to seem too eager, pretending you weren’t checking the clock every ten minutes like a maniac.

you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood slowly as your head woozed from the sudden rush of blood to your head. you reached the chair, your fingers brushing the cardigan without thinking—the soft fabric tickling your finger tips.

you lifted it up slightly, holding it in your hands like it was a sacred artifact, and for a second it felt almost ridiculous—how a piece of clothing could make your stomach flip like this. from a boy you met four days ago—your heart doing little cartwheels for absolutely no reason.

no reason… right?

you sighed through your nose, shaking your head as if that would fix the way you were smiling.

“get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

but you didn’t put it away. you left it in your arms, hugging it lightly against your chest like you weren’t even trying to act tough anymore.

a loud, piercing, almost violating ring assaults your ears. sharp and sudden, like it had been waiting for the exact right moment.

you froze in place—your heart literally stopping functioning properly.

another ring insisted itself again.

you rushed to grab it, nearly tripping over your own feet, snatching the receiver like your life depended on it.

“hello?”

there was a pause—a breath.

“hey… it’s me,” a familiar, comforting voice echoed through the receiver.

michael.

his voice was softer than usual, like he was smiling while he spoke, leaning close to the phone just to make it feel more personal.

“i was, uhm, wondering…” he continued, slightly hesitant now, resembling that he was trying to play it cool but failing in the most adorable way possible.

“…would you wanna go out with me? today. like, actually go out. me and you?”

you held the receiver tighter, feeling your cheeks warming at his request.

“what do you mean, go out?” you asked, even though you already knew exactly what he meant.

you could hear him laugh quietly. “i don’t know… i just- i thought maybe we could do something fun,” he said. “there’s this skate rink i’ve been wanting to go to. just to get out, you know?”

your eyes flicked to the cardigan still in your other hand, lips parting slightly as you try to envision it—the music, laughter, the colourful lights.

“i… yeah,” you agree, trying not to sound too excited and absolutely failing. “yeah, i’d really like that.”

on the other end, you could hear his smile. “really?”

“no,” you bluntly spoke sarcastically.

a brief silence was left on the other end of the phone.

“i’m joking. yes, really.” you giggle into the phone, amused how he really thought you were serious.

he let out a breath like he’d been holding it in for days.

“okay,” he said quickly, like he didn’t want you to change your mind. “okay good. i’ll pick you up later, alright?”

you leaned against the headboard, grinning like an idiot.

“alright,” you whisper back to him.

there was a beat of silence, not awkward—just warm and comfortable.

like neither of you wanted to be the one to hang up first.

then michael spoke again, quieter this time.

“hey, um… you still have my cardigan?”

you peer down at it at the end of your bed as you reach to grab it, your fingers tightened around the fabric protectively.

“…maybe,” you teased.

his laugh was instant, sweet and breathy.

“you can keep it,” he said.

you could practically hear the confidence trying to sneak into his voice.

You raised an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it.

“yeah?”

“mhm,” he hummed. “it looks… better on you than me anyway.”

you glance out the window, a tiny upside down smile painted onto your face as you try to refrain yourself from his flattery, a crimson glow adorning your cheeks.

the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts your thoughts, bringing you back to your thoughts before he begins again.

“anyways, you better be ready to skate. ’cause i’m really good,” he brags.

you snorted at his cocky comment. “uh-huh, that’s what they all say.”

“oh no,” he said, amused. “i’m serious.”

“sure, michael.”

he laughed again, and your heart did that thing where it forgets how to be normal. you don’t know why it has you so giddy, but it does. and you can’t tell if you like that or not.

“alright,” he said. “i’ll see you later.”

“yeah… see you later,” you whispered back to him.

when the call ended with a small beep into your ear, you just sat there, holding the phone. holding his cardigan.

the one he told you to keep.

the one ‘you looked better in anyway’.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the moment you stepped through the doors of the rink, everything hit you at once—the cold air of the air conditioning, the faint smell of popcorn and soda, the upbeat music thumping through the speakers making the building nearly have its own heartbeat.

lights flashed overhead in flashly colours, bouncing off the shiny floor where people glided past in circles, laughing, stumbling, holding onto each other for dear life. the whole place felt loud and alive, like you’d accidentally walked into a scene from a movie.

and beside you was michael. he looked completely in his element, eyes scanning the rink with this excited little spark, like he was trying not to grin too hard.

you tried not to stare.

keyword : tried.

he leaned slightly closer so you could hear him over the noise. “you ready?”

You swallowed as your snapped out of your moment of admiration, suddenly nervous for no reason. “y-yeah,” you whisper unconvincingly, your stomach feeling like it was doing backflips.

michael smiled. “good.”

you both made your way to the rental counter where the man behind it barely even looked up, uninterested, sliding the skates across with the bored confidence of someone who’d seen a thousand first-timers panic.

you took yours carefully, glancing down at them like they might bite. michael grabbed his pair too, holding them easily in one hand. of course he did.

you walked over to the benches along the wall, royal blue lockers surrounding them, the noise of wheels scraping and people laughing echoing around you. you sat down, setting the skates in front of you and pulling your shoes off and putting them to the side.

you stared down at the skates again, somehow intimidated by the inanimate object like they were designed for your own humiliation.

you slid your foot into the first one and immediately regretted being born. the skate was stiff, awkward, and somehow way smaller than it had looked in your hands. you tugged at the strap, trying to pull it tight, but your fingers fumbled. it wouldn’t click, refusing to cooperate with you—maybe this is a sign. it wouldn’t do anything except make you feel like you’d forgotten how hands worked.

you huffed quietly, cheeks warming.

michael, who had already gotten one skate on like it was nothing, glanced over.

he tilted his head slightly, looking at you with eyebrows furrowed. “you okay?”

you nodded too fast. “yeah. totally. i’m… i’m fine!” almost sounding like you were trying to convince yourself.

he blinked at you, clearly not buying it.

you tried again, yanking at the strap with more force.

it slipped out of your fingers and snapped back. you froze, staring at it in pure disbelief as a feeling of embarrassment fills your chest.

michael’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“i hate these,” you muttered, avoiding eye contact with him.

what a good start, right?

that was enough to make him laugh softly, the sound warm and sweet, sounding like it belonged in your chest instead of the air.

he leaned closer. “here,” he said gently. “lemme help you.”

before you could protest, he kneeled himself down in front of you—your breath caught.

you didn’t know what to do with your face, or your hands… or your entire existence.

he reached for your skate carefully, his fingers warm as they brushed against your ankle. he didn’t rush nor act annoyed. he just focused, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, lips parted as if he was quietly thinking through it.

you sat there frozen, looking down at him like you’d been hypnotised. he tugged the strap gently, threading it through the buckle with ease.

click.

then he adjusted it again, tightening it just enough, not too much, making sure it sat comfortably. his hands gentle and precise.

your heart was pounding so hard you were genuinely worried he could hear it. michael glanced up for half a second, eyes meeting yours and you swear the world paused.

his expression softened instantly, like he’d just realised how close he was, how intimate it looked—him down there, you sitting above him, your legs angled toward him.

for a moment neither of you spoke.

soon, his eyes flicked away quickly, and he cleared his throat, pretending to focus again.

you could feel your face heating up as moved onto the second skate, repeating the same process. his fingers brushing your foot again, tightening the strap, checking the fit.

you sat completely still, afraid that if you moved even an inch, you’d explode.

once he finished, he gave the front of your skates two quick pats.

“all set,” he proclaimed, voice quiet but pleased, as if he’d accomplished something heroic.

you blinked. “you’re… really good at that.”

he shrugged slightly, smiling like he was trying to act casual, but there was something shy in it too.

“i’ve got my practice.”

you stared at him as he stood up, his movements smooth even in skates, like gravity personally favoured him. he reached out both hands toward you.

“come on,” he affirms. “i’ve got you.”

you hesitated—not because you didn’t want to but because the second your hands slid into his, your brain stopped functioning.

his hands were warm, steady, holding yours like it was nothing.

but it wasn’t nothing, not to you.

he pulled you up gently, helping you rise from the bench.

the second you stood :

oh.

oh no.

your ankles began wobbled instantly, the ground felt wrong—too slick. too fast.

you gasped softly, eyes widening as your feet slid out from under you.

“shit-, michael!”

before you could fully fall, his arms wrapped around you with superhero speed—secure and tight.

one arm around your waist, the other still holding your hand, pulling you close before you could hit the ground.

your body collided lightly against his chest as he kept you up right, safe in his arms.

your breath came out in a shaky rush, gripping onto his shirt without thinking—only focused to not make your ass make contact with the floor.

the music thumped around you, lights flashing, people skating past, but it all felt distant as if the entire rink had blurred into the background.

all you could focus on was him.

his face was close—too close.

you could see every detail of him : the softness of his expression, the way his eyelashes cast faint shadows under the rink lights, the little curve of his mouth as he tried to hide his smile.

“you good?” he asked tenderly, his voice low, almost teasing you.

you look around the rink to look occupied, unable to look him in the eye for more than a second.

“i-, yeah,” you stammered. “i just… i’m not used to skating.”

michael’s smile grew. he tightened his hold slightly, steadying you like it’s his life’s purpose to make sure you don’t fall to the ground again.

“yup,” he said taunts playfully, “i’ve definitely noticed.”

your face burned, lightly hitting his shoulder in retaliation.

“oh my god,” you whispered, mortified, as you trying hide your face into his shoulder to hide the blush adorning your face now. “this is so embarrassing.”

“it isn’t embarrassing,” he said quickly, like he didn’t want you to feel bad. he paused, his eyes flicking down to your hands still clutching him—his cheeks turned the faintest shade darker.

“…it’s kinda cute though.”

your head snapped up nearly immediately at that.

“what?”

michael’s eyes widened like he instantly regretted saying it out loud.

“n-no, nothing,” he said fast, clearing his throat, looking away.

you stared at him, stunned until you felt yourself smile, despite the absolute chaos happening inside your chest.

he looked back at you again, softer this time.

“come on,” he declares, squeezing your hands gently. “i’m not gonna let you fall.”

you hesitated, still shaky and flustered as you were painfully aware of how close he was, but when he started guiding you forward—slow, careful, patient you followed.

because somehow, with michael holding you like that the rink didn’t feel so scary anymore.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

as soon as your feet made contact with the slippery floor of the rink, you didn’t hesitate to grip onto michael again as you pull yourself flush against him and bury your face into his chest, like if you couldn’t see the rink you couldn’t get hurt.

michael’s chest vibrates under your head as he begins to laugh, peering down at you only to be met with the top of your head.

“hey, hey, hey. you’re fine, i told you, i’m not gonna letting you fall,” he whisper down to me comfortingly.

he guides us to the edge, his hands still steady on you like you were something delicate.

the music echoed around the rink, loud enough to make your heart beat in time with it, and the coloured lights flickered across the polished floor. people skating glided past in a blur—laughing, spinning, moving like they’d been born with wheels on their feet.

you, however, were one wrong move away from meeting the ground in the most humiliating way possible.

michael slowed down as you reached the side of the rink, letting you press closer to the barrier. you immediately reached for it with one hand, gripping it so tightly your knuckles almost turned white.

he glanced at you, amusement still lingering in his eyes.

“you’re holdin’ onto that wall like it owes you money,” he teased softly.

you lifted your head just enough to glare at him, though your expression didn’t hold for long.

“i don’t trust it,” you mumbled.

michael chuckled again, shaking his head. “you don’t trust the wall?”

“i dont trust… anything,” you corrected, looking down at your skates like they were personally plotting against you.

michael’s smile softened. he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping as if it was just for you.

“okay,” he starts, gentle. “we’re not gonna do anything crazy. jus’… little steps. that’s all.”

you nodded slowly, swallowing. michael stepped behind you, careful not to rush, his presence warm and close. you felt him shift, the air changing when he got nearer, suddenly your whole body aware of him.

he reached around you carefully, his hands hovering at your sides for a second—like he wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with it before he rested them lightly on your waist, helping you stay steady.

it wasn’t romantic, not really. but it was michael, and you were nervous, and your heart apparently didn’t know the difference.

“is this okay?” he asked quietly.

you nodded again, a little too fast. “yeah.”

“alright,” he said, sounding pleased. “now don’t look down at your feet.”

you immediately looked down at your feet.

michael let out a small laugh behind you. “you’re lookin’ down.”

“i can’t help it,” you muttered, voice small.

he leaned closer, his chin almost brushing your shoulder. “look forward,” he instructed.

you could feel the warmth of his breath when he talked against your neck. “if you look down, you’ll feel more scared. jus’ trust me.”

you hesitated before you slowly lifted your gaze to the rink ahead. the lights blurred slightly, the world seeming too wide and slippery. michael’s hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding you.

“okay,” he murmured. “now… bend your knees a little.”

you frowned,” why?”

“because if you stand straight, you’ll fall faster,” he explained.

“well, that’s… comforting,” you deadpanned.

michael laughed again, a real laugh this time. “okay but i’m serious. jus’ a little bend.”

you did as he said, knees shaking slightly.

“there you go,” he said softly. “now we’re gonna start with marching.”

“marching? didn’t realise this was military training.”

“mhm,” he hummed. “jus’ lift your feet up one at a time. small steps. like you’re walkin’.”

you tried before your right skate lifted a centimetre before it wobbled and slapped back down, causing you to stiffen instantly. michael’s hands tightened just a little, keeping you balanced.

“good,” he encouraged. “tha’s it. now do it again.”

you lifted the other foot, shaky but slightly better. your movements were slow and awkward, like a baby deer learning to walk. you continued to march forward a few steps, still clinging to the barrier with one hand.

“see?” michael said. “you’re doin’ it.”

you glanced back at him over your shoulder. “uh-huh, barely.”

“but you are,” he insisted, giving you a small smile. he gently nudged your hand away from the wall causing you to panic instantly.

“no, no, no. michael!-“

“hey,” he soothed quickly. “i’m right here. i’m not lettin’ go.”

your hand hovered in the air uselessly, fingers trembling as they wanted to grab the wall again.

michael’s voice lowered, calm and steady. “trust me, okay?”

you didn’t answer, but you didn’t grab the wall again either. his hands moved slightly, one staying at your waist while the other slid down to your forearm, guiding your arm forward.

“now, push off gently. just one foot, then glide.”

you stared ahead like the floor was about to swallow you whole. you pushed with one foot—suddenly you moved. it wasn’t much, barely a glide, but it was enough to make your stomach flip.

your body jolted forward and your arms flailed instinctively. michael reacted immediately, pressing closer behind you, his chest almost against your back now.

he steadied you with ease, voice right by your ear. “hey-hey, you’re okay. you’re fine,” he repeated.

you breathing came out uneven, managing another push, a little stronger this time causing you to glided again.

for a second… it actually felt kind of smooth.

you blinked, surprised, “oh.”

michael chuckled. “y’see? that’s glidin’.”

you gave a small, shaky laugh. “i’m literally terrified.”

“i know,” he said, but his tone was warm, almost proud. “but you’re still doin’ it.”

you continued, pushing gently, then gliding, pushing again with michael staying behind you the whole time, his hands guiding you with a softness that made you feel safe. you could mess up a hundred times and he still wouldn’t get annoyed.

every so often you’d wobble, and every time you did, he caught you before you could even fall, as though he’d already predicted it, like he’d memorised your balance before you even found it yourself.

after a few shaky minutes, you realised something. you weren’t clinging to him as tightly anymore, shoulders not as stiff. your feet still felt weird and nervous, but you weren’t completely helpless.

michel leaned slightly closer, voice low, “you’re getting better,” he urged.

you swallowed, cheeks warm. “i’m only better because you’re holding me.”

he hummed thoughtfully. “well… i can let go for a second if you want.”

you head whipped around, “no.”

michael burst out laughing, his laughter bright and boyish, echoing against the walls.

“you said you wanted to learn!” he teased.

“i do,” you insisted, flustered. “but I don’t want to get hospitalised either!”

“that’s not gonna happen,” he promised, still laughing.

you muttered, “that’s what they all say.”

michael shook his head, grin lingering, and guided you forward again.

“okay,” his voice gentler now. “we’ll go slow. just remember to keep your knees bent, keep your body relaxed, and let the skates do the work, yeah?”

as the music carried on around you, and the lights flickered above, you realised you were actually moving.

not gracefully.

not impressively.

but you were doing it.

and every time you started to slip, michael was right there behind you without fail, steady hands at your waist, keeping you upright like it was the easiest thing in the world.

you didn’t know what was more embarrassing ; the fact that you couldn’t skate, or the fact that being this close to him was making your heart act like it had never experienced a normal emotion before.

michael’s voice came again, soft against your ear, “you’re doin’ so good,” he whispered softly.

you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head, “i feel like a newborn giraffe.”

michael snorted. “a cute newborn giraffe.”

you both froze—a pause hanging in the air.

michael cleared his throat quickly, pretending nothing happened, tightened his grip just slightly as he guided you onward.

“okay,” he said, voice higher now, like he was trying to recover. “now we’re gonna try turnin’.”

your eyes widened in horror. “no, no, no, no,” you begged

“oh yes,” he said, laughing again. “c’mon. you got it, i know y’do.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

forty minutes had now gone by since michael taught you how to skate, and you were beginning to get the hang of it.

you obviously weren’t great… but you weren’t as bad as you were either.

“hey, i’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick. you gonna be okay?” michael asked as he approached behind you, placing his hands lightly on your waist as he moved his mouth close to your ear so you could hear him over the mixture of loud laughs from other skaters and the booming music from the speakers.

“yeah, i should be,” you reply as you look around you for any upcoming people on the rink.

“alright, i’ll be quick. i promise,” he said before gliding over to the exit of the rink.

you continued to, attempt, to glide, before suddenly a large figure appears in front of you abruptly—startling you.

in your attempt to stop to avoid crashing into them, you fall to the floor with a thud, a groan emitting out of you at the harsh clunk.

“shit, i’m so sorry. are you okay?” a deep voice enquired worriedly, immediately reaching out to you and helping you get up from the floor, holding onto your waist steadily and gliding you to the wall—out of everyone’s way.

“i think so…” you question yourself before gazing up at the boy in front of you, his eyes meeting yours with worry.

“i couldn’t stop and suddenly i was flying down the rink into you. i’m really sorry, it’s my first time skating,” he ranted profusely as he tries to explain himself.

you laugh lightly, “you’re alright, it’s my first time too.”

you both talked a little before deciding to skate side by side, holding onto each others arm when someone felt like they were going to fall.

michael comes out of the bathroom, wiping the remaining dampness of his hands onto his jeans. as his gaze scanned around the rink to find you, they landed on you… with him.

he slows, like his body forgets how to move for a second.

the boy is close, too close. leaning in as if he has the right, smiling down at you. you’re laughing at whatever he’s saying, gripping his sleeve when you almost slip.

michael’s fingers twitch at his side, something pressing down on his chest, heavy and uncomfortable, his jaw tightening without meaning to. he watches you stumble slightly, and the boy catching you immediately, hand wrapping around your waist for balance.

michael’s expression darkens. he doesn’t know why, he just knows he hates it.

without thinking, he steps onto the rink again, skates scraping against the slick flooring as he pushes forward. his movements are quick, direct, purposeful—like he’s on a mission. the closer he gets, the louder he can hear your laughter, and the worse that strange feeling in his chest becomes.

“michael!” you call, waving slightly.

the boy beside you glances over too, eyes bright with curiosity, like michael is just another background character in whatever moment he thinks he’s having with you.

michael reaches you in seconds, stopping sharply.

“hey,” you greet, still catching your breath. “i didn’t know you were back already.”

michael doesn’t look at you first, he looks at him. his gaze dropping to the boy’s arm where your fingers are still hooked. his eyes flick back up, cold and flat.

the boy, oblivious, grins. “oh, hey man. you’re her friend?”

michael’s grip tightens around the sides of his vest. his mouth twitches, almost like he wants to smile… but it doesn’t happen. instead, he turns to you.

“our hour’s nearly up,” he tells you, voice calm, but edged with something sharp underneath. “we should go.”

you blink. “what? already?”

michael nods once as if the decision has been made by someone more important than both of you.

“yeah.”

the boy chuckles lightly. “damn, time flies. i was just helping her out. she’s actually really good.”

you scoff, playfully. “i am not. i almost ate floor like three times.”

michael’s eyes flick to the boy again. “yet you’re still standing,” he mutters.

the boy laughs again, pushing a hand through his hair. “i’m ethan, by the way.” he guides his attention back toward you, still smiling like he’s got confidence spilling out of his pockets. “you should give me your number. we could come skating again sometime.”

you hesitate, your lips parting like you might actually consider it until michael moves before you even get the chance.

he steps closer, just enough that he’s suddenly between you and ethan, like a wall you didn’t ask for.

“she’s okay,” he glares.

ethan’s smile falters slightly, eyes flicking between you and michael. “uh… alright. i was only asking.”

michael doesn’t respond or explain. he simply reaches for your wrist—firm but not rough and gently tugs at it.

“come on.”

you stumble forward slightly, caught off guard, skates scraping. “michael, wait.”

you glance back at ethan, offering him an awkward, apologetic look. “‘m sorry. it was nice meeting you.”

ethan gives you a small wave, still confused. “yeah… you too.”

michael doesn’t even look back, he just guides you toward the edge of the rink, jaw locked like he’s biting down on something. the second you reach the side and step off, you yank your hand out of his grip.

“what the hell was that?” you snap as you glare at him.

michael turns toward you, blinking as if he forgot you could talk back.

“what was what?”

“oh my God.” You throw your hands up. “don’t play dumb. you literally shut him down like he was some kind of threat.”

michael exhales through his nose, almost scoffing, but it doesn’t sound amused, more irritated.

“i didn’t shut him down.”

“you absolutely did.” you point back toward the rink. “he asked for my number and you cut him off, answering for me.”

michael shrugs, acting casual, but his shoulders are stiff. “so?”

“so?” you repeat, incredulous. “michael, that was so rude.”

his eyes flicker for a second—something unreadable passing through them before he looks away, jaw tightening again.

“he didn’t need your number.”

you stare at him. “and why do you get to decide that?”

michael’s lips part slightly before closing again. he didn’t have an answer that doesn’t sound insane, because the truth is, he doesn’t even know why his body reacted like that. he doesn’t know why seeing you smiling at someone else made his stomach twist, why watching you cling to ethan’s arm felt like someone had grabbed him by the ribs and squeezed.

it was something sour and unfamiliar.

he drags a hand down his face, frustrated with himself more than anyone. “i just… he was annoying.”

you narrow your eyes. “he was being nice.”

michael lets out a humourless laugh. “uh-huh. nice.”

you cross your arms, still glaring at him. “you’re acting weird.”

“am not.”

“you are.”

michael meets your eyes again and for a second, his expression softens, like something in him flickers. a tiny crack in the coldness.

he looks away again, hating the fact he’s even being confronted.

“i… just wanna go,” he mutters.

you don’t budge. “you could’ve just let me handle it.”

michael’s throat bobs as he swallows. he thinks back about the way you were laughing, the way you looked at ethan like you actually enjoyed being around him, and how ethan’s hand touched your waist so easily like it belonged there.

his voice comes out lower this time, more controlled. “i didn’t want him bothering you.”

you blink, thrown off slightly. “bothering me? i wasn’t bothered.”

michael’s eyes flick back to yours, something almost restless in them that he’s trying to shove down.

“well,” he mutters, “i was.”

the words slip out before he can stop them with a beat of silence following it.

you stare at him, confusion swirling across your face. “you were… bothered?”

michael’s whole body goes tense when he realises what he just admitted, even if it doesn’t fully make sense. his pride kicks in immediately, like an alarm going off in his head.

he clears his throat and steps back slightly, shaking his head. “forget it.”

you tilt your head, studying him now, your anger fading into something more curious but michael refuses to meet your eyes. if he does, he might see something there that makes it harder to pretend—harder to lie to himself.

he doesn’t understand why his chest feels tight. why his skin feels too warm under his coat. why the thought of you giving your number to some random guy makes his stomach churn.

he’d never cared before.

so why now?

why you?

michael’s grabs his shoes out of the locker and shoves them into his hands, voice clipped. “come on. let’s go.”

you hesitate, still looking at him like you’re trying to figure him out before you sigh and start untying your skates.

michael turns away, pretending to focus on his own laces, but his mind is spinning. he keeps replaying the image of you with ethan, laughing, holding onto him.

and the worst part?

it isn’t the boy.

it’s the fact you looked happy—and not with him.

he swallows hard, staring down at his skates, brows furrowed like he’s angry at the rink itself because he doesn’t know what this feeling is.

but he knows he doesn’t want to feel it again.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

yous both walk out in silence, not meeting each other’s eyes. your arms were crossed in front of you in a huff at his outburst.

he eventually breaks the silence, “look, i’m sorry okay? i am.”

you glance at him as he’s looking forward. you notice something deep in his eyes, yet you couldn’t place a finger on it.

annoyance?

sadness?

confusion?

you couldn’t tell, but something was there.

your eyebrows furrow at the saddened look appearing across his face—his features, usually gentle and elated now appeared gloomy.

“it’s okay, michael.” you speak, placing your hand delicately on his arm as you look at him with a small smile in an attempt to comfort him.

“i know you, i know you didn’t mean that to hurt anyone.”

he glanced down at you, embarrassed.

“i don’t know what happened, i just… i didn’t like him.”

you give him a half smile before removing you hands from your arm.

the loss of your warm touch left him almost… disappointed? like he wanted you to keep it there forever.

michael continued to stand in silence as yous waited for one of his drivers to pick yous up around the back of the building.

he kept thinking back to the feeling he felt when he say you and ethan together.

it wasn’t a feeling he encountered usually, let alone at all. so it left him wondering, what was so different about you to that you had such of an effect on him in there.

“i enjoy myself today,” you say, looking down at the pavement before playfully nudging yourself into his side to try cheer him up.

“yeah, me too… you still suck at skating though,” he teases to lighten the mood.

“well, you were the teacher so maybe it’s a you thing,” you wink back at him, earning his signature laugh.