umadoidaqualquer

After the poor girl only got out 3 lines, Michael shook his head slowly. Kimberly's eye twitched slightly and the other three practically folded in on themselves in defeat. This was the last round of auditioning, and they had just about exhausted every single one of their options.

When Antoine had asked if Michael would please help find the girl to play his dear wife, he had not anticipated the sheer stubbornness that would come from Michael. Finding someone to play you was almost as bad as finding someone to play Michael. Of course when it came to casting Michael they always had Jaafar, they just needed to see if he was willing to put in the work.

When it came to casting for you, it was a whole different story. Michael simply just didn't think anyone was good enough to play you. And it was starting to become a real issue.

They stopped the girl halfway through, letting her know that they may be in touch. As soon as she left the room Michael shook his head, "Nope, she's not the one."

Kimberly sighed and looked at him, "Why not? She looks almost identical, she's got the mannerisms, she's got your wife's cadence, so what's the issue?" Her patience was starting to wear thin.

Michael sat back, aviators hanging low on his nose, "There's just something off about her. She doesn't have that... je ne sais quoi."

Kimberly looked like she was going to explode. Antoine bit back a laugh and signaled Jaafar to take a seat. "Michael, no one is going to be exactly what you're looking for, we can't just make a doppelganger of your wife, you're gonna have to settle for someone eventually."

Michael slowly took off his sunglasses, "Well that's not true. We found the perfect person to play me, I don't understand why we can't do the same for my wife."

Jaafar smiled to himself, taking a sip of water.

"Because Michael, it took us 2 years to solidify Jaafar as our Michael. We don't have two years to find-"

"Let me stop you right there. It took you 2 years to solidify Jaafar. I knew. You can ask him, you can ask his daddy, you can ask my wife, you can ask anyone. I knew Jaafar was the perfect choice. And I will know when I find the perfect choice for my wife." He spoke firmly.

Kimberly took a deep breath. "I understand that you want to find the perfect person, but we might not have the time for that. Filming starts in 2 months, so we need to find someone fast. You know I've recommended bringing in some already well known actresses, they could really bring in a lot of attention to the movie alongside Coleman and Nia."

He shook his head, "No, I've looked at the ones you picked out and I just don't see it. They're not the right fit. I'll know her when I see her."

She let out a defeated sigh, running her hands down her face. "Alright, but if we can't find someone by the end of the week I'm pulling in my number one option whether you like it or not, Michael."

Michael frowned and put his sunglasses back on, "You're a very difficult woman, y'know that right?"

She let out a small laugh, "Mhm, and you're a very stubborn man."

Michael smiled back, "Not stubborn, I just have very high expectations. So, who's next?"

They looked down at the call sheet, reading through the next actress's information. Despite the way Michael and Kimberly were at each other's throats constantly, they always settled back into an ease. Both understood that the other was just trying to do what they felt was best for the biopic.

They continued shuffling hopeful young women in and out of the room, each time Michael shaking his head no. But he could feel they were getting closer, it was something about the change in the air. With each passing woman, the air in the room grew heavier. The same kind of heaviness that Michael had felt when he first saw you settled deep into the room as a confident yet gentle woman stepped into the room. Michael shifted in his seat, sitting up straight as he examined the actress.

Antoine and Kimberly shared a private look, both of them feeling like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. For the first time all day, Michael let the whole scene play out, a small smile settling on his lips.

By the end of the audition, they already had a contract pulled up.

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Jaafar swore you looked like something straight out of an old rom-com. You were in your full natural state, and Jaafar found himself fully entranced in it. He absolutely loved seeing you in such a relaxed state, safe and fully vulnerable with him. He cherished moments like this with you, especially recently. He had been extra busy as of late, with the biopic breaking records and invitations flooding in from talk shows.

About 2 weeks ago, Jaafar had felt like he was at his wits end, constantly on the move and away from the comfort that you brought him. So he had essentially demanded a day off, and had told his manager to clear off his entire schedule so that he could just get a moment to breathe. He had never really been so demanding like that before, but he just needed a moment of peace and tranquility with the love of his life.

And looking at you now, he had never been so happy to have dramatically demanded a day off. Last night, he had returned home earlier than he had originally anticipated, even beating you home from your job. He had decided he wanted to kick off the lazy day with a nice date night. He ordered take out from your favorite chinese restaurant, setting it up in the living room right as you walked through the front door. The sight and smell caught you off guard. Jaafar was almost never home before you, so seeing him already in his sweats and unpacking takeout almost brought tears to your eyes.

After hugging you, he told you to go get comfy while he found a movie for the two of you to watch. When you came back wearing nothing but some short shorts and one of his sweatshirts his chest settled in loving content. The two of you spent the night pigging out, and watching random movies. In the middle of watching some 2000's dystopian movie, you caught Jaafar staring intently at your face.

He noticed you side eyeing him and smiled, "Don't move." He said quietly, eyes dotting across the side of your face.

"Uh... why?"

"Cause, I'm counting."

You raised an eyebrow in amusement, "Counting what?"

"Your freckles." He said simply, face moving closer and twisting in pure concentration. You laughed, head falling down slightly. Jaafar groaned, "You made me lose my place, now I've gotta start over. Hold still." He gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to keep looking forward.

"You know, if you took a picture you could count them without making me sit like a statue."

He shook his head. "That's cheating, I wanna count them in real time, plus pictures aren't reliable, freckles come and go."

"Exactly, so why bother counting them when in a few weeks there may be even more?"

"Cause I like knowing in the moment." He smiled to himself.

You hummed quietly, eyeing him again. It had been awhile since the two of you had had time like this to yourselves, and you had other plans for the night. "Well, as much as I think it's real cute that you wanna count my freckles, I think there's something else more worthy of your time and attention."

Jaafar immediately lost count, completely abandoning his previous priority. He smiled and scooped you up, carrying you off to your shared bedroom without a second thought.

But now that it was the next morning and there was nothing else on his schedule, he was determined to finish his counting. He watched you from the kitchen, making some late afternoon breakfast. Last night had been absolutely wild, causing the two of you to sleep in far later than either had anticipated. But judging from the glow on your face and the purple spots littering your neck, it was worth it.

Now, he was planning out his best course of action in order to count those beautiful spots on your face. If he had been smart he would've gotten up early to get a head start while you slept, but he had been too desperate for sleep to think about that.

This was going to be a difficult challenge, but he was absolutely hell bent on completing the task. He brought over your plate of waffles and hash browns, placing it down on the coffee table with a kiss to your forehead. He returned moments later with his own plate, gently lifting your legs and taking their spot, placing them back down over his lap.

You placed your book down, grabbing your plate and scarfing down the meal. Jaafar smiled, simply watching you being a regular human being was absolutely enthralling for him.

You looked up at him from your plate, "If you keep staring, your waffles are gonna get cold."

He laughed and tore his eyes from your face, giving into the meal before him. Once the two of you were finished, you carefully gathered the plates, taking them to the sink before returning to your spot on the couch. Jaffar looked over as you sat, "So what's on the agenda for the day?"

You shrugged, "It's up to you, this is your day off. So whatever you wanna do is what I wanna do."

Jaafar smiled devilishly, "Whatever I want to do?" He confirmed.

You nodded, "Whatever you want to do. Your wish is my command."

He nodded, before pulling you closer by your legs. You let out a small yelp and grabbed his shoulders as he made you settle on his lap. "Well I want to finish what I started last night."

You raised a brow, not understanding. "Baby, we both did a lot of finishing last night. But hey, if you wanna keep going, I'm not opposed."

He smiled, "No, I don't mean sex, that's for later today. I mean, I want to finish counting your freckles."

You melted slightly at his request. "You really want to spend your free time counting dots on my face?"

He nodded, "Sure do."

"Why?"

"Cause I think they're cute, and I typically don't get to see them whenever you wear makeup. I like knowing they're there. Plus I heard that freckles are all the places someone has been kissed in their past life, and I want to know how many times my past self kissed your past self."

You blinked heart turning to mush as his words. "That was real cute, y'know."

He nodded, immediately starting to count. "I know. Now just sit here looking like your beautiful self while I count."

You bit back the cheesiest smile, settling yourself onto his lap. Jaafar carefully began counting under his breath, eyes focused solely on your face.

"1 2 3 4 5 6.... 59 60 61 62 63...... 100 101 102 103 104..... 134 135.....178 179 180 181 and 182! 182 freckles!" He smiled, leaning back against the couch.

You smiled brightly, "I can't believe you actually sat here and counted them all."

He kissed your nose, "Of course I did, and now I have a fun fact about you that only I know."

You wrapped your arms around him, "You're a fool."

His hands settled on your hips, "I'm a fool for you."

You rolled your eyes with the biggest smile on your face before carefully capturing his lips.

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your face warms up in embarrassment, your arms coming up instinctively to cover your boobs.

you shouldn’t be embarrassed since he is your boyfriend, but you two have only been together for about two months and you haven’t even been intimate yet.

he’s never seen you naked before. not even a bikini.

so this is the first ever time, he’s seen you half naked and it happened to be accidentally because you were too damn reckless to get ready in the bathroom.

“hey, mike. you still there?” michael hears marlon say in his ear, but the only thing he could focus on is the sight of your perfect, full boobs that were just in his face right now.

“mike?” marlon says again when michael still doesn’t reply.

he’s frozen. one hand with his phone to his ear, unmoving. and the other hand holding his discarded jacket. but the funny part is the way his mouth is agape, staring at your covered chest like he can still see the smooth plump skin, and your hardened nipples through your palms.

you’d probably be laughing right now if you wasn’t as caught off guard as he is.

“i—” you clear your throat, swallowing hard. “..i thought you was meant to be at the studio today.”

he doesn’t reply. not to you and definitely not to marlon who is so close to hanging up on him.

since he’s still somewhat frozen, you shrug because it’s not that serious. he is your boyfriend and he is going to see your body at some point, it just happened to be today.

it just seems more intense, because he still hasn’t stopped staring at you.

you stand up, his eyes trailing down from your chest, to your barely covered mound, his mouth opening even wider.

you tut, your embarrassment fizzling away to amusement. “honey, my eyes are up here.”

his eyes snap to yours. the first sign of movement he’s made since he caught you in here practically naked.

michael clears his throat, turning his back so you can’t see the uncomfortable tent in his pants. “marlon, imma have to call you back.”

“but we were just—” michael hangs up, not interested in anything else marlon has to say. he keeps his back turned, squeezing his eyes shut. but once he closes his eyes, he can’t stop thinking about your boobs. how they’d fit perfectly in his hands. how he wants to squeeze on them, kiss them, suck on them, play with them like they’re his own special toy.

while michael still has his back turned and it’s like he’s having his own personal battle with himself, you continue getting ready, until you’re fully dressed.

michael nearly jumps out of his skin when you tap his shoulder.

he turns around, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when he sees that you’re fully dressed. he doesn’t know what he would’ve done if you were still there, barely clothed.

he’s a gentleman. he shouldn’t be having all these nasty thoughts. even if they are about his girlfriend.

“you okay?” you ask, a smirk forming on your lips.

michael nods. “yeah um…” his eyes instinctively look down to your now covered chest, he closes his eyes, heat starting to rise to his cheeks. “…quincy wasn’t- he… i didn’t— i mean i wasn’t… i—”

you nod, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing. he is so downright adorable that it just makes you want to squeeze his cheeks.

he’s nervous, all because he saw your boobs.

“mikey, it’s okay.” you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck.

“hm?” he hums, not exactly trusting his mouth to form coherent words.

“you saw my boobs, it’s no big deal.” you shrug, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

hearing you say the words out of your own mouth, makes him duck his head shyly. his hand coming up to grasp onto your hip.

you laugh, your hand coming up to stroke the back of his hair. “you’re so damn shy it’s adorable.”

“no it’s not just that,” he says raising his head. his eyes, filled with nothing but love and admiration. “you’re just so pretty, can’t believe you’re all mine.” his other hand snakes down to where your ass is, giving it a small squeeze.

“…and also because i wasn’t prepared to see that when i walked in.” his eyes pointing down to your chest, making you laugh.

“it’s not my fault, i thought you wasn’t home!” you whine.

he bites his lip, his hands starting to rub up and down your waist, his hands slipping under your top. “i mean i wouldn’t mind that kind of view every time i come home from now on.”

you gasp, “what happened to the shy michael from a couple moments ago?”

he shrugs, his hands crawling up until they reach your bra covered chest. he boldly pulls down the cup, one of his hands engulfing your whole breast. “hmm they feel good too.” he mumbles, his eyes fixed onto his hand that’s under your shirt.

you let out a small moan, when he pinches your nipple using his fingers.

“take off your shirt.” michael says, biting his lip so hard that you won’t be surprised if he drew blood. “i think imma need a proper look.”

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After a particularly rough rehearsal, Michael found himself longing to see you more than ever. It had only been 2 days since he was last face to face with you, and only 17 and half hours since he's heard your sweet voice through the phone. And still, he just had to see you before your scheduled date.

"Bill, straight to my lady's place." He smiled eagerly, ready to see the happy look on your face when he turned up at your door almost 7 hours early.

"She know you're comin, Joker?" Bill glanced at him from the rearview mirror.

"Nope!" He smiled brightly.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Loud music blasted through your apartment, the speakers that Michael had bought you already being put to use. Michael's newest album, Thriller, spun on your turntable, his sweet voice following you all through the small living space.

You had decided to allow yourself a nice spa day before your dinner with Michael. You had been lounging all day, doing absolutely nothing but planning your outfit, how you would style your hair, and which lip combo you wanted to go with.

You had just taken the longest most relaxing bath known to man, bubbled practically overflowing from the edge of the tub, scented candles burning carefully, your hair wrapped up in the softest turkish cotton towel. It was pure bliss.

It took every ounce of your will power to pull yourself from the warm water. Once you found the strength, you carefully stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around your torso as you stepped up to the mirror.

You hummed quietly as you applied some ridiculously expensive mask to your face. You wanted to look absolutely perfect for your date with Michael, which meant looking absolutely ridiculous beforehand.

You were currently dancing around your apartment haphazardly, a deep green face mask covering your face, hair pinned up in a protective style, a large t-shirt with your boyfriend's face covering your body. You wore an old stained pair of sweat shorts under the large shirt. You laid out your dress and heels, laying them carefully across the edge of your bed. You sang wildly as you moved to the kitchen, fixing yourself a warm cup of tea.

"I WANT TO LOVE YOU, PTY! PRETTY YOUNG THANG!" You sang loud and obnoxiously, not caring if your neighbors would voice another complaint.

Michael smiled to himself as he stood outside your door, ready to see the happy look on your face. He gently knocked on the door, bouncing on his feet as he heard you approach the door. You skipped over to the door, completely unsuspecting. The absolute last person you expected to be on the other side of the door was Michael. Yet, as the door swung open you were met with his bright eyes, a large smile plastered on his face.

You blinked, eyebrows shooting up in horror. "Michael!?"

He nodded, "Surprise!!"

You let out a small yelp as you looked down at your attire, slamming the door in his face. "You- you're not supposed to be here!!" You yelled through the door.

Michael's laugh was muddled by the thick wood of the door, "I know, baby, I just wanted to surprise you. Why don't you open up the door?"

"No thank you-" You squeeked out.

"Why?" He tried the doorknob. You held it shut.

"Cause I don't look right!" You frowned.

"That's impossible, now open up. I've been dyin to see your pretty face all day." He pushed at the door carefully.

You leaned against it, not giving in. "That's the thing! My face aint pretty, I've got on a mask and nothin under it."

He smiled, heart melting. "You're pretty no matter what, baby. I don't care what you look like, you're just as gorgeous as ever. Now please let me in, I wanna hold you."

His sweet words slowly coaxed you to open the door. You hid behind it, but allowed him into your space. "You shoulda called me, Mikey. I would've gotten much more presentable for you."

Michael gently grabbed your hand, pulling you into his line of sight. "Nah, you don't have to do all that for me. I'm just glad I'm gettin blessed with your presence. Plus you look real cute like this." His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. "And I really like this shirt you're wearin." He teased.

You looked away, your face heating up. "Yeah, the guy on it's pretty cute."

He smiled, "And whoever you're listenin to can really sing."

That managed a laugh from your lips, "Oh yeah, I heard he's the best performer of our time."

"That so?" He rubbed small circles against your hip.

You hummed nodding slightly.

"Well I'm sure he's got the best girl there is to offer."

You playfully rolled your eyes, "You're such a flirt." You patted his chest as you pulled yourself from his grip, heading into the kitchen.

He followed after you like a puppy, eyes scanning your bare legs. "I cant help myself, you make it so easy."

You turned and raised a brow, "You callin me easy?"

He blinked, eyes wide, "No! No of course not! I'm only tryin to say that you- well I just- I think you look nice and."

You laughed, quickly pecking his cheek. "Just teasin, Mikey."

He smiled bashfully. "Y'know... I was lookin forward to our dinner reservations, but I wouldn't be opposed to joinin in on whatever it is you're doin." He gestured to your face mask.

You laughed, "You want me to put a face mask on you?"

"Oh is that what they're called?" He played dumb. Of course he knew what they were, his makeup team had always had a habit of giving him one after particularly long shoot days when he was filming Thriller. But he knew if he played the fool, you were more likely to get all up in his space to help apply it, and he just couldn't resist the urge.

You laughed, "Yes Michael, that's what they're called. And they're super soothing, but are you sure you want to cancel our dinner plans?"

"If that's okay with you. It was a pretty hard day at rehearsal, and as much as a dinner sounds nice, I think just lounging around with my girl sounds even better. Especially with you lookin all cute in a t-shirt with my face all over it."

You smiled, shoulders relaxing as his arms found their place around your waist again. "Alright, come on lover boy." You tugged him to your bathroom, making him sit on the ledge of your tub. You grabbed the small container of your face mask and the applicator. Michael watched as you stood above him, leaning down to carefully grab his face.

He gently reached up, hands grabbing your hips and guiding you onto his lap. You settled yourself on either side of him, biting back a smile. You held his chin in your hand, tilting it up slightly. You gently brushed the mask onto his face, fully focused on making it as nice as possible.

Michael watched with heart eyes as you bit your lip every so slightly in full concentration. He smiled brightly, gripping your hips tightly in his hands. The whole thing was so domestic, it made Michael's heart swell with pride.

Once you were done you leaned back and admired your work, humming approval and pecking his lips gently. “All done, just gotta let it sit for an hour.”

He nodded, helping you stand back up. “Where’s that camera I got you?”

“Hmm, on my vanity, why?” You looked over at him from the sink.

“Cause I wanna take a picture before you wash yours off! Save the memory!” He smiled and disappeared into your room, returning seconds later with the camera.

He pulled you close, carefully directing the lens towards the both of you. You smiled, your head tilted towards his as his arm wrapped around your waist tightly. The flash went off, a large polaroid shooting out the top of the camera.

He shook the picture as you washed off your mask, patting your face dry with a clean towel. He kept his gaze on your face, admiring your natural beauty.

You glanced at him through the mirror, “You’re starin, Mikey.”

He smiled and nodded, “Sure am.”

You smile to yourself, pulling him out of the bathroom and into your living room. The rest of the night consisted of movies, ice cream, teasing, and a whole lot of kissing.

As he left the apartment that night, he stared down at the sweet photo in his hands. When Bill picked him up, he leaned over the center console, showing Bill the picture with pride before carefully placing it in his wallet. He made sure to remind himself to pay you more surprise visits.

“Well, how am I supposed to know that those two aren’t on good terms?” You hiss at him, eyes flicking to the people next to Michael. LaToya is currently talking loudly and blabbering nonsense for the sake of overpowering Jermaine’s words, the latter getting more heated by the second. It doesn’t help when she starts covering her ears with her hands and saying ‘La, la, la’ repeatedly, closing her eyes to avoid Jermaine’s exasperated glare. 

The man next to you shrugs his shoulders, “Well, that’s on you, baby. You know as much as I do those two are never on good terms.”

You ignore his affectionate nickname, calming the thrills that just went up your spine. He’s been doing that way too often after leaving the hospital. As if being warded signalled him to double the amount of affectionate words and touches he should give to you, to your dismay. You’re not made to survive much of that, not when your feelings for him are still too confusing to navigate through. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, you try to sit back and relax into the seat. Ten people in a car is not made for the weak.

Practically everyone is smushed into the 1977 Lincoln Continental limousine, save for Joseph. He's not joining this event. Katherine’s seated facing you, on the opposite end with her single seat, and Jackie sits on the only other single seat next to hers, both eyeing you with amusement, noting your sense of inner frustration over the noise.

Getting into the car itself was a mess, with them fighting over who gets the other single seat, after you had rejected the offer. It felt wrong, stating that you're only Michael's personal assistant, which received incredulous looks from everybody. 

“You've been a family member since way before that, but okay,” Janet had remarked. 

After that, they argued for a good five minutes next to the car. Meanwhile, you were exchanging looks with Katherine, the both of you already tired and you haven’t even reached the venue yet. Michael was no good either, joining the arguing and genuinely getting defensive every few seconds. Jackie ends up winning, though, mostly because in the middle of said argument, he just ran inside the car while exclaiming the fact he's the oldest. 

Which is why you, Michael, Marlon, Janet, LaToya, Jermaine, Randy and Tito are smushed to the other side of the limousine. Well, of course it's not actually that much of a tight fit. There is definitely space. The car is luxurious. Red velvet seats, plush carpet, champagne and ice, all that junk. But the fact that the people in the car are acting a whole mess really makes you feel as if these ten people are shoved into a tiny clown car, and if anyone were to ask you, nothing is ever worth that kind of experience. 

What's worse is that the arguing over the seat earlier had triggered some other argument, and that's why LaToya and Jermaine are bringing hell into the vehicle.

All of you are currently heading to the New York Lincoln Center. There's an event being held which is the Pepsi Bottlers Convention, and they're premiering the commercials featuring The Jacksons. Michael is also set to appear on stage briefly, which is why he's currently fiddling with the sequined white glove. He'd only brought a single one, without a bag for it, and you'd warn him to hold onto it tightly. He only scoffed and gave you a wide grin in response. 

You remember thinking to yourself how bold that response is, coming from a man who believes in karma. 

Aside from that, you're still mildly grumbling about going to the event, having strayed away from the brand altogether after the incident. A few weeks prior, you'd concluded that you won't purchase any of the drinks, talking about the principle of everything. Michael, your best friend slash boss, the man who was the literal center of it all, just laughs it off while he continues drinking from his own darn can. You remember being insulted by his dismissal, and had only calmed down when Michael became genuinely worried over your two minute silent treatment.

The car turns a corner, almost sharply, causing the eight of you to tilt to the side in an abrupt manner, smushing against each other. You and Michael quickly fix your posture again, but apparently Janet and Marlon didn't get the memo and started having a poking and nudging contest. 

“Mike,” you whisper as you bury your face into your hands. He only snickers and wraps his arm around your shoulder, bringing your head to lay on his chest. 

“There's nothin’ you can do, girl.” 

•

“Welcome! Welcome, Michael!”

A man in a dapper suit with a receding hairline greets the singer at the door, trying to talk over the yelling paparazzi and fans alike. The man continues to greet every one of the brothers passing him, saying whatever comes to mind with empty greetings and a smile too bright to be genuine. 

Michael has his hand resting on the small of your back, and you distract yourself by focusing on the place, and the agenda in your hands. Trying to navigate your way through the plans as well as the directions, you make sure the others are near you to start explaining the whole thing. 

Funnily enough, you feel like the Jacksons’ assistant instead of only Michael's at times. You've told him this once, and it has never left your mind since. 

The both of you were lounging on your newly purchased couch, absentmindedly watching the television. It was late noon, and Michael had nowhere to be for once, and when that happens, he usually ends up with you anyway. He was chewing on some popcorn when you suddenly remembered something from yesterday. 

“Y’know, Marlon keeps bothering me about this meeting he has with that hair gel office. He wants me to keep him company, and I told him how he's a grown up, and he just kept annoying me about it. Should I just go?” You ask him, snuggling into the blanket further, staring at the movie without really registering the scene. 

“If you're up for it, why not?” 

You shrug, “I guess.” 

“Just be careful, though,” he continues, eyes still on the screen. “I'm pretty sure he's tryin’ to steal you from me.” 

Your eyes widen and move from the TV to the man next to you, who's eating popcorn as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. 

“What could you possibly mean by that?” 

A soft laugh leaves him. “It means that you've been the Jacksons’ favourite since forever ago, and you're a damn good personal assistant to me. Marlon wants your skills for himself too, I'd reckon.”

A beat of silence, but Michael seems unperturbed. A total opposite of how you're feeling. 

Humming in thought, you ask him. “You really think so?” 

“Girl, I know so,” he sighs and looks at you fondly. His eyes contain amusement and something else that's unreadable. “Look, you've been a family friend since, what? Since we were both five years old? Everyone loves you, you understand them, and you're insanely good at doin’... whatever it is you do every day. I'm assuming everything at this point. So, yeah, a girl who you trust that's capable of doin’ everything is pretty much a total win if you hire her.” 

You clear your throat and look away shyly. “Well, I'd always assume you were just exaggerating about them loving me to that extent.” 

“Exaggeratin’?” Michael's brow raises. “Just the other day Jackie asked me if you're up for a double tennis match with him and his potential investors.” 

Lips parting in surprise, you lean back and try to process the newfound discovery. You'd always thought of them as family, considering how closely you grew up with Michael, and by default, his siblings. Even so, you never really expected for the same feelings to be reciprocated. And you would never think they'd actually observe the way you work, let alone liking it enough to start asking in regards to themselves. 

Michael casually sniffs and averts his gaze, feigning innocence. “I told Jackie no, by the way. The tennis thing is next Friday and I want to have a movie night with you.” 

A gasp leaves your mouth and you swat at his arm in bafflement. 

“Ow! Okay, I know, I shouldn't decide things for you, but c'mon!” he almost whines, rubbing the affected area. “Movie night with Mike is more important than boot lickin’ with Jackie. Think about it!” 

A laugh escapes without your permission and you shake your head. “That's not the point, you should have told me!” 

“Jeez, I'm tellin' you now, aren't I?” Michael huffs, mildly pouting. “If you wanna play tennis so bad, I'll let him know. Are you happy now— Ow! Okay!”

He grimaces as you tug on his ear briefly. 

“Mike,” you say in a tone. 

A long sigh comes from him. He looks at you sheepishly, “I know, not the point. No decision makin’ for you. Won't do it again.” 

“Thank you,” you smile sweetly at him before watching the movie again. 

There is a comfortable silence before Michael reaches to poke your upper arm. Turning to him again with your brows raised, he looks at you with a careful smile. 

“I was tellin' the truth, y’know? From earlier? They're always impressed at what you do. You're kind of a hurricane at your job… but like, uh, a good one.” 

Looking at him incredulously, you only laugh and nudge his face. “What does that even mean?” 

Michael huffs a laugh. Instead of answering, he shifts closer and wraps an arm around your shoulder. Making yourselves comfortable, the two of you are now cuddled up under the same blanket as a fight sequence in the movie begins.

His hand comes up to the back of your head, softly stroking. Pressing your head further onto his chest, you close your eyes and listen to the sound of his heartbeat. Always steady. Just like the way he is with you. 

You could fall asleep just like this. And you have, prior to this. 

Before you could this time though, Michael speaks up ever so softly. “If you want to go with Marlon, you should. And if you'd like to help Jackie, go ahead. I already told ‘em, helping here and there is one thing. But I ain't sharing you to the fullest.”

An amused giggle escapes you. “Mike, that's not nice.” 

“You're my best friend, and you're my PA. That's not changin’ anytime soon,” he says in a tone you're unable to argue with. So you only giggle again and pat his chest softly. 

The soft kiss he presses on your head makes you quiet. And the talk is finished, leaving the both of you to stare at the television screen, comfortable silence once again filling the room.

Silently wishing away the memory, you start to read the agenda aloud after making sure everyone is focused on you. 

“Okay, so, this event starts in a few minutes… We're sitting in the second row. After the officiating, there'll be some speeches and acknowledgements. Screening the commercials, welcoming you guys on stage, and then dinner. We have our designated table, the dinner area should be in that hall over there. Table number 32, remember that.” 

“Ay-ay, Cap’n!” Marlon salutes, standing up straight with a soft giggle. You shake your head and stare at his giggling state, wondering how on Earth you’d grow so much patience for this particular brother.

“I told you to not have too much of that champagne, Marlon.”

He only shrugs and Janet pulls his ear, walking away to God knows what. 

“Second row, people!” You call out to them, mild worry growing in your chest when they just wave your words off. 

Michael sighs and intertwines his fingers with yours. “Stop worryin’, girl. They're grown. And they've been doin’ this their whole lives, they're going to be fine.” 

Sighing and squeezing his hand back, you smile at him sheepishly. “I'm just paranoid. Jermaine and Toya aren't even talking right now, and people might see and speculate. Worse if the journalists start noticing.” 

The both of you turn your heads to the rest of the family. Katherine's talking with Bill and LaToya, while Jermaine is standing visibly further away than necessary as he quietly talks with Tito and Randy. His eyes flickering towards LaToya once in a while, cartoonishly glaring. 

“Ehh, they'll make nice in a bit,” Michael dismisses them with a wave of his hand. “Now, where's the way backstage? I gotta get ready.”

He's taking a few steps to his right before you pull on his arm, restricting his movements. Turning to look at you questioningly, he exaggeratingly raises his brows. A defeated sigh escapes your lips. 

“Speeches first, Mike.” 

His lips part in realization before giggling sheepishly, “Right.” 

“C’mon, it's starting in a bit. We need to find our seats,” you say, leading the way with Michael and the others in tow. Analyzing through the space, you lock gazes with Janet and Marlon from a distance. Gesturing for them to come back, your eyes are set in that fiery and firm way that tells them ‘No funny business’. 

Jermaine notices and chuckles in response, murmuring to Michael but failing to do so quietly. “Your girl is gettin' angry by the second.” 

“Don't make me go back there, Maine,” you whisper from the front, afraid the crowd heading to their seats could overhear your blatant addressing towards a Jackson brother. 

Soft snickers are heard, and you hold yourself back from extremities of frustration. 

•

You're extremely glad when someone from the organization committee comes up to you quietly to call for them to start getting ready backstage. 

The whole time during the speeches, you hear whispers from your whole row. And the thing is, all of them came from your specific group of people. A headache is brewing again just at the thought of it.

“God, this is more boring than Jackie's house parties,” Marlon huffed three minutes into the first speech. 

“Do you think his hair is real, or is that a toupee?” Janet asked LaToya in a whisper, eight minutes afterwards.

Sometime during the rest of the speech, Jermaine leaned over to speak quietly to you and Michael. “Y’all think I could bail on this and just come back when it's done?” 

Then, Janet speaks up not two minutes later. “That's definitely a toupee.” 

During all of this, Michael just held onto your hand. Snickering at your face of forced nonchalance, he brings your intertwined hands to kiss your knuckles sweetly. He knew he was just as, if not more difficult than his siblings, which is why he thought better than to test your limits tonight.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't let out the biggest sigh of relief when the cue to go backstage happened.

Someone clears their throat behind you. Turning around, you see a woman dressed in a pink blazer suit. Her eyes were focused on the clipboard in her arms, and she was smacking on that chewing gum like there’s no tomorrow.

“We’ll be ready for them in fourteen minutes. Alfonso will be on stage first, and Michael will receive his cue. Good?”

You nod your head wordlessly, still carefully looking at the woman.

“Good,” she responds curtly before rushing away. 

Letting out a breath, you watch her walk away. Muttering quietly to yourself. “Good God, is that how I am when I’m busy?”

“Yes,” someone whispers behind you, making you jump and turn in surprise. 

Michael laughs as you stare at him with wide eyes. Belatedly realizing it’s only him, you immediately start swatting at his arm. “Don’t!” Swat. “Do!” Swat. “That!” Swat. 

He only grimaces and bites back his grin, gazing at you lightheartedly. “I’m serious, you do! Whenever it gets too busy, you’re very short and simple. Even with me, mind you!”

When you only pout in response, he laughs again and wraps his arms around your waist. "Don't feel bad. It just means you're doing an amazing job."

"Hm," you reply half-heartedly. Giggling further at your face of disgruntlement, he pulls you even closer. "Everything goin' okay, though? No extra stress?"

Shrugging, you absentmindedly adjust the lapels of his jacket. "Not much. Everyone's busy preparing for the Victory tour, so..."

At the mention of the tour, the man stiffens in your arms for a brief second. When you give him a pitying look, he shakes his head and gives a grimace. Unable to look you in the eyes. Reaching up to softly stroke his jaw, you ask him quietly.

"How are you feeling about that? Still the same?"

A tight-lipped smile forces its way on his face, and he hums in response. "The same. I guess, I'm less emotional about it. It's happenin' whether I like it or not. Might as well."

Nodding to his words, you gently nudge his face good-naturedly. "I'm sorry, Mikey."

"Oh, that's alright. It's... It's whatever, really."

Without hesitation, you bring your hands up to cradle both his cheeks. Eyes unwaveringly staring into his. You tell him in a relentless tone, "It's not whatever. But don't worry, Mike. Soon, you'll have all the time you need to take over the world. It'll happen. Believe me."

Michael's breath hitches, and the adoration gleaming in his eyes is almost unbearable to look at.

He’s about to say something before a sharp hiss escapes his lips. His eyes shut tightly, face etched into a pained scowl. One of his hands shifts from your waist to the back of his head, hesitatingly hovering over it.

Your heart stops for a second, twisting and burning at the sight. Brows furrowing, you take his hand from your waist and squeeze it firmly. You reach your other hand to his chest, slowly stroking in circles. This doesn’t help lessen the pain on his head, but Michael once told you after you did it for the first time about how it helps regulate his nerves, distracting him and making him calm down. And you haven’t stopped doing it since. 

A small groan leaves his lips, and you shift closer to let him feel some of your warmth. You hate it when this occurs. The accident was still fairly fresh, and the throbbing pains came every once in a while. The doctor warned it may never fully disappear, and you wanted to throw everything through the glass window when Michael recounted the statement to you. 

Your hand is still going in slow circles on his chest, and the hand hovering the back of his head drops. Sighing deeply, Michael keeps his eyes closed. You breathe as deeply as you could, silently asking for him to follow your rhythm. He does so without question. After one minute of the both of you doing breathing exercises despite the hustling and bustling of the event planners around, his face calms down to a quiet frown. He opens his eyes and you note there is a bit of a wetness in them, making you hold back a gasp of worry. 

Instead you slowly pull him into a hug, letting your heart beat synchronously against his. Michael hums pleasantly in response. He wraps his arms around your waist again, pulling you closer. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear. 

Shaking your head, you hug him tighter. “I did nothing. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods timidly. “The throbbin’ is done. It’s fine.”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t fine at all. You wanted to tell him this shouldn’t be okay, and that he should be as angry as you always get at the thought of what happened, in fact, even more so. But that wasn’t Michael. He doesn’t hold that kind of temper in him, not the grudging type, at least. And you realize being angry wouldn’t make him feel better, or less pain. So instead of showing your inner frustration, you just sigh deeply and let him calm down in your arms. 

The both of you pull away after a few more seconds, the concern not at all leaving your eyes. He smiles at the sight and reaches to cradle the side of your face softly. “I’m okay, baby. I promise.”

Nodding slower than necessary, you finally bring yourself to look away from him and find something else to focus on. Another sigh escapes you at seeing Jermaine walking up to LaToya, as if getting ready for round two. Pulling on the sleeve of Michael’s, you gesture for him to face the other two as well. Hearing him snicker, yet again, you throw him a look. 

“Mike, it’s not funny. We’re on in a few.”

He throws his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, okay. I got it, I’ll go talk to them, okay?”

“Thank you,” you sigh out. 

As he walks away to them, you look at your wristwatch. Ten more minutes. Your gaze flicks to your left, and there stands little Alfonso adjusting his glove, eyes focusing on his shoes. A small smile finds its way to your face, and you internally coo at just how small that boy is. 

You wanted to greet him, but thought the better of it. He probably would appreciate some alone time to focus and prepare for the small bit of dancing he’s about to do in front of a hundred people. Assuming from Michael’s way back when he was younger. So, you’ll talk to him after. 

Heading to the little circle that Michael, LaToya and Jermain are forming, your ears prick up at the words being uttered.

“So, y’all better act right or else she’ll kill you, and then she’ll kill me when I inevitably do something to cross her limits,” Michael hisses, his back facing towards you. The other two Jacksons notice your presence and their eyes widen very briefly before trying to hold back a laugh.

Tongue poking in your cheek, you cross your arms and stare on silently, Michael still not realizing you’re standing right behind him. 

“I’m serious,” the man presses on further, presumably from noticing their effort to bite back a grin. “Jermaine, you remember how pissed she was when you and Marlon wouldn’t stop talking at that what’s-his-face wedding. I mean, gosh, even I wouldn’t sit next to her on the car ride home. She was livid— Oh! Oh, hey! Hey, sweetheart!”

Michael paints on a wide grin after turning his head in the middle of his sentence, seeing you standing right behind him. The other two start cackling, feud briefly forgotten. The former’s arms open wide, trying to pull you into a hug. 

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head with a defiant look, hands blocking his. He hurriedly drops them and gives you a sheepish smile. “I got them to stop arguin’, didn’t I?”

Scoffing, you look back at your wristwatch. “If you need to go to the bathroom, you better go now. You’re on in a few minutes. There’s one right down the hall.”

Michael mockingly salutes the same way Marlon did earlier, face contorted into a firm look, yet the mirth in his eyes defeats the entire purpose. “Ay-ay, Cap’n.”

He laughs at seeing your eyes roll, and takes a few steps back before going back in to give a kiss on your cheek. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs softly against your skin before rushing off to the bathroom. 

You’re left with the other two, who are looking like absolute fools trying to look at the ceiling or the wall innocently. Clicking your tongue, you gesture for them to standby. All the others finally reappear, and there you are, congregating backstage with little Alfonso coming near, mild nervousness in his face as he stares up at Jackie and Tito. You see them smiling sweetly to the boy, and your heart warms. 

All of a sudden, you hear a muffled yell. 

“Oh, God, no!”

It’s coming from the bathroom. And it’s Michael’s voice. 

Your heart jumps. The group of you immediately start running towards the bathroom, you reaching first to knock urgently on the locked door. Yelling for him, your brows furrow in concern. “Mike, are you okay?”

“It’s in the bowl!” His voice calls out, horror lacing his words.

Exchanging a questioning look with Marlon beside, you talk through the door again. “What’s in the bowl, Mike?”

“The glove! It fell! My glove is in the stupid toilet!”

A snort escapes from Marlon, and he covers his mouth when you throw him a sharp look. Letting out a sigh of relief when you realize he’s okay, you calmly call for him again. “Mikey, that’s okay—”

“No, it isn’t! I didn’t bring a spare!”

You wince, knowing how adamant he is about his glove. It's incredibly important to his whole gimmick and on-stage personality, despite your initial assurances that he'd make the stage his just by being on it. 

Biting your lip, you think of how to get a second glove in a matter of six minutes when the door unlocks from the inside. Michael's head peeks out, his horrified face coming into view. He fidgets and clears his throat, flickering his eyes between you and the others. 

“I'm gonna take it out,” he whispers. 

A groan of disgust echoes through the whole group, with little Alfonso staring on in surprise. “Ugh, Mike!” Tito exclaims, lips curling in repugnance.

“I didn't! I didn't— I haven't even… you know!” Michael starts arguing in defense, eyes widening and brows furrowing. Janet's backing away and trying to hold in her laughter, sparking some scolding looks from Katherine and Bill.

“If you haven't gone yet, then what the hell have you been doin’ in there?” Jermaine asks, raising his brow. 

“I was checking to see if my hair was okay,” Michael grits through his teeth. “We have no time for this, I'm flushin’ the glove out.” 

“Mike, no!” you respond with admonishment. 

“I have to!” He argues, backing away and heading to the toilet. You throw your hands up in the air, giving up and shifting away for the sake of decency. The brothers look on, Marlon and Randy walking into the bathroom themselves, while Katherine and the girls wince and take a few steps away from the vicinity. 

Multiple ‘Ew’s and ‘Ugh’s echo from the bathroom, and you rush to lead Alfonso out of the way. “Honey, don't worry yourself with those silly boys, hm? Go ahead and stand by the stage, you're almost up, okay?” 

All the brothers crowd around the bathroom, and you walk back to them and peek from behind Jackie's shoulder. Marlon's pumping the soap incessantly into the sink while Michael aggressively rubs the sequined glove. Their faces etched into pure concentration. 

“Good lord,” you sigh out and stare at the chaos. Walking through the wall of Jacksons, you enter the bathroom and find a nearby towel, waiting at the ready when Michael turns off the tap water.

Shifting closer, you take the glove from his hands while hiding your grimace. Pushing the towel onto his chest, you start squeezing the fabric with all your might, water dripping into the sink. The man next to you stays silent, watching as you twist the glove every which way with focus. 

Once the both of you deem it enough, Michael slowly grabs the glove from your fingers and starts patting it dry with the towel. 

“Three minutes, guys!” Someone calls out. 

The others quickly walk up to backstage, while you and Michael are left by the bathroom door with the damp glove, still patting away the remnants of the water droplets. Sighing quietly, Michael tilts his head closer to you with a small quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you for helpin’ even though it's insanely gross, sweetheart.” 

“It is insanely gross, and this was very insane for you to do, Mike,” you reprimand him with wide eyes. He nods at your words, smiling still, not responding and instead— 

He leaves multiple kisses on your forehead. As if that helps. 

As if it doesn't honestly only makes you freeze and internally struggle to shove down the butterflies and distract yourself from the feelings running around your head. 

“Gotta go,” he says with a sweet smile, tender and quiet. 

“Your hat's on the table next to the, uhm, the uh…” you trail off, trying to get your brain working again. 

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he laughs and leaves another peck on your temple before walking away. 

You let out a deep breath, blinking your eyes repeatedly to avoid blacking out. 

God, that man will be the death of you. 

The sound of a crowd clapping makes you snap out of it, and you hurriedly walk up next to the stage to see them put on the show. Stopping right next to Katherine and LaToya, you look at the brothers talking amongst themselves, while Michael is preparing closer to the stage. He's to appear a little after Alfonso, bumping into him just like in the commercial. He's turning his hat over, inspecting it before putting it on. The slight frown of displease on his face makes you laugh quietly to yourself, watching him hesitantly put on the glove. A huff escapes him, and Marlon cackles shamelessly and pushes him on the shoulder. 

“Real gross,” Janet appears and whispers to you. The both of you laugh as the music starts and Alfonso appears under the spotlight. The light follows the boy moonwalking across the stage, and Michael immediately walks to his assigned spot, hidden in the dark still. 

When the bump happens, the crowd goes crazy. All they see is a sparkly jacket on a taller man and that's all the reason they need to start whooping and screaming in awe. A smile blooms into your face, seeing how he's grown to become so loved by the people. You've always known it was gonna happen, and you're damn glad you're still around to see it for yourself. 

The smile falls into a grimace again, though, when Michael shakes the hand of Alfonso's, and the boy, still smiling widely, genuine of course, discreetly shakes off his hand afterwards. 

“Oh, that poor boy,” LaToya snickers into her fist, and Katherine hushes her. 

The brothers walk on stage afterwards, and the event continues. There should be a brief speech and an officiating would take place, so they’re set to be on stage for less than five minutes. Three, if the universe decides to start treating you kinder tonight. Once Alfonso returns backstage, you gently guide him back into the bathroom. 

“Wash your hands, sweetie. Thoroughly,” you tell him firmly, intently staring at his hand to make sure he does just that. Alfonso giggles and proceeds to wash his hands, with extra pumps of soap. Leaning against the doorframe, you giggle with him at the ridiculousness of the whole circumstance. 

“You did great, you know?” You praise him, huffing a laugh when he looks up at you with a wide-tooth smile.

“I had a feelin’ I did!” Alfonso exclaims excitedly, and your cheeks hurt from grinning too big. He reminds you so much of the Mike you knew back in Gary. Clearing your throat, you continue to talk. 

“You wanna sing when you grow up?” 

He stares hard at his hands under the running water, foam falling away. Shrugging after a few seconds, he shyly replies to your question. “Maybe. I can act too. I’d like either of those… I think, anyway.”

“I bet I’ll see you on the TV screen in no time,” you playfully remark. 

“Yeah,” Alfonso nods along confidently, “Just like Michael!”

Heart bursting at his words, you hum thoughtfully. “Just like Michael.” Softly patting his cheek, your grin widens further. “Well, I can’t wait for that!”

In response, he laughs in the most adorable way you’ve ever heard, and that makes you giggle too.

“What are we laughin’ about, huh?” Michael says, appearing right next to you, making you jump and yelp in surprise. 

“Stop doing that!” You hiss at him, swatting his arm. 

“Ow!” He yelps, pretending to be in pain. He walks into the bathroom anyway, nudging Alfonso. “Sorry, buddy. For gettin’ all those germs on your hand.” 

You walk in as well, taking out some tissue papers to help the boy pat his hands dry. He smiles at you in thanks before looking up at Michael. “That's alright, Mike. Signing my glove should make up for it.” 

The man guffaws, and you hold back a snort at his face of surprise. He sputters, “Well, would you look at that? Say, didn't I sign somethin’ of yours already when we shot the commercial before this?” 

“Yeah, but that was for my momma,” Alfonso shrugs. 

Laughing shamelessly now, you exchange a glance with Michael. The latter shakes his head and nudges the boy playfully, “Alright, but only because you did somethin’ nice for your momma. She’s callin’ for you, by the way. She’s right outside.”

“Thanks, Mike!” The boy replies happily, smiling at you again and leaving the bathroom, but not before Marlon sees him coming out and the man turns to look at you and Michael dubiously.

“What, is there a meeting here I should know about?”

“Get out of here,” Michael laughs and shakes his head.

An offended look appears on Marlon’s face, and he throws his hands up questioningly. “Bro, I need to go!”

Michael sticks his tongue out, and in return the other brother gasps with a dramatic flair. Rolling your eyes, you laugh and nudge Marlon lightly. “He’s washing his hands. We’ll be done in a minute.”

Marlon scoffs and nods along, walking away begrudgingly. Mumbling to himself, “Boy can’t even wash hands without her help. Ridiculous.”

“Heard that!” Michael calls out, and Marlon only does something with his hand that you’d rather not repeat as a response. Laughing to yourself, you disregard telling it to the man that’s fiddling with his glove.

“Hands,” your grin drops into something more stern, turning back towards Michael and pointing at his hand. 

“I was going to,” he stresses, looking at you in disbelief. Taking the glove off his hand, he sets it aside on the sink countertop. “Thanks again, sweetheart.”

“Mike, enough, that’s nothing.”

“No, listen to me,” Michael says as he continues pressing the soap into every corner and crevice of his fingers. “I don’t think I tell you this enough. You’re an amazing assistant and it’s just my luck I found you as a friend first. It’s nothin’ big, sure, but the way you help me without hesitatin’... it means to me more than you know.”

You sigh softly, a fond look in your eyes as you stare at him. He was currently focused on the sink, a shy twitch of his lips telling you it wasn’t easy for him to say something like this to you in such an abrupt scenario. 

“Little things like that make me love you more than I thought possible,” he murmurs, turning off the tap. 

Your breath hitches, and you muster up a smile as hard as you can, albeit a little shaky. 

He loves you as only a friend. Remember that. 

When he turns to you, you straighten up and hand him some tissues. He smiles in thanks and the both of you walk out the bathroom. Marlon’s standing a few feet away, lightly tapping his feet and swaying from side to side. Snorting, Michael punches his brother’s shoulder and gestures to the now vacant bathroom. 

“Ugh, finally!” he sighs in relief, walking fast. 

Glancing at your wristwatch, you turn to Katherine, who’s appeared next to you with the other girls and say in a soft, timid manner. “The dinner will start in a few, but we can head to the hall now. Let me guide you, hm?”

As you walk away, you hear Marlon’s voice coming from the bathroom. 

“Hey, are y’all just leavin’ toilet gloves everywhere now?”

•

The dinner hall is quite grand. But it also just invites in a bigger chance of the night being a further mess, you’d say.

Table number 32 was a big round table, and it could fit exactly ten people. Secretly, you’d wish it could fit one person less so you’d have an excuse to volunteer sitting somewhere else so as to not have to deal with the rest of the dinner with the oddly active siblings tonight.

But Michael wouldn’t have allowed that for a second. 

That thought makes a smile show itself on your face, and you hate that. You need to screw on the lid of this can of worms. Stat.

Taking your seats, Michael being next to you obviously, you pray that the person choosing the other seat next to you would be Katherine or Bill to avoid less headache. Of course, the universe decides to play with you again and instead have Marlon, why are you not surprised, sit on the other side of you.

“Hey, sunshine,” Marlon nudges you. “I forgot to ask you. I have another meeting with the tour directors, somethin’ about my costumes. Wanna come with?”

“Sure,” you nod without hesitation, embracing the norm now. 

Beside you, Michael clicks his tongue and narrows his eyes at Marlon. “Why don’t you get your own assistant for once?”

“I fired him,” Marlon defends himself, looking at Michael. “He was gettin’ too flirty with every girl he met. He’s lucky he didn’t get to see sunshine here yet or else you’ll have him out yourself.”

“Well, get a professional one,” Michael replies, mild annoyance lacing his words. You sigh and nudge him gently. Giving him a look, Michael pouts and relaxes into his seat, exerting himself out of the conversation. 

“He’s right, Marlon. Get a better assistant, for real. But I’d be happy to help in the meantime.”

A bright smile appears on the man’s face, and he grabs your hand and kisses the back of it. “Ah, see— this is why you’re my favourite!”

Another hand snakes over and pulls your hand almost roughly away from Marlon’s lips, and you turn to Michael with annoyance still on his face. “She’s everybody’s favourite, you ain’t special.”

“Mike!” you say in a tone of admonishment. 

Marlon only cackles and doesn’t take it to heart, turning to his other side to chat with Tito. 

“Relax, Mikey,” you continue to whisper as the runners start serving food. It’s some kind of pasta, but you had called the catering yourself a few days prior — the number was oddly hard to get, by the way— and had explained clear instructions to prepare something different for Micahel, since he doesn’t really care for them all that much. They agreed with no further debate, and you had to force yourself to not act surprised. 

Celebrities have a power over people in a way that you don’t want to think too deeply about, sometimes.

In spite of that, seeing the runners lift the dish covers up and Michael’s face lighting up at the sight of a grilled chicken plated beautifully with mashed potato, you think to yourself it was worth the hassle. A questioning hum sounds from across the table, and Jackie speaks up almost childishly as he gazes at Michael’s plate. 

“How come you got something different?”

Michael begins to shake his head with genuine cluelessness, when you clear your throat and teasingly check your nails, faking an attitude. “It’s just this power of mine, I guess… I don’t know.”

The whole table quietly laughs in shock with your sudden teasing mood, while Michael stares at you with lips parting in surprise. Wonderment fills his eyes as he leans in to talk with you. Voice hushed to not disturb the rest, he tilts his head to the side curiously, “You did this? How?”

“I have my ways,” you tease, sniffing cockily. He laughs and shakes his head, the curiosity leaving his gaze and is quickly being replaced by tender affection. “Thank you. You’re incredible.”

You only smile in silence before turning to your food, and your heart skips a beat when Michael reaches his hand to stroke the back of your head. He’s murmuring to you, but it sounds like it’s more to himself, “So incredible, baby.”

A shaky sigh escapes you and you hide your face briefly to regain composure. Meanwhile, Marlon lets out a groan and gestures at you with a frown. “Man, how’s my potential assistant supposed to beat that?”

“Uh-uh, no one can,” Michael says with a laugh, briefly leans in to kiss your temple before turning to his food as well, digging in. With your eyes wide, you try to avoid some looks coming from the table, unbeknownst to Michael. 

The universe is really out to get you. 

•

The ride home is admirably more quiet. 

Everyone was tired, and full from the dinner. Which didn’t go completely haywire, to your relief. All of you pile into the same limousine without complaining. This time Michael sits on the far end, while you sit in between him and Jermaine. The others smush themselves without a care and immediately close their eyes to fall asleep. Only the sounds of quiet breathing can be heard, as well as light snoring. Jermaine gives an occasional glare to the culprits, making you snort and nudge him discreetly. 

“I’m killin’ them tomorrow. Look at Marlon, he’s snorin’ right in my face!” He whispers to you, indignant but you don’t miss the hidden amusement in his eyes. Chuckling in response, you only pat his hand twice before resting your head on Michael’s chest. 

His hand comes up to softly tuck your hair behind your ear, whispering so softly. “You tired?”

“Yeah,” you exhale heavily.

“You did amazing today, sweetheart. Every single thing,” he smiles fondly before continuing, “Thank you for taking care of the family. I hired a whole superwoman, turns out, huh?”

“It’s nothing, Mike.” Holding back a yawn, you snuggle up into Michael sleepily. Well, as much as the space in the travelling vehicle could allow, anyway. Almost out of it, you whisper an additional remark. “I’m here to take care of you, always. That means everyone else too.”

His smile softens into something more tender, almost indiscernible. Softly stroking your cheek with the back of his hand, Michael’s heart melts at the sight of your blinking gradually slowing down, clueing him in that you’re about to fall asleep right then and there. 

Before anything though, you continue on. “Besides, they’re my family, too.”

Michael could collapse right that second from happiness and warmth bubbling inside his chest. There’s never been a single second where he’s not amazed with you. You’d grown up so close to him. You’ve seen him at his worst… and you’ve seen his family at theirs. Yet, you treat each and every one of them without any malice, loving them in the ways you could express. You could easily hold grudges against some of them, because he knows you, and he’s seen it firsthand. But you told him before, as it is apparent to everyone how much despite everything, he still holds family values close to his heart, you’re also seeing them in a better light unless he specifically says otherwise. He laughed it off then, but secretly, he was thanking every God that exists for bringing you into his life. It drives him crazy knowing how perfect you are for him, and not being able to do a thing about it.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you when we get home, okay?” Michael murmurs against the top of your head, landing a kiss before pulling a short distance away. 

An absentminded hum leaves your lips, and then you’re completely out of it. 

Michael only stares at you with warmth in his eyes, stroking the back of your head gently. He smiles when you unconsciously shift further against him, and lets out a happy sigh as he lays his head back on the seat.

“Bro, you’re totally gone for her,” Jermaine chuckles, the others that are awake listening in and throwing knowing looks at Michael. 

Sighing, Michael gazes out the window. Trees blurring past, street lamps glowing a low hue due to the tint of the glass. “Yeah,” he responds without shame. Speaking into the night, he continues.