hiiiii

Doing whatever here multi-fandom (but currently downbad for Michael Jackson)

[deadeyefish01]

Darling Boy

synopsis: You met MJ at a pool during the beginnings of his 'Off the Wall' era. Both of you partook in the strange idea of hanging out at the public pool late at night. You broke in. MJ saw you and climbed the fence. pairing: Michael Jackson x gn!reader (this part is specifically MJ in his OTW era) author's note: Woah! This is my first time posting here. I watched the Michael movie a few days ago and safe to say, I am now YEARNING for this man (it isn't funny guys, the michosis got me BAD). I plan on making a continuation for this that will contain FAR more angst (with equal comfort). Constructive feedback is very much welcome :) Word count: A little under 2k (I am a yapper, sorry!)

July 20th 1979, Encino California

  Enclosed in a black metal fence glistens lightly a pool, reflecting the moonlight off its dark still surface. It's long past the establishment’s closing time. Every door and gate is locked up tight. Still, that didn’t stop you from clambering over the lame excuse for security and making yourself a nice place to… moonbathe? Sure.

To be completely honest with yourself, you didn’t really know why you were here. Why you made the decision, on a whim, to gather a towel and bathing suit (as if you were doing to dive into the pool and cause a ruckus), drive yourself to the empty parking lot, jump the fence, pull up a pool chair, and just sit there. Staring up at the night sky dotted with stars, you could say that at least the view is nice. Then again, you could have this exact view in the comfort of your home. 

Safe to say, you were a strange kid. And you happily continued this pattern of behavior into your young adult years. Though, no longer unbothered. Sure, your parents fretted over your difficulties with socializing, that you preferred to be alone with whatever you clearly found more interesting than human interaction, but you were a child back then. And as a child, your no-filter attitude could give less of a damn what your parents thought.

  Now? Sometimes you find yourself disliking what your past self has done. How your child self made it future-self’s problem to deal with these issues. Not that everything is bad. You’ve got a home, a stable income, and you can sustain yourself. And there’s a breath of freedom in that. 

Instead, these issues make it difficult to not be isolated. Like a yellow blot of paint on a black surface, your mannerisms, the way you talk, emote, the way you think, it sticks out. People aren’t mean to you about it, thankfully. But it doesn’t stop that look of furrowed brows and awkward smiles from creating a sinking disappointed feeling in your gut. Don’t even get started on your painfully dry love life (shit’s drier than the Sahara Desert). 

  So torn between being yourself and changing to fit the crowd, you find yourself unable to really relax in your strange activities. Your swim suit suddenly feels tight and the rubber parts of the pool chair are sticking to your skin. Even at night, California is burning hot. You grumble and pout, restless and uncomfortable. 

  It is eerily quiet at night. A stark contrast to the usual mornings at this public pool, which is filled to the brim with sunburnt customers, their screaming children, and the heavy splashing of chlorinated water. When the stars are out, its so silent that its hard to imagine how such a peaceful place can become so hectic. 

  Which is why the sound of humming is like nails on chalkboard to the comforting stillness. 

  You sit up quickly, adrenaline immediately flooding your legs. Traveling to the tips of your toes. You’re already ready to make a run for it. But not moving yet; you don’t want to startle this possible security guard or whoever decided to check up on a public pool of all places. 

You strain your ears, rotating your body to have your feet on the floor. Your heart nearly overpowers the sound of light humming. 

Interestingly, despite being broken up, the gentle murmurs of music sound nice. Almost soothing if your fight or flight response hadn’t been so quick to jump the gun. You find yourself quietly tapping a finger to the sound. 

  Then, it stopped. Abruptly. It was at that point that you realized that you’ve been staring at your feet the entire time, and not making the smart decision to look up at your surroundings. 

  And when you did, your eyes spotted the source of the sound. During summer nights, it isn’t entirely dark out. Rather, a deep blue hue is shed over the environment. And this hue bounces off of the stranger’s white t-shirt. It illuminates his dark skin, revealing two shocked eyes that stare directly at you. His hand is on the fence’s gate. 

  For a moment, you both just stare at each other like dear in headlights. Clearly, both of you hadn’t figured that there would be another person in a place like this. The silence that was once comforting was now horrifically tense. Your body was screaming to run, but your mind oddly stayed put. 

  “Huh. Didn’t think I would see someone here…” His voice was dangerously soft. And as was his stature. It was like he transformed right in front of you; the tension in his body went slack, his eyes dropped to the floor shyly, and he had placed a nervous hand to the back of his neck. Even in the dark, he oozed the sheepishness of a child that was caught stealing a cookie from the jar. 

  You didn’t know what to say. Your mouth went dry a long time ago. He seemed to notice your unease, as he took a hand off the fence’s gate. 

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He spoke as he backed up. “I was just taking a stroll and I thought I saw someone lying out in the dark.” 

His eyes turned back up at you. A now curious smile on his face. “Well, I guess I did see somebody.” 

  “You… you’re taking a walk at midnight?” The words left your mouth before you could think about them. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. After which you got a spike of familiarity. 

“And you’re lying out in a closed public pool at midnight?” Touche. His playful sass calmed your jumpy nerves. 

He too began to climb the fence, albeit, far more gracefully than you had done. His feet landed but he stayed where he was. “You mind me asking why you’re here?” 

  To that, you honestly shrugged. “It’s summer, there’s too many people here during the day, and I like quiet places.” 

He hummed lowly in response. Hands shoved into his pockets as he looked around aimlessly. “I get that.” 

You sat up straighter. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he looks at you again, a larger smile on his face, “I, uh, I think it’s cool that you did… this.” He made a small gesture to you. “It’s different. I like it.” 

  You tilted your head at him, a weight within you was lifted all of sudden. As he cautiously stepped forward, you could make out the shape of his eyes better. Doe eyes; round and youthful. Midnight blue light shines off of black curls. It hits you. And you mentally smack yourself for not realizing it further. 

  “Holy shit.” He freezes. “Your Michael Jackson.” 

And he stares at you for a moment. The recognition seemed to hit him hard too. As if he didn’t know his own name, his identity. He scoffs and looks at the floor once more. Smiling, but it seems to have lost its warmth. You notice that. 

  “There it is,” he spoke softly, unsure, “I knew at some point you’d notice.” 

You tilted your head at him. “You sound disappointed about that.” 

He lifts his head to look at you, mouth slightly ajar. He shuts it and shakes his head. Although it’s difficult to see, you can sense it. A sort of excitement, almost childish, that runs warm. The kind that sparks when someone sees you and doesn’t turn away in disgust. But it’s short lived, as the young celebrity swiftly turns despondent. “I- uh…” His voice trails off. 

  While the awkward silence is deafening and makes Michael squirm and fidget, you sat there, patiently. You knew this feeling all too well. Sure, it was a little jarring to see such a confident performer and singer look so nervous, but to you it didn’t matter who Michael was. As you watched him search for the right words, you couldn’t help but feel a heavy heart. In the moment, his status, his fame, everything, it melted away and left him bare. 

  “Hey.” Interrupting his focus, he looked up at you. Again, those doe eyes almost leaving you breathless. No wonder so many people practically threw riots just to get an autograph. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

  Now it was his turn to be breathless. The way his eyes widened, the fire in his eyes growing stronger, brighter. Noticed, seen, no longer curious, but slowly yet steadily blooming into something sweeter, tender. 

  You yanked at a chair, pulling it next to you, an invitation. And without another word, he sat beside you. 

  …

  Some kind of force emerged between the two of you, like gravity or magnetism pulling the both of you towards each other. The kind that forms only between childhood best friends. The kind that can either only grow stronger, or slowly fizzle out. No inbetween. You and Michael even talked like children at a sleepover far past their bed time; whispering and giggling. 

  You listen to him talk with a glowing smile on your face. Between his words, Michael laughs, loose and free. You didn’t know it at the time, but that laughter was a treasure. Something rare, never seen by anyone else. 

  At some point, you feel your consciousness telling you it’s time to go. Despite your body wanting to make the moment last longer, you say your goodbyes and begin to approach the fence. Michael catches up to you, hopping the same barrier. It really wasn’t a goodbye just yet, as the two of you continue to walk with each other until your paths had to diverge.

  “You sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” He asks for the fourth time. You scoff jokingly and playfully punch his arm. 

“I’m sure Michael.” You reassure him. “My neighborhood is pretty damn safe. It’s got cameras and everything.” Still, you feel bad for declining his offer. You can tell he clearly wants to make this last longer. But you also knew that for the safety of his status, and your own sanity, that it be better to go separate ways. The last thing you and Michael wanted was a creepy fan noticing the two of you and spreading a nasty rumor. 

  He gives you a sad look, but nods. “Oh wait.” He stops you. “I never got your name.” 

You tell him. He turns away from you, but you can hear him whisper your name. Replaying it so that it’s carved into his mind. 

  Thinking that he is satisfied, you turn to leave. But your stopped by a gentle hand wrapped around your wrist. “I… I might not see you again for a while.” 

And God, he sounds genuinely distraught by this. It makes your heart hurt. You digest his words, thinking about what to say next. 

  “You know where to find me, Michael.” You jut your head down the path to your home. A dangerous silent offer you are making, but one that you are willing to put on the table. Oh what the hell. “Whenever you need me, I mean it.”

His eyes graze your face, then flick to your wrist. His warm hand soothing your cool skin. He lets go, visibly reluctant but somewhat happy. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes. That particular shine is still there. 

  “Thank you.” He whispers, but in the silence it echoes. You nod. As you turn down your neighborhood’s path, you can feel his eyes on your back. You really didn’t know what your words truly meant to him.