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If you've ever seen *Wedding Dress* by Taeyang MV, it's kind of like that. You can make it either Jaafar or Michael.

Basically, the reader and whoever you choose are childhood best friends. They've both liked each other for years, but they're too scared to confess. Eventually, the reader decides to try forget her feelings and starts seeing someone else, which is actually going well. She keeps it a secret at first because she wants to tell them herself, but things keep coming up, so she never gets the chance.

Eventually, they find out on their own, which leads to a huge fallout between them.

Years later, the reader is still in touch with one of the siblings and ends up inviting the family to her wedding. That's when they meet again for the first time in years. 🤡🥲

Maybe hard angst, unresolved feelings, and a devastating reunion scene🥲

forever friend | michael jackson

- summary: after a fallout, the next time you see your long time friend that you were in love with, thriller!michael, is at your wedding. with another man.

word count: 8k

warning: angst, like just that, actually. miscommunication, i'm talking heavy. missed chance, the one that got away, kind of "diana, what letter?" moment tbh, iykyk!! pacing is awfully off and rushed, i'm being serious here. mentions of oc named charles, he's kind of a bummer for our main two fr. hopeful ending bc why wouldn't it be?? flashbacks to jacksons!mike and otw!mike bc i love that time so bad

* no usage of y/n, michael refers to reader as 'baby' and 'sweetheart'

author's note: Well, I truly hope the anon is still here somehow (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠) it's been over a month. I could have finished this sooner, but with all the father in the hospital thing, I did not... Anyway, this song was literally my high school bff's favourite song to sing, so this was really a flashback. SE asians, yk how it is. And I fell so much in love with this plot, it's your blueprint for angst, and I love love love reading angst. It's unfortunate I don't WRITE IT WELL. But I do hope you enjoy this, anon, I'm so sorry for the delay and if this didn't go the way you'd like it to.

Also note, believe me when I say the pacing is godawful. Literally rushed. And so so short. Don't even get me started on the plot holes! Maybe one day I can redo this and split them and actually flesh it out, because that was my first thought for this req before life got in the way. Anyway...

+++ not proofread, kinda. a lot of uhm mixed tenses, it's kind of intentional

+++ english isn't my first language! and i'm not a professional writer by any means! but i do hope you'll all love this!

taglist!; @jaafarsbaby @mbafi @umafanficdoidaqualquer @sebbysbaby @universesweetheart @sugarrushbell @cosmic-aura @astrxwitch

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

They weren't kidding around about this whole 'wedding jitters' thing. You're so close to having a migraine and there's not even a reason for it.

Everything is going according to plan. It's almost disturbingly perfect that you are just waiting for something to go wrong. Maybe one of your bridesmaids will come in to show how her dress is ruined from top to bottom, or maybe one of your uncles has finally realized the bar opens early and makes a fool of himself in front of everyone.

All kinds of things run through your mind as you stare at the mirror, biting your lip nervously. You're alone in the dressing room, it's a quaint large space with cream walls and wine red furnishings. The full length mirror reflects your tense figure, eyes visibly announcing their worry. All the bridesmaids have left the room per your request, because frankly speaking, you were getting kind of tired from their compliments. And you need time for yourself.

You take a slow, deep breath.

In.

Holding for five seconds, your look of resignation gazes back at you.

Out.

Clearing your throat, you wiggle your fingers and hands to shake off the remnants of jitter. You don't know if that actually helps or not, and truth be told, you couldn't care less anymore.

You're about to get married and you're doing it with anxiety levels that are through the roof.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you relax a little. As cocky as it sounds, you look quite beautiful in the wedding dress, having had the chance to pick it out yourself without any persuasion from others. It's not your dream dress, per se, but it sure does wonders for your body as well as your face, and it fits the budget. You truly don't regret it, though. The dress really is almost perfect.

With a pleasant hum, you trace the neckline with your fingers, a small smile hesitantly growing onto your face.

You wanted to know whether it was normal for a bride to force a smile on her wedding day, but maybe it's best to shelve that thought away.

A knock on the door snaps you out of your head, and with a nervous voice, you loudly say, "Come in... Unless you're my groom, then don't because of bad luck or something like that."

"It's Janet!" You hear from behind the door. A gasp escapes your lips and you turn with a squeal, rushing towards the door as it opens from the outside. When Janet sees you, she squeals the same and before you know it, the both of you are hugging each other tightly, slightly jumping up and down.

"You made it!" You sigh out and pull her closer.

"I did! God, you look so beautiful. Just look at you!" Janet squeals again and pulls away, analysing you from head to toe.

You pull her in for a quick squeeze again, replying, "You too, oh, how gorgeous you've grown every time I see you. It's been a long six months, I see."

"Excuse you, I've never not been gorgeous," the girl replies, feigning offense. You let out a small laugh, reaching out to pinch her cheek.

"Of course, but you're eighteen now. You will embrace beauty in a much kinder way, just as it has always embraced you," you tell her.

Janet rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, giggling as she nudges your hand off of her cheek, "Gosh, I've forgotten how much of a cornball you are! It's the writer in you."

The both of you laugh for a few more seconds before a knock comes again, this time on the already opened door. Your eyes flick to the older woman standing behind Janet, and your smile widens.

"Mama Kate, I'm so happy you made it!"

You walk up to the smiling woman, and pull her into a gentle hug. Once pulling away, she grips onto both of your hands and gives you a look of pure love and warmth. "Almost everyone made it, save for Randy and Joseph. Rebbie sends her love as well. LaToya is runnin' late but she'll be here in time for the reception. My, how lovely you look, my dear."

Biting your lip, you put on a sheepish grin. "You think so?"

The woman nods and hums, softly patting your cheek. A moment later, you hear different sets of footsteps, paired with familiar voices and once nearing the open door, familiar faces. The Jackson brothers – consisting of Jackie, Jermaine, Marlon and Tito– are talking amongst themselves, laughing loudly before the latter finally sees you in front of his mother, and a wide smile appears on his face.

"Hey, look at the little rosebush here!" Tito exclaims, causing the others to quit their conversation and focus their gazes on you. You fight your instinct to look down with a shy smile, knowing how it would make them tease you further.

"Oh, baby rose, you look beautiful!" Marlon says, opening his arms wide and welcoming you into a hug. "It's been so long, girl, I think I forgot how you look," he snickers, ignoring the soft pinch of your fingers on his waist.

Jermaine pulls you into a sidehug, smiling down at you. "Guess little rosebush ain't so little anymore. Gettin' married and everything!"

"Well, hello to you too, guys," you let out a scoff, holding back a giggle. "I am my own person, y'know? But sure, the first time you've seen me in ages and it's all about me getting married!"

Jermaine's arm around your shoulder slackens, and his face of bafflement reflects the ones on all the other men's faces as well. Jackie murmurs quietly, "She says this on her wedding day. Figures." Chuckling at the look you give him, the man pulls you in for a brief hug before you usher all of them into the room properly, closing the door after.

Marlon whistles as he walks around the room with hands in his pockets, observing the space. "Nice place, little rose. Your man chose this venue? Doesn't seem like somewhere you'd hang around at."

"Hey, I can be classy!" You narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the giggles from Janet. The others make themselves comfortable, with the many sofas and velvet stools all around the room. Tito leans on the backrest of the sofa he's on, raising a brow at you, "Well, did you pick this place, then?"

You clear your throat, looking away. "Well, no."

"Hah!" Marlon snorts, "Knew it was Mister Moneybags. Not too shabby."

"He has a name, okay?" you scold him, heading to the mirror and fixing your hair that must have been lightly tousled from all the hugs you've been giving.

“Eh, Chuck-schmuck is a little poor for my taste,” Marlon teases, cackling when an affronted look appears on your face and you turn to pinch his arm.

“Marlon, don't tease the bride and groom, they're off limits for you today,” Katherine remarks, trying to hide her smile to no avail when you poke your tongue out to her son.

When your lips part, about to say something probably just as mean about Marlon to the man himself, another knock comes on the door. You excuse yourself with a polite grin, telling the family not to bother getting it.

“It's probably one of my bridesmaids. They keep leaving their hair pins everywhere, so can you guys please make sure you're not sitting on any of it?” Throwing an apologetic look to the others, you turn back around and open the door, ready to lecture your friend, but instead you're graced with the sight of Michael standing right in front of you.

He's standing right in front of you, dressed all nice and fancy in a suit, face etched with the utmost surprise.

Oh my god, Michael is standing right in front of you.

“H-hey!” You manage to breathe out.

The man in front of you continues to look at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parting. It's five solid seconds of no reply, until he manages to squeak out against the silence.

“H-Hi! Hey, sweetheart!” Michael greets, warmth and wonderment lacing his words. A smile starts to grow onto his face as his eyes soften, gaze sliding down to your dress and back up to your face.

Ignoring the twinge in your heart at the way he called you — the old way he used to call you, anyway, but that’s completely irrelevant— you put on a polite smile and open the door wider.

“Hi, Michael. Come in! Everyone else is here,” you say, motioning for him to enter the space. Michael walks in a little too hesitantly, and he's met with all different kinds of looks from the rest of the family.

Tito makes himself comfortable, crossing his legs. “Say, rosy, how old do you think you’ll be when you have your first kid?”

Your lips part with surprise, a choked laughter escaping your throat. “Gosh, I don’t know, maybe the day everyone stops calling me rosebush?”

“We’ll stop when hell freezes over. Or when Mike starts callin’ you that,” Jermaine shrugs. “Whichever comes first.”

Although you’ve been spending the years apart trying to shelve away any thought or notion regarding Michael’s existence, all turned out to be no avail. You know the merit of Jermaine’s words.

It was years ago, when you and Michael were only twelve. It was the last time you both wrestled with each other, playfighting and tumbling about. Mike then had accidentally pushed you, and you somehow landed right on top of a rose bush, a thorn pricking on the skin of the apple of your cheek. Both of you squealed in shock, and he felt so terrible he cried for three days straight at seeing your scar. The brothers have called you any name signifying a rose ever since, more to tease on Michael, and he detested it so much back then.

The scar lived to be permanent, and you catch Michael’s detestful gaze on it now.

Marlon clears his throat, eyes glinting with amusement, and Michael quickly schools his expression before the scowl that was unconsciously forming onto his face could properly take place. The latter turns to you, and a sigh escapes his lips without permission.

“You… You really look lovely, sweetheart. Truly.”

Meeting his stare, you bite your lip before looking away. Laughing just slightly, you thank him quietly.

“It's uhm…” you begin. “It's been a while. You look great too, Mike.”

The both of you nod, only looking at each other with small smiles awkwardly displayed for the sake of decency. The twinge in your chest worsens at this. You used to be so close. Never a dull moment with him. Never a second of doubt or hesitation when it came to him. You've always known what the other was thinking of. That feeling of having your soul aligning with his, harmoniously humming through the years. To see the living evidence of how even forever does not last, hurts you to the bone.

You'd never thought that your bond with Michael would fall victim to Father Time. But then again, to blame only time itself would be contradictory to what had actually transpired between the two of you.

“Yeesh…” Marlon speaks against the silence brewing, yelping in pain when Janet slaps the back of his head. “We’re gonna head out. See you out there, rosy girl. Congratulations again.”

The group of them slowly leaves the room, you receiving kisses on the cheeks from some, and indecipherable looks from others. Katherine’s the last to leave, and she gives you the longest hug that it almost makes your eyes well up. Hugging her is almost an equivalent action to hugging your own mother. Despite the years apart, that love is still there. Being held by her in this way gives you a sense of apprehension. Something along the lines of saying a final goodbye to an old dream of yours. An old thought, of what could have been.

The subject of that topic is standing right behind the woman holding you, with hands in his pockets and a glowing look of melancholy in his eyes. Everything about that is so familiar to you.

The door closes, leaving just you and Michael in the room. It’s as if the rest of them knew it was necessary. An unspoken rule of letting things between you two foster its state again, unwilling to accept its end. Any room you’re sharing with him tends to do that. In your memories, every single time, it has always ended with you two in the quiet, finding home in the stillness and each other.

The silence from earlier returns, though the man visibly relaxes at the absence of others. His shoulders loosen, and his gaze returns to lock with yours, eyes softening up even further. He takes a step closer, growing a small smile that melts your heart the exact same way it always did.

“It’s been… so long,” Michael says in a soft tone, breathless.

“Yeah…” You say quietly, looking away before your eyes get lost in his. Clearing your throat, you walk a few steps away, fiddling with the fabric of your skirt. “It’s been what? Over two years?”

Michael hums in response, “Almost three.”

Nodding slowly, you readjust the bodice of the dress, eyes focusing on the appearance on the mirror. Behind you, the reflection of Michael shows the faraway look in his gaze. The melancholy from earlier returning, and you watch with bated breath as he glances at you again.

“Three years too long, I’d say,” he whispers into the quiet. When you meet his gaze through the mirror, your mind clicks. The familiarity of the look. The forlorn way he’s holding himself, the somberness etched on his face. It’s almost a dead ringer for how he was looking at you in exactly the same way, all those years ago.

-

1976

Michael stared at you with open eyes and a heartbroken frown, hands in his pockets.

“And h-he– he just told me he’s going with that other girl instead!” You stuttered out, blowing your nose into the tissue. A sob escaped you, and you sniffled. “And now, I can’t even go because I’m gonna be so embarrassed. Everyone knew how excited I was that someone had asked me!”

You were sitting on a sofa in the Hayvenhurst living room, crying into the seventh piece of tissue. Wearing a floor length dress so pretty that you had to beg for extra allowance to purchase, you think of how pitiful you look. Getting bailed on senior prom night by a guy that personally asked you in the first place, just in favour of going with another girl is not something you’d wish for anyone. Not even your worst enemy.

“A-and LaToya worked so hard for my hair, and for my makeup and–” you take a shaky breath before blowing your nose into the tissue again, crumpling it up and throwing it to the side before stealing another one from the box. Michael sighed and crouched down, looking at you with severe sympathy. Reaching his hand to slowly stroke the back of your head, he hushed you gently.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. I’m tellin’ you, everything is gonna be alright. It’s his loss, alright? Nothin’ more than that,” he said softly. You sniffled as he talked, and leaned your head on his shoulder. The response was almost immediate. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you slightly closer, the warmth of his chest pressed against yours calming you down.

Heaving a sigh, you whispered. “But I was so excited, Mikey. How could he do that? I know I’m not as pretty as Sherry but I thought he liked me.”

Michael shook his head, pulling slightly away, a firm stare fixed on you. With brows furrowed, he said to you, “That guy is a bum, actin’ like a straight up fool. I don’t know who that Sherry girl is but I know nobody in that school is even close to holdin’ a candle to you, sweetheart.”

Laughing through the tears, you nudged his chest. “You’ve never even seen the students there.”

“And? I said what I said,” Michael huffed, a small smile on his face at seeing you laugh.

Taking your hands, Michael stood up and pulled you off of the sofa. He brushed invisible lint off of your dress and tucked a hair behind your ear. Wrapping his arms around your waist again, the both of you hugged properly this time.

“You’re absolutely wonderful. Some people are too stupid to see that,” he murmured against your temple. “But not me, sweetheart.”

“Not you?” You looked up at him.

“Mm-mm,” he shook his head. “Never me.”

You pressed your head against his chest, heaving a deep sigh. There he goes again. Being the absolute sweetest.

It was a few more minutes of him rocking you back and forth, and giving the occasional kisses to your head, before you found it in yourself to actually pull away. Another sniff escaped you, and you looked up at him sheepishly.

“I guess I’m just gonna go home. Maybe they’ll let me return this dress tomorrow,” you said, taking a few steps away.

“Wait, don’t!” Michael abruptly stopped you, holding onto your hand.

You turned to him with a look of confusion.

“I mean– uh, well, maybe not yet,” he motioned to you. “Sweetheart, you look breathtakin’. And you said so yourself, my sister worked really hard on it, too. It shouldn’t go to waste.”

“Well, Mike,” you rolled your eyes, shrugging in disbelief, ignoring his compliment and how it made your insides flutter. “I’m not stepping foot in that school tonight. I’m already ashamed.”

Michael tutted, gripping your hand tighter. “I didn’t say anythin’ about school.”

The corners of your lips slowly quirked up, and you raised a brow to him. “What have you got going on, Mike?”

“I’m sayin’ that you’re not missing out on your prom night because an idiot did somethin' idiotic.”

Michael all but dragged you upstairs to head to presumably his bedroom, and he chuckled as you questioned him over and over again about what he planned to do. You thought to yourself how the steps you took could almost be considered as souvenirs of your memories, the laughter and joy that are shared with Michael carving its way into the corners and the crevices of the staircase, and into the walls of the house. Your eyes focused on his grip, fingers intertwined with yours.

Once arrived at his room, he led you inside, motioning you to sit on the foot of his bed. He didn't sit next to you, however, and instead took a few steps back. Hands put up, face contorted into pure concentration.

“Stay put. Right there.”

“Mike?” You questioned again, laughing.

“I'll be right back! Stay!”

And then he left the room and slammed the door closed, to your utter confusion.

Blowing air out of your cheeks, you let out a sigh and decided to roam his room. There was nothing there that should surprise you in any way, given how often you visit the house and enter his room on a daily basis. He and his brothers were currently in the middle of recording the new album, the first one since they left Motown. Everyone was practically on edge most of the time, desperate to do well and prove their former label wrong. As busy as they were, you knew Michael didn't have much time to actually clean his room.

You shrugged and picked up some stray books from the floor, placing them neatly on the shelf. Might as well.

It was a good fifteen minutes, and you're about to storm out after seeing no sign of Michael, when a knock comes onto the door. You made a face. There was no way this was any of the siblings. They'd usually barge in. Slowly getting up from the bed, you slowly opened the door. And what an absolutely delightful sight it was.

There stood Michael, dressed in a dark tuxedo with a cute little bowtie. He had a bright smile on his face, almost gleaming. He was standing up in such a way that was almost mockingly poised, replicating a distinguished gentleman from the covers of those old Victorian books. He pulled out his hand from his back, revealing a lone stem of a red rose.

“Michael!” You gasped out.

“It’s no corsage,” he shrugged shyly. “But I didn’t know how to do that. We can go to the garden later if you want. Find somethin’ else, since the rose is too… corny and all—”

“What on earth are you talking about? This is… Oh, Mikey, this is so wonderful, I– I don’t know what to say,” you said with a hitched breath. You took a step closer and took the flower from his hands, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him into a tight hug. He chuckled, holding you just as tight.

“I ain’t even shown you everything yet. C’mon, let’s go down.”

You guffawed at him. “Wh– there’s more?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know if you know this, but prom is more than gettin’ a flower from your dashing date, y’know? There’s dancing… and spiked punch, I hear.” Michael whispered in a conspiratorial way.

“Well, what do you know, Mister Tour For All Eighteen Years Of My Life?” You laughed, nudging him on the chest before holding his hand as he led you down the stairs.

He scoffed, “Not my whole life, that’s an exaggeration. So, hah! And also, I know things, alright? And what I know is that since you and I will never experience senior prom in a school, I thought I’d just bring it to us. I know, I know. Genius.”

You were about to reply when the living room stopped you in your tracks. The lights were dim, but there was a small disco ball hanging on by a rope— not tied very securely, might you add– with music playing from the turntable. The furniture was set aside, making some space in the center.

“Michael…” You spoke up, breathless.

He looked at you then, biting his lip nervously. He tightened his grip on your hand, and took you to the center of the room. His arm snaked around the back of your waist as he lifted up your interlocked hands, slowly swaying from side to side in rhythm to the music.

Clearing his throat, Michael gave you a look of anticipation mixed with dread. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you almost sob. “This is the greatest thing anyone has ever given me. And I’ve been given a lot of things… mostly by you too!”

Michael’s eyes widened at your sudden outburst of emotions, hurriedly trying to calm you down by patting your back repeatedly. “H-hey, stop that cryin’! I’m supposed to cheer you up, sweetheart!”

You continued to sniffle, shaking your head and reaching up to cradle his cheek, still slow dancing. “You don’t understand. You’re my best friend. You’ve done so much for me, and I keep taking and taking, and I don’t know how to give back.”

“Baby, are you on your period or something– Ow! Ow, okay. Got it, no askin’.” He stopped himself after you swat at his chest, still sniffling very loudly. Michael sighed and leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I’d do anything for you, y’know that. You’re somethin’ like a... forever friend for me, so yeah. Just take, okay? Take all I give, because that’s what I intend to do.”

You stared at him, foreheads still pressed together. His eyes closed, all furrow between the brows gone. He looked so at peace. “You’re always so wonderful to me,” you whispered against the calmness. “How could I ever find anyone better to spend my time with?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes still shut. “You won’t have to. Forever friend entails forever, if you must know.”

But I don’t want to be just your friend, you thought.

Your eyes tracked down his perfect nose to his perfect lips without permission, lingering there despite your inner self warning you repeatedly. Without any thought, you leaned in closer, secretly pleading for him to open his eyes.

“Michael--”

A rumbling of footsteps echoed through the hall. Marlon’s voice rang in tow, “I heard we got a party goin’ on down here!”

Michael groans without opening his eyes, pulling away to your disappointment. He didn’t notice your deflated self, and yelled out, “I told y’all to get lost!” Turning back to you, he shrugged helplessly and smiled. And with that, you forget about the thoughts that were swarming you just a few moments ago and moved on. Just as you’ve always done these past few months. The both of you danced properly after, him leading you with giggles and laughter against the stillness of the night.

“Where did you get that disco ball?” You asked him, snorting quietly.

With a smug smile, Michael laughs and murmurs a response. “Baby, we’ve had parties here, remember? Joe wants to throw the decorations every time it ends, but we keep some of it.”

Two minutes of slow dancing later, he whispered in your ear, “I’d prefer it if we don’t reach under that disco ball, though, sweetheart. I hung that myself earlier and I don’t think that was the smart move.”

Giggling, you only closed your eyes and held him closer, wishing so much you could just dance the night away, and many more nights to come, with Michael.

-

PRESENT.

“So, you’re really marryin’ him, huh?”

Michael’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You turn your back to the mirror, facing him. A huff of laughter escapes your lips, disbelief marring your face.

“Michael, you’re at the wedding. Yes, I’m marrying him. Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just… You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” Michael says, softer. More hesitant.

You scoff goodnaturedly and cross your arms, “Mikey, we’re the same age.”

His eyes light up at that. As if once he hears you call his name in a warmer manner, almost all of his doubts fleet from his mind. The man looks down for a moment, biting back a grin. “Well, yeah,” he finally says. “But I mean, you’ve… The both of us have grown so much. I never thought we’d be seein’ each other this way, after… after so long.”

“Well,” you stare at him, an unreadable look on your face. “How did you think we would see each other again?”

Michael makes himself smaller, so different from the confidence he exudes whenever you used to be in the room with him. You hate that everything has changed, down to the tiny little bits of how he carries himself around you.

He whispers into the tense silence. “I don’t know. I never really thought we’d have a reunion of some sorts in the first place.”

“You thought I wasn’t gonna invite you to my wedding?”

A scowl appears on his face very briefly, but you notice. He shrugs, “No, I didn’t expect there would even be a wedding any time soon.”

A beat. “So… I’m unmarriable now?”

“No!” he exclaims, face paling. Michael heaves a deep sigh, “I didn’t think we’d be so apart, okay? Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, I kinda have to when all you’ve given me is radio silence, Mike,” you raise a brow at him. Looking away, you murmur under your breath, “And it’s not my fault we’re apart when you’re the one who didn’t call.”

“Pardon?”

A sigh leaves your lips. “Michael.”

“I didn’t call?” he puts his hand to his chest, affronted. “All I did was try to call you. You're the one who never called back.”

You stare at him. Longer, this time. Lips parting in surprise. The furrow of your eyebrows come next.

“What do you even mean? I called you first, and you never answered. I called you that night after we fought! Don’t change what happened!”

Michael stands up straighter, his face etched into pure confusion and indignance.

“I called you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did! I called you the day after the fight, and you didn’t answer! I called you again that night, and no answer! What was I supposed to think?” Michael says, growing impatient and frantic. He walks up to you, and you can’t look away from the urgency in his eyes. “I called, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, eyes welling up despite the effort not to. “I didn’t get any calls.”

“Well, neither did I,” Michael says, voice cracking. “I would have answered, baby, I would have.”

“Michael, don’t– don’t call me that…” You trail off, breathing shakily.

“But you are,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re baby to me.”

Biting your lip, you hold back a sniffle. “It’s not right, I’m getting married today.”

“What’s not right is you tellin’ me that you’ve been thinking I never reached out to you this whole time, when I did. What’s not right is everything between us falling apart right afterwards and that the first time I see you properly is you gettin’ married to another man.”

You look at him in shock, “Michael, please!”

“Sweetheart, that night was one of the worst ones of my life,” he says in a tone that makes you quiet down. The tenacity in his eyes and how much anguish you see in them makes your heart stop completely for a second. “It felt like you dropped something so horrible and heavy on me, and what’s frustrating was that you didn’t even know, and worse is that neither did I.”

You only could look at him breathlessly, the gaze of a pained man staring back at you.

“Every time I remember, all I feel is regret over not stoppin’ you then and there from leaving your house.”

-

1981

You were fixing your earring, staring at the mirror reflecting back when a knock came onto the door.

Charles is early, you thought to yourself.

Walking up to the front door, you opened with a bright smile, ready to greet the man you've been seeing for about two months now. The smile froze, however, when instead of Chuck with his neatly trimmed hair and burly figure, it was Michael, your best friend who'd been on tour for the past few months.

“Mike!”

“Hey, sweetheart!” He greeted with warmth lacing his words, arms held out to pull you into a hug. You squealed from happiness and pulled him closer, taking a few steps backwards to bring him into the house. His arms around your waist tightened, and so did yours around the back of his neck.

“What are you doing here?” You breathed out and pulled your head back, tracking every inch of his face with your eyes, unashamed.

Michael's lips quirk up. “Final run of the tour, remember? Four days at The Forum. We have practice later but I needed to see you for just a second.” He buried his head into your shoulder and tightened his grip, if even possible. Breathing against your neck, he murmured, “Missed you so much, baby.”

Your insides fluttered, heart melting at his words and you let yourself revel in it further before you internally winced.

Charles wouldn't like this, you thought to yourself again.

You cleared your throat and willed yourself to pull away, hands sliding downwards to his chest, and you gave him the widest smile you could have mustered. “I missed you too, Mike.”

It was only then that he realized your attire. And your hair. And your makeup. His heart skipped a beat. Something inside him started to brew, but he didn't know what it was.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart. What's the occasion?”

“Oh, I, uh… I've got a date,” you told him, suddenly shy, looking away from his intense gaze.

Michael froze ever so slightly, eyes flickering from your face to your dress, as if he was analysing the truth to your words.

“Since when…” he started. “Since when did you go on dates?”

You wanted to tell him the decision was made not very long after realizing your feelings for him. You wanted to tell him how loving him deeply had made you sink, and you needed someone who was not him to help you float again. But you shoved those words deep down. And found something else to say. Something normal, something that he would have understood.

You shrugged, biting your lip to numb the nerves. “Since a few months ago. With the same guy.”

“Same guy?” Michael's brows raised. “You've been goin’ on dates with the same guy for months?”

At your nod, that thing swirling in his gut worsened. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, and decided to ask more questions just to destroy whatever it was inside him.

“You're gettin' serious?”

“It's too soon to tell… maybe?”

“What's his name?”

“Charles.”

“Charles? His name is Charles?”

“Yeah, what about it?” You asked, miffed at his tone.

His hackles slightly rose, his brows raising at your defensiveness. “I didn't say anythin’.”

“Your tone was different.”

“Who cares about my tone? You can't blame me for bein’ just a little caught off guard, now could you?”

You crossed your arms. “What do you mean caught off guard?”

“I'm just sayin’ it's been a few months, and you said no word of this to me. Did you even think to tell me?” Michael said, heat coursing through him, but he didn't know what the hell was the reason.

Although, truthfully, a part of him, some small one, probably knew what it was.

“I tried to tell you!” You snapped, throwing him an apologetic look right after. “I did try, but you were either too busy or tired.”

“I always called you because I'd never be too tired to talk to you, why didn't you just tell me then?” Michael asked, throwing his hands up.

“Well maybe it's because nowadays when you call, it's always during afterparties where you're having the time of your life,” you rebutted. “I don't even think you heard me most of the time with all that noise from your side.”

“Okay, so it's my fault that the others decide to have fun while I find the time to call my best friend?”

“No!” You exclaimed, looking at him severely. “Just – just, forget about it! Why do you even care, you know now!”

Michael stared at you, disbelief and something you couldn't identify swirled in his eyes. “You're right. It's forgotten.”

It was a stupid and painful silence, with the two of you clueless on how to navigate things. You’ve never fought in this way, with either of you not really sure of what triggered the sudden hostility. Never in your life would you have expected to be defensive against him, and he thought the same too. The changes were already taking place, and twenty-three year old Michael blamed that on the existence of the damned man you were seeing. He shoved his hands in his pockets, heatedly gazing down at the floor.

“Well, I'm happy for you,” he bit out. And that hurt you. He was kidding himself, as well as you, but for the life of you, you couldn't really figure out why things took a turn. You didn’t know what to do, with Charles arriving any second, Michael with his broodiness coming out of nowhere.

You were about to say something, except you didn’t, not when a honk could be heard from outside. Your nerves welled up.

“That was Charles.”

Michael’s jaw clenched very briefly. His gaze towards the door, questioning. After a moment’s thought, he only nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll see you when I can. Have fun. I’ll lock up the house before leaving.”

You walked to the door before turning to him. Somewhat desperately, echoing your inner thoughts and frantic inclination. “Mike…” You breathed out.

Michael didn’t look you in the eyes. It kills you that he didn’t, but he stepped closer to you, anyway. He nudged your arm, gripping your hand briefly before pulling away. He whispered into the rigid silence, “Have fun, sweetheart.”

You feigned a smile, heart not in it. Not when Michael couldn’t even hug you goodbye. The brief moment where he gripped your hand is almost mocking, from the remnants of his warmth rapidly falling away, the absence of it much stronger than the presence. You only looked at him for a few more seconds longer, urging yourself or him to say something more. He only stared at your dress, how pretty it looked on you. How similar it looked with your prom dress years prior. He tried to gather the courage to say something about that, but alas, the universe decided to kick his ass just once more.

Another honk was heard from outside just as he parted his lips. He shut his mouth immediately.

“Mike, I have to go,” you told him, the feeling of regret lying underneath the words.

He only nodded, couldn’t really bring himself to tell you to have fun a third time. It wasn’t with him. As immature and selfish as that sounded, Michael couldn’t face the music. You’ve grown just as he had. You had your own life to live, with your own people. Despite classifying himself as your best friend, he didn’t know what movie you watched recently that you liked. Maybe Charles did. He didn’t know if you’ve been to any restaurant that’s just opened and hated it. Charles probably already took you.

Michael’s heart started cracking. There’s no such thing as a forever friend, not when the last time he thought of you as just a friend was years before. He realized that now. He also realized that the feeling in his gut was envy. And God, he fucking hated that.

Your hand briefly brushed against the back of his. He stared at the contact.

And then you were gone.

Things fell apart quite quickly after that.

You called his house after your date, but they were still on the journey home, leaving late after the practice. He called your house the morning after, but you were out for a jog. Every single time, unbeknownst to either of you, the phone calls were just missed by the other, sometimes by a mere few minutes. At his lack of response, you took it to heart and assumed he was still upset. What you didn’t know was that he felt and thought the exact same.

Days of silence became weeks, and before you know it, your forever friend was no more.

-

PRESENT.

“Why are you marrying him?”

“Mike, stop.”

Michael leans in and presses his forehead against yours. “No, tell me. Why are you marrying him?” He whispers.

“Because– well, I’ve been with him for a long time, Mike,” you try, heartbeat increasing.

“I’ve known you longer,” he interrupts, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of your breath fan across his face. “And even if I didn’t, I could meet you for the first time today and still know you more than he does.”

“You haven’t talked to me in the past two years,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sadly. “How could you know?”

“Janet tells me sometimes,” Michael says, pulling away to your dismay. “She tells me that sometimes you call. Asking how we were. Telling her how you were, with that guy… Baby, he honked for you. I thought it was just the one time. But he honked for you every single time instead of knocking on your door. And when you start living with him, you pick up after him. He doesn’t even seem to know what you’ve been writing. You used to tell me every week about a new story. Janet tells me you’re about to have a big meeting with a publishing company soon. Has he even– has he done anything to celebrate? What sense does that make? He doesn’t treat you the way he should.”

You sigh deeply, turning away and rubbing your temple. “Michael, please.”

He slowly walks up to you, gently turning you to face him again, hand reaching up to cradle your cheek, tender. “I know we’ve been apart, and we’re more different than when we were younger. I know that, sweetheart. But you’re tellin’ me you’re gonna marry that guy who doesn’t even see you fully? That guy who seems to have no intention of loving you the way you deserve? That guy and not—” His breath hitches, eyes welling up.

Staring deeply into his eyes with your own teary ones, you let out a shaky breath. “Not who?”

A small quirk of his lips before Michael closes his eyes again, pressing his forehead against your temple, whispering softly to you, “Don’t.”

“Michael,” you bite back a sob. “He’s… he loves me in his own way. Those things you said aren’t at all a big deal. It doesn’t have to make sense for you.”

“Well, does it make even a lick of sense to you, sweetheart?” he counters. “You’re marryin’ him because he loves you in his own special way? Is that it?”

You pull away from him roughly, sniffling and reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table. “Michael, stop being mean.”

“This whole conversation, sweetheart, not once did you stop me by just saying that you love him.”

Freezing at his words, you shut your eyes tightly. With your hands trembling, you press the crumpled up tissue to your chest, letting the tears fall. Makeup be damned. No, you couldn’t say that to him. Because that would be a lie. No, it’s not that you didn’t love Charles. Just maybe, you couldn’t do it completely. Not when you knew there was always someone else who would treat you and love you better.

And in spite of your dire need to say just that to the man behind you, your mouth stays shut. It’s not the right time anymore. It never has been, apparently.

“I can give you everything you need, you know this,” he hoarsely says. “Just tell me you love him and I’ll leave you alone.”

Charles is… he’s a guy you know what you’re going to get when you’re with him. There’s in it the stability and the predictability of everything. Your family likes him well enough. His family loves you. After Michael was gone from your life, he was the next person you’d always imagined spending most of your time with. It’s not the same, nothing will ever be, but it was good enough.

You muster up the courage to turn around, revealing your tear stricken face to him. Michael lets out a low whine, coming up to you and wiping your tears with his thumb. Pressing soft kisses against your head, he whispers to you again. “Sweetheart, please…”

“Mike…” is all you could say, slowly shaking your head, making his insides crash and break into a million pieces.

His heart aches with every breath he takes, staring into your eyes that are so defeated, so confused and helpless. Michael takes a moment. Tracing the bridge of your nose, your nose warming up from the sniffles, the apples of your cheeks, the little forsaken scar on it. The one that he’d caused all those years ago. Leaning in, he presses a small kiss on the scar, lingering there and drowning himself with your scent for five seconds before pulling away completely.

The room is once again silent, only filled by sounds of crying and sharp intakes of breath. Michael stares at you, and flickers his gaze to your dress. He stares at your dress hard, internally cursing at everything when yet again, it’s reminiscent of the former dress you wore for that date the night of the fight, and the dress you wore to his homemade prom years before that.

It seems to him that the universe is mockingly cruel. The most beautiful woman he’s loved for most of his life is standing right in front of him, and she’s to be wed to another in a matter of a few minutes.

A knock comes onto the door.

“Rosy girl, no idea why those girls sent me to get you but, uh…” Marlon clears his throat. “It’s almost time.”

Michael lets out a heavy sigh. His posture weakens, deflates. With resignation in his movements and in his gaze, he leans in once more, to briefly kiss your temple. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” he whispers brokenly. “I’m so…” he swallows, “I’m so proud of you.”

A sob escapes you, and he hushes quietly. Hand reaching up to softly pat your cheek, he murmurs under his breath, gazing into your eyes intensely. “Stop that cryin’, hm? You’re gonna be great. If you say he loves you, then it is so.”

Pulling apart from his hold felt like pulling apart half of your soul. And the thing is, you didn’t even know that part of you still exists. The presence of him within only a few minutes, has reawakened it, just for everything to be torn away by your own doing. The heartburn you’re experiencing is unlike any other, and seeing that haunted look on his face? It tells you he’s suffering just as much, if not more than you.

You hate yourself for walking away. You hate yourself more when you see Marlon looking at his brother from your peripheral vision, his face stricken with sympathy. When the brother heads inside and closes the door, and a muffled sob is heard through the wood, you think this is what it’s like to have yourself destroyed.

-

That night, Michael doesn’t move from his bed. The whiplash of everything happening in less than a day, his emotions took a hard toll. He sees you in his visions. The slow walk down the aisle, how hard you tried to avoid his eye contact during the officiating ceremony. Some sick part of him was intently praying for you to come to your senses and he could take you right out of that altar, spending the rest of the day rediscovering things about each other.

But that didn’t happen. The whole wedding went well, and so did the reception afterwards. Save for pitying looks from his family, Michael was crowded with strangers asking questions about his life. Some were even asking how he knew you.

That angry younger Michael would have made a face, telling anyone and everyone that he’s your best friend, first and foremost person in your life. Your forever friend. With that being said, he’s now older and is always expected to act like an adult.

“I’m an old family friend,” is what he’d end up saying, and the insides of him would churn at the lack of emotional history in that regard. To reduce the years they shared to something old, and distant. He wanted to go home right then and there.

He’s long stopped crying since that time in the dressing room, Marlon having to comfort him and talk slowly with him. He’s long stopped trying to think of any way to get you to snap out of it. He’s trying to embrace the fact that maybe, just maybe, you were right. It’s not the right time. It probably never will be, if that damned man makes you so happy.

He had the chance, and he blew it. The same goes for you too. Bunch of idiots, you two were.

All of a sudden, Janet opens his door slightly, peeking her head through. “Mike? Telephone for you.”

With tiredness of a man who’s been through hell, and in his head he actually was put through his own personal version of it, he gets up from the bed and follows Janet out the door. Heading down the stairs, he doesn’t notice Janet’s look and reaches for the landline.

“Hello?”

He hears a shaky breath from the other side of the line and his heart skips a beat.

As silence grows, so does his anticipation. Could it be? His body trembles with trepidation, and he presses the handset harder against his ear, afraid he’d be missing out on any words being spoken.

A sniffle.

“I made a huge mistake, didn’t I?” your heavenly voice comes from the telephone transmitter.

Michael gasps softly, almost collapsing against the wall with awe and relief. Holding back a sob, he manages out a broken ‘Sweetheart’ before the other line continues to sniffle.

And all he could see in his vision then, is you in that dress of yours, this time finally heading his way.

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