SYNOPSIS: you're alone in your apartment unwinding after a long week, having a glass of wine as you watch a random show on your television when you hear a knock on your door. to your surprise, it's your ex, michael, who you haven't seen or talked to in two years.
CONTENT: angst, reader and michael are exes but obviously still in love with each other, reader is a journalist, historyera!michael, michael is married to lisa marie presley, cheating is involved, ...it's just sad
AUTHOR'S NOTE: as u can see by the title i got this idea when i was listening to the song. and also 'lover, you should've come over' by jeff buckley was an inspiration as well so yeah no u get the gist that this is gonna be very angsty :') it's my first time writing angst in a while so bear with me! feel free to send any suggestions in my asks, im always wanting to improve my writing :)
WORD COUNT: 4,245 (she's a lil long...)
It was past midnight when you were lounging in your living room watching a random soap opera on your television as you swirled around a glass of wine in your right hand. You had been looking forward to a night like this after a long week of writing articles, doing interviews, and researching for a project that had been assigned to you. Though you were used to the workload, it definitely still took a toll on you both physically and mentally.
That’s why you sat there on your couch, robe on, hair down, and the bottle of cheap wine on your coffee table already half-empty. You reach up to scratch at your neck and wince slightly when you nudge at the fresh hickey that you forgot was there. Right. You did have someone over before you kicked them out after you found out they had no idea what they were doing. Hook ups weren’t really your thing, but it’s something that you’ve started doing after the amount of stress you’ve been going through, though no one seemed to satisfy you as you needed.
Well.
No one seemed to satisfy you as he did.
As if able to read your thoughts, the soap opera you were watching went into commercial. But not just any commercial.
‘A snippet of the King of Pop’s new music video, ‘You Are Not Alone’! Starring his wife, Lisa Marie Presley!’
Your hand tightened around the wine glass you were holding as you watch the scenes unfold. They looked so relaxed, so sweet, so happy. It irked at you how affected you were by all of this. You don’t usually hold grudges, but the one you held for Michael was heavy. Maybe it was because he left you without a word. Maybe it was because you were with him for six years of your life and he refused to ever talk to you about marriage. Maybe it was the fact that he married Lisa the second he was able to, when you waited for him for so long.
As you felt the frustration in you build up, you picked up the remote to turn the television off. “And now it’s time for bed,” you mutter to yourself, downing the remaining wine in your glass before standing up and taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. You start cleaning up around the living room, picking up the half-empty wine bottle and screwing the cap back on before you head to your kitchen to wash your used glass. You needed a good night’s rest. You weren’t about to let a man control your emotions tonight.
However, as you placed the wine glass on the rack, there was a knock on your front door. You glance up at the wall clock in the kitchen and furrowed your brows. What the hell is someone doing here knocking on your door at almost one in the morning?
Intruder. That was your first thought. Someone has come to kidnap you. You open one of your kitchen drawers and take a knife out before slowly walking to your front door. There was a knock again, this time a little louder. When you reach the door, you tighten your grip on the knife as you look out the peephole.
It was a man in a hoodie; he was looking down at his shoes so you couldn’t see his face. You watch as he raises a hand to knock again.
“Who are you and what do you want?” You call out.
The man then looks up and you almost drop your knife in shock.
“…It’s Michael, can we talk?”
You pause for a second, debating on whether or not to open the door. You shouldn’t. You really should tell him to fuck off and go home because no way is he going to come back to your life like this after two years of no contact. You contemplate on just walking away and turning the lights off, leaving him there. Maybe even turn the porch lights off as well so he really gets the message.
But then he calls out your name,
“Please? I- I just wanna talk to you… and it’s really cold out here.”
Fuck.
You give in and open the door.
And there he was in all his glory stood on your front porch, hoodie thrown over his head, hands in his pockets. You could see the surprise on his face when you actually open the door, as if he didn’t expect you to actually do it.
He opens his mouth to speak, “He-”
“What are you doing here?”
His mouth closes when you cut him off. He swallows, looking around in nervousness before he inhales deeply and replies, “I wanted to see you.”
There’s a silence, save for the crickets chirping in the dead of night. Neither of you speaking as you stare at him, studying. You let out a deep sigh as your eyebrows furrow, your annoyance only heightening at what he said. Michael notices this and looks down at his shoes, feeling slightly small at the intensity of your stare.
He speaks up as he looks back up at you, “Listen-”
But you cut him off again, “You’ve got some nerve.” You pause for a moment and a scoff escapes you. “You’ve got some nerve coming here after what you did.” You say as you lean against the doorframe.
Michael sighs, “I know but just- please hear me out.” He shifts his posture and his eyes trail over you, stopping when he sees the knife in your hand. “…What do you have that for?”
You look back down at what you have in your hand and look back up at him. “Well, genius, no one usually goes up to knock on people’s houses at one in the morning so I thought someone was trying to break in,” you explain.
He frowns, his face turning into one of realization and contrition. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yeah? Well can you stop stalling and get back to the conversation?”
He nods, looking back down at his shoes. But the cold weather outside was really making him more uncomfortable than he already was so he asks, “…Can I come inside first? It’s cold.”
You sigh, stepping aside to give him space. “Fine. But I’m only doing this because I don’t want any of your fans spotting you and storming my house.”
“Thank you.”
He steps in and pulls the hood on his head off once you close the door behind him. You watch as he stands there, looking around the room. It’s odd to have him in your home after being apart for so long. When the two of you were together, he opted to come to you, instead of you to him. Of course, he’d disguise himself whenever he did because he didn’t want the media to pester you. He also rarely made you go to his ranch because then again, the press would always be there waiting. He had a thing for never making your relationship public. But for some reason from your perspective, he didn’t feel that way with Lisa.
You walk towards the kitchen and Michael’s head immediately snaps to your direction. “Where you going?”
“Just putting this back,” you say, raising the knife that you took earlier. He nods, gnawing on his bottom lip.
When you return, you lean against the back of our couch and cross your arms. “So?”
He takes a deep breath before saying, “I want to apologize.”
You scoff almost automatically, shaking your head. “Wow. And you only thought to do that after two years?”
“Listen-”
“You thought, ‘oh I should apologize to her and go up to her house in the middle of the goddamn night’ after leaving me like that?”
“Please, I-”
“You made poor Bill get up and drive you out-”
“I drove myself-”
“And you somehow think it’s okay for you to-”
“Are you gonna let me speak?” He raises his voice.
You pause, going quiet. You know only ever raises his voice like that when he’s anxious and frustrated. You raise your hands slightly in surrender, pushing off of the couch and moving to stand directly in front of him. Crossing your arms again, you say, “Alright fine talk.”
He sighs, his hand raising up to rub on his forehead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I’m just…” He brings his other hand up and scratches at his eyes before dragging both hands down. “I messed up really bad.”
You purse your lips together, trying your best not to say something snarky. Despite your immense anger and frustration at the moment, you still wanted to hear what he had to say because after everything he had done, he owes you at least an explanation.
You watch as he takes a deep breath and exhales before he goes, “I was stupid! I- I was inconsiderate and insensitive and- and it keeps me up at night that I hurt you like that- that I did that to you because you didn’t deserve any of it!” As he explains himself, he starts pacing across the room. His eyes start to wander around, stopping from object to object frantically before finally landing on you.
“I shouldn’t have been so… so selfish and- and…” his agitated explanation slowly comes to a stop when his eyes land on a spot on your neck. Shit. The hickey.
“…Are you with someone?”
Your hand instinctively comes up to your neck, your face heating up slightly. “Is that any of your business?” you retort. You watch as Michael’s brows furrow in irritation. You knew he got jealous easily. When you two were together, you often noticed the way he would pout and how his mood would shift if other men would so much as even look in your direction. What you didn’t understand was why he was still like this even after years of no contact. He was married for god’s sake!
“It is my business.”
“Oh my god, Michael, it’s been years.”
“It’s barely been two.”
“You’re married!”
His mouth immediately closes at that and you let out an exasperated sigh, raising a hand up to your forehead to soothe an incoming headache. Looking back up at him, you ask, “Does she even know you’re here?” When you’re met with an uncomfortable silence and him shifting awkwardly from where he stood, you knew the answer. Frustratedly, you add, “Michael, what are you doing?”
He laughs in disbelief. God. Even he’s clueless about what’s happening. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He calls out your name, “I don’t know what it is about you but I can’t… I just can’t get you out of my head.”
“Oh my god, no…” You turn away from him and start to pace. Your head is starting to pound. You shouldn’t have answered the door. You shouldn’t have let him in. You should have told him off and cursed at him. Why was he doing this to you now after everything?
He follows after you. “Please, look at me.”
“I can’t.”
He calls your name out again, “I can’t do it. I can’t live without you. I can’t- I miss you- I miss you so much it hurts. You’re all I’ve ever thought about these past years. Even- even when I’m with her, it’s you I think about. Sometimes I can’t even look her in the eye because all I see is you!”
“Fuck, Michael!” You’re yelling now and it makes him stop. You turn and try your hardest to look him in the eye and when you do it almost breaks you apart. He looks so tired, so desperate. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just forgive him like that. “You can’t- you can’t just say shit like that!” You pause, placing a hand on your chest as you attempt to control your breathing.
“I know it sounds insane-”
“It’s not just insane, Michael, it’s wrong!”
“I know that! You think I don’t know that?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like you do!” You bury your hands in your hair and close your eyes for a moment as you feel your frustration rising. “Oh my god, I feel like I’m going crazy,” you mutter, turning away from him again, bringing your hands back down to hug yourself, rubbing on your arms.
You hear him say your name again, his footsteps approaching you. “Please, just-” he starts. You feel him place his hand on your arm and immediately jerk away.
“Don’t touch me.”
You hear him shift away from you and sigh. It’s quiet now, the only sounds you could hear was the faint ticking of the clock and each other’s breathing. The air was so thick with tension, you could almost cut it with a knife. Neither one of you spoke for a long while. You honestly didn’t know what to do anymore. Should you should kick him out and finish off that half-empty bottle of wine? Probably. That was the most logical thing to do at the moment.
But this is Michael Jackson. The man you loved for six years of your life, the man who held you when things got rough, the man who understood you the most. And because of this, a part of you could not seem to let him go. Part of you was still holding onto what’s left of him and wanted him to stay despite the grudge you held for his actions. It angers you. You’re supposed to be mad at this man and yet here you were, contemplating on whether or not to let him back into your life.
“You know what just drives me nuts?” You ask, your back still turned to him. There’s no answer, but you know he’s listening. “The fact that I waited for you… for so long… to ask me to marry you and you never did. Instead, I wake up one day with a fucking note taped to my pillow like I’m some one-night stand.” You turn this time to take a look at him. He had his head down of course. He couldn’t look you in the eye right now.
You scoff, wiping a tear that had fallen down your cheek. You didn’t even notice that you started crying. You continue, “And then a year later, I see on the goddamn news that you got married!” you laughed, but there was no humor present. “You were flaunting it too! Oh my god you both looked so happy… that kiss on MTV? She’s even in your new music video!” You sniffled, bringing your hands up to wipe at your face.
You cleared your throat and took a deep breath. “What the fuck did I do wrong, Mike?”
At that, he raises his head almost instantly and opens his mouth to protest, “You didn’t-”
“Cause all this time I’ve been thinking that I must’ve done something wrong if- if you didn’t wanna marry me and married Lisa the second you could. You went public with her too… that wasn’t something you wanted to do with me either.”
Michael shakes his head frantically. “That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”
“Well then, what the fuck?” you question, completely exasperated and desperate for answers.
He looks down at the floor and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. His heart was beating way too fast and emotions were running high. When he looks back at you, you notice how his eyes had gone glassy. “I was a coward, alright? I-” his voice breaks. He swallows, sniffling. “You were doing so well in your career and I- I didn’t wanna ruin that for you by going public because god knows what the press would’ve done to you.”
Your brows furrow in annoyance. “I knew the consequences, Michael.”
He shakes his head slowly, “You don’t understand. You don’t know how harsh the media is, especially to a woman. They could take hits at me and say whatever they wanted about me but I couldn’t let that happen to you.” He steps forward and you notice the way his hands twitch to reach out and touch you, but he restrains himself.
“The things they would’ve said about you… a journalist dating the King of Pop… I could already see all the tabloids and stories they’d make up.”
“Who cares though?” You blurt out, irritated.
“I care,” he says sternly. “Your career would’ve been ruined before it even started. You had so much ahead of you and I was right. I saw and read all your articles, all your interviews, and they’re all incredible.” He says with conviction. It was true that your success as a journalist skyrocketed months after the break-up. It was then that you had started getting calls from agencies to write articles and do interviews for them. But still, you needed more answers.
You shrug, crossing your arms. “Okay, let’s say that’s true. Why didn’t you want to protect Lisa from all that, then?”
“Lisa was already well known-”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
He does know. Of course, he knows. You wanted to know why he married her so quickly when he stalled you for so long. He hesitates for a moment before saying, “I… was overcompensating.”
Your face contorts into confusion. “What?”
He gulps and licks his lips out of nervousness. “It’s stupid, I know, but… after I left, I couldn’t get you out of my head no matter what I did so… I tried to… fix it with- with Lisa and…”
You stare at him intently, already feeling another wave of anger building up inside of you. “So, you married her and then what?”
He shakes his head, sighing and putting his head down in shame. “Well obviously it didn’t work.” He gnaws on his bottom lip anxiously.
“Michael, do you realize how messed up that is?”
“I know.”
“She’s probably up wondering where you are right now.”
“I know.”
“What do you even expect from me here?”
He pauses for a second, thinking about what to say and then looks back up at you. “I don’t expect anything from you. But I…” He trails off, looking away to the side. You see him bring a hand up to wipe away a fallen tear on his cheek. He sniffles and you hear him take a short, gasping breath. When he turns back to you, his eyes are red and teary.
“If you could just give me another chance…”
You immediately back away and shake your head, already feeling a wave of tears coming up. “No… no… no…” You begin pacing again as you feel the tears fall, bringing your hands up to cover your face. He follows you, pleading, calling your name.
“Please, I- I’ll fix this, I promise.”
“How? How are you going to fix this, Mike?” You turn to look at him, your watery eyes meeting his own. His hands come up to hold onto your arms, gently rubbing with his thumbs. Your first instinct was to jerk away, but this time, you let him.
“I’ll file for divorce, I’ll leave her, I- I’ll do whatever it takes, love. Just- just… I’ll make this right, I swear it.” He says, desperation evident in his voice. You try to ignore the way your heart jumps at the nickname. The nickname he used to call you when things were different. It’s crazy how it still affects you that way, even when he’s pleading for you to forgive him and give him another chance.
But you can’t do it. Everything about this was wrong. He’s betraying his wife that you know loves him dearly, for you, his former lover that he never seemed to get over. And it pains you because as much as you want to take him back, and as much as you know that you still love him, you have your own self-respect. You couldn’t settle for this. You couldn’t settle to be a third-party to their relationship while he figured out a solution for this. More importantly, you couldn’t do that to Lisa knowing that she loved him as much as you did.
“I can’t do this, Michael… She’s gonna be heartbroken.”
“Our marriage was already broken from the beginning.”
“And I don’t want to be a second option!”
“You were never a second option, love.” He brings his hands up to cradle your face. His thumbs gently wiping away the fallen tears on your cheeks. He swallows before saying, “I had a ring ready.”
Your eyes widen in shock and your jaw drops open slightly. “What?”
“I was going to ask you but I was too much of a coward and I’m sorry.” He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment. You were sobbing now, but he made sure to catch all of your tears with his thumbs. “I’m so sorry.” He pulls your head to your chest and wraps his arms around you, one hand reaching up to caress at your hair as you cry.
You raise a fist and hit it against his chest multiple times. It hurts a little, but he accepts it. He knows he deserves it.
“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”
He says your name, taking your fist with one of his hands and cupping your cheek with the other. He stares into your eyes and says, “I love you.”
You wince, shaking your head. “Don’t say that.”
“I love you.”
“Stop it.”
“I love you so much.”
“Michael.”
He calls out your name again. “I’m serious,” he says sternly. He brings his other hand to your other cheek, cradling your face again, gently wiping away your tears even though his own were falling. “You’re the only one I need.” His eyes study you, scanning your features, almost as if he’s trying to burn it into his memory.
And when you look into his eyes all you see is sincerity. You don’t say a word, too mentally exhausted. Instead, you focus on the way he holds you. On the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. It makes you dizzy a little. For a second, it was like you were back in those days when the two of you were happy, but you know this wasn’t going to last.
His eyes drop to your lips and he slowly leans in. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.
He kisses you.
You let him.
His lips are soft, just like how you remembered. He kisses you exactly like how he did years ago. Gentle, tender, a little intense. For a moment, you forget the situation you were in and pull him in by his collar. His hands grasp your waist and the kiss deepens. He walks forward and gently pushes you until your back hits the wall. His tongue slips into your mouth and you invite it. It felt so good. God, it felt so good to feel him like this again.
You whimper; he sighs.
You could still feel your tears falling and you could taste his as you kissed. Eventually, Michael pulls back and plants kisses down your neck. You close your eyes and savor the feeling. You bite your lip when you feel him nibble, holding back a moan.
“Mike-”
But then the guilt settles, Lisa’s face suddenly appearing in your mind. When you realize what was going on, your eyes open wide and you push him off.
He jerks back abruptly, panting. You stare at him for a moment then look down at the floor, spacing out as your hand comes up to cover your mouth once you realize what you’ve done.
Michael has his hands in his hair, clearly in turmoil as he comprehends what just happened.
After a few moments of silence, he speaks up, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say as you shake your head. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Not after this. You bring your hands to your arms and hug yourself, suddenly feeling cold at the absence of his warmth.
It was quiet in the room again, neither one of you having the courage to speak. There was no coming back from this anymore. You had to live with it. Live with the guilt.
Eventually, you speak,
“I think you should go.”
Michael looks up at you in longing. He still had so much he wanted to say. But nonetheless, he understood. A line was crossed this time and he knew then and there that there wasn’t a chance anymore. So, he relents and nods.
“Yeah.”
Slowly, he walks towards your front door. You stay where you are, still processing what just happened. You try your best not to look at him again because you just know you’ll pull him right back in. You’re crying again, sobbing as you bury your face in your hands.
He hears you as he reaches for the doorknob and it takes everything in him to not look back and run to you. He pauses for a moment at the door, hand gripping the doorknob tightly. He debates whether he’s making the right decision leaving. But he knows how much he’s hurt you, especially now. He knew he’d cause more damage if he went back.
The media continues to capitalize on an innocent black man, while all the true criminals are white men in power. Pointing their fingers at everyone but the actual guilty people while profiting off of innuendo and dramatiziced lies. All they have is speculation and controversy, no hard evidence…and they continue to use that for views. The “Michael being a child abuser” allegations have become a business in it itself and I’ll never stop defending him from the greedy systems that just want a paycheck. And FUCK Netflix.
you give Jaafar a taste of his own medicine - taking a candid picture
It’s a habit he’s had since you’d gotten together, and it’s been such a constant you can’t remember when it all started. It made you feel too exposed at first, an uncomfortable sort of feeling spreading across your skin the first time Jaafar flipped his phone around to show you the picture he took, your smiling face filling the screen. Your eyes were squinted closed and your cheek were squished with the force of your smile, and at first you hated it so much you wanted him to delete it.
But then you saw his face, how he looked at the picture like it was something precious, something he wanted to remember forever, so instead of pleading with him to delete it, you kissed him on the cheek.
Since then, the candid pictures of you have been almost nonstop, and it doesn’t invoke that same embarrassed sort of feeling it once did. You went so long without having someone who cares about you as much as Jaafar, who wants to remember every single moment you spend together and for some reason, can never resist snapping a picture when he thinks you’re especially beautiful.
His camera roll is full to the brim with pictures of you. There are the candids he loves so much, but there are also more posed pictures of you, where the view or your outfit pop, and there are pictures of the two of you together, quick selfies and pictures taken by friends. At this point, it’s practically a shrine to you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Even with so many to choose from, Jaafar still has his favorites. There’s the one taken by a friend of yours, the background dark and blurry and your outfits slightly out of focus, but he has his arms wrapped around your waist from behind and his head hooked over your shoulder, and even through the dim lighting it’s obvious that you’re leaning back against him. He doesn’t think there’s ever been a better photo, he can practically feel the adoration through the screen, so he makes the picture his background so he sees it every time he looks at his phone.
The one he set as your contact photo is a candid he’d taken on one of your first dates. Your laughing, head tilted back and your hand halfway reaching towards him, either to grab his hand or take the phone from him. Either way, it makes him grin whenever he sees it.
There are pictures of you in the kitchen, rumbled from sleep with a spatula in your hand, pancakes on the stove just out of frame. There’s one of you in a nice restaurant, the lighting all golden as you cross your arms on the table and lean forward, tilting your head with a soft smile. There are some taken from across the room, when he’d been watching from the corner of his eye as you chatted with friends and you looked so angelic he couldn’t resist.
You’d think, with all of those pictures of you weighing down his camera roll, that he’d expect some retaliation.
The first time you did it, you were both spread out on towels on the beach, the sun drying you off. You’d picked up your phone to look at the time, but then you caught sight of Jaafar, hair damp and skin glistening with sea water, and he looked so relaxed and at peace you couldn’t resist. He didn’t notice, eyes closed against the force of the sun, and in that moment, you suddenly understood why he could never resist taking a picture of you.
For weeks afterwards, you kept looking back at the picture like it was something precious, something rare and priceless. You just love him so much, it’s like some otherworldly force compels you to commit every aspect of him to memory, every moment you share stored away somewhere when it can never be forgotten. And those little off guard pictures certainly help with that.
He catches on soon after, though, when you’re not nearly as sly as you were the first time. He’s grinning at something you said across the table, ice cream melting in between you, and before you can even really think about it, you’re lifting your phone to snap a picture.
“What’re you doing?” He asks, grin morphing into a confused sort of smile.
“Taking a picture,” you say simply, closing your phone and sliding it back in your bag, reaching for your spoon again.
“Why?” He can’t seem to wrap his head around it, can’t understand that you’re moved by the same forces that he is.
“Cause you look so pretty.” When you look up at him, he’s got his face buried in his hands as if you’ve revealed some embarrassing secret.
“You can’t just say things like that,” he mutters into his hands before dropping them onto his lap, “delete that.”
“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ sound, a grin coming across your own face, “I’m gonna print it out and frame it.”
“Don’t,” his protest is weak, shyness running through the word.
“Why not? You do it to me,” you’re teasing, mostly, just to watch Jaafar squirm under your attention. With how shy he gets, you’d think he’s never received a compliment before in his life. You could spend hours singing his praise, and every single time, you’d get the same bashful reaction.
“It’s not the same,” he grumbles, and he knows it’s a weak complaint. He raises his eyes back to you, and you’re still grinning, standing firm on your choice. Seeing you look so happy, so proud of yourself, he can’t even pretend to be upset anymore, even if the force of your attention makes his chest feel constricted. He relents with a smile, and you lean across the table to kiss him, soft and quick.
No matter how many times he catches you taking a picture of him, his reaction is always the same. You wonder if he knows how much it eggs you on.
thank you so much for asking for this little continuation @aangelfface ugh this is so cutieeeeeee
