𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞
strict father, emotional tension, family pressure, angst, comfort
-author’s note (A/N): this is my first fanfic 🩷
it might be a little amateur, but i really wanted to write it.
if you have any fanfic ideas, please feel free to share them — i’ll try my best to write them, and it would genuinely make me really happy.
your comments mean a lot to me 🌸
The Jackson house looked warm from the outside.
Soft porch lights, quiet music, a home that looked like it belonged to a happy family.
But the moment you stepped inside, the feeling changed.
Just… like the air itself became heavier.
Michael closed the door behind you gently.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just… different here.”
He gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
And that already told you something was wrong.
Because Michael was never this careful around you.
In the studio, he was full of life — talking fast, laughing, humming melodies before they even existed. He would grab your hand just to make you listen to a rhythm he couldn’t get out of his head.
“Mom made too much food again,” he said, trying to sound normal.
Before you could answer, a voice came from the hallway.
Everything shifted instantly.
His body straightened. His hands stopped moving. His gaze dropped.
You felt it before you saw it — the tension in the room tightening like a string.
Joseph Jackson stood there.
No smile. No warmth. Just eyes that measured everything.
“You got rehearsal tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael answered immediately.
Michael swallowed. “I practiced today.”
Even the TV in the background felt quieter now.
Michael tried again, softer this time.
“I just wanted her to come for dinner.”
Joseph’s eyes moved to you.
It made your skin feel cold.
“She know what kind of work this is?”
You spoke carefully. “I know you work very hard—”
“Hard ain’t enough,” he cut you off.
Joseph suddenly turned back to him.
“Show me the choreography.”
“Right now?” you whispered.
Michael didn’t answer you.
He just stepped into the living room.
But his body moved like music was there anyway.
Perfect. Controlled. Exhausted.
Every movement looked trained, repeated, sharpened by years of expectation.
Like a kid trying not to fail.
Michael stopped instantly.
No hesitation. No argument.
Your hands tightened slightly without you noticing.
Because nobody in the room was stopping it.
And that silence hurt more than the words.
Finally, Joseph turned away.
The second he left, the air changed.
Like the house could finally breathe again.
Michael stayed frozen in place for a moment.
“I’m fine,” he said before you could even speak.
“You don’t have to say that.”
He looked away. “It’s normal.”
“No,” you said softly. “It’s just normal for you. That’s different.”
For the first time, he actually looked at you.
Not the stage version of him.
A boy standing in the middle of a living room that never really felt like home.
“You think I’m weak?” he asked quietly.
The question hit harder than anything Joseph had said.
“No,” you answered immediately.
“You’re not weak,” you said. “You’re just tired of never being allowed to be anything else.”
His breath caught slightly.
Outside, rain started tapping against the windows.
He sat down slowly on the couch.
Close enough that your shoulders touched.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
You turned your head slightly toward him.
“I didn’t come here for your father.”
Something in him softened.
A real smile appeared on his face this time — small, tired, but real.
“You really hear everything, huh?” he whispered.
And for the first time that night…
Michael looked like he could finally breathe.
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
romaincrisis
