me cuz im abt to write angst with a KINDA happy ending BASED ON Beyoncés version of I’d rather go blind by Etta James (let’s pretend she wrote it for the stories sake) hehehe
Continuation of part 1 ♡︎…p.s this one’s a longg one so buckle up.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚-
As the door widens you make sure there’s enough space between Michael and you, not too suspicious not too anything.
Your boyfriend walked into the room stopping as he took a glance between you two. There’s a tension there that could be felt from miles away.
“What’s going on here?” He asked as he motioned in between the two of you. Looking like kicked puppies who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“I-” before you attempted to respond Michael took a step forward and spoke.
“I came to talk to her. I had some things I wanted to say”, his voice firm and collected.
You glanced between them two, your body heat rising as you didn’t know just how much he was going to share.
Your boyfriend raised his eyebrows. “Yeah,like what?”, he asked as his gaze went to you. Your heart feeling trapped.
Michael simply responded. “Private things, she knows.” He turned to look at you, giving you a little nod letting you know it’ll all be okay. He could sense your worry.
“Yeah well she’s my girl, I don’t need anyone paying her visits to talk about private things” , your boyfriend mocked as he let out a bitter chuckle.
‘my girl’. The phrase sending Michael a sharp spike of jealousy through his chest, a different look entered his eyes.
“Is she?” Michael asked, it was so blunt and with a very obvious tone behind it. You quickly looked at him. oh gosh.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Michael’s jaw tensed as he took a step closer to him. “Is she really your girl?-or do you just like owning that title?” The words slipped out his mouth with no hesitation.
Your eyes widen as you tug on his arm and bring him closer to you. “Michael..”
Your boyfriend stood in disbelief.
He scoffed as anger flashes across his face, he stepped up to you and grabbed you harshly by the arm. “You got something you wanna tell me?” He spit out.
Michael tugged his arm away from you as he forcefully shoved him away. “Get the hell off her-don’t touch her like that.” His composure no longer calm as he saw the way he grabbed you.
“…What did you tell her, hmm?, Promise her a brand new life with you or what?” Your boyfriend bickered with a twisted scowl on his face.
Michael scoffed stepping closer to him, but covering you keeping you behind him, safely.
“I don’t have to promise her anything, that’s the thing.”
“All those nights you leave her all alone..guess who she turns to, hmm?” Michael spoke out with such confidence and composure that it made your head spin.
You could see the familiar look that was taking over your boyfriend’s face as he heard those words. You feared what he may do next so you hurriedly grabbed Michael and faced him to you. “Please, let me talk to him. I don’t want this to go any further..please ” you murmured.
He looked at you, his expression relaxed as he took in the worry in your demeanor. “I can’t leave you alone with him.”
“I don’t trust him” he simply spoke.
You lightly shook your head. “Please Michael, I’ll be okay-I need to do this the right way.” You assured him.
He sighed heavily before giving you a soft nod. “Promise you’ll call?”. His eyes looked at you with that glint of hope and plead-fullness.
“I promise.”
He gave a look to your boyfriend before heading out, he wanted to say so much more. Tell him all the all the questions. He wanted to know how he managed to mess up the most delicate thing life had blessed him with.
Before stepping out the door he looked at you once more, he didn’t want to leave you alone. With him. You gave him a nod to reassure him, you wanted a one on one with your boyfriend. A mature conversation was needed.
You looked down as you tried collecting yourself.
“That’s what it’s been about,huh?”
“Finally caved into him?”, His words spit out like venom, as he came closer to you.
“Stop. Don’t put this whole blame onto me.” you spoke to him as you backed up yet maintained composure. “We barely even see each other anymore, you know it” you tell him, the tears in your eyes threatening to fall.
“We’ve gone over this before y/n, it’s work.”
You scoffed, “so work calls you at three in the morning?”
His jaw clenched. He opened his mouth but he got troubled upon what to say.
“Don’t think i haven’t noticed, you’ve gone cold. These past few months..I don’t even know who I’m dating anymore.” your voice broke.
“I don’t either..explain to me what he said. You go to him when I’m not here, what the hell is that supposed to mean, huh?” He bitterly said, the dark look in his eyes right in front of you.
You closed your eyes and sighed. “It’s not like that, it’s never been like that.”
“We just simply called.”
You started slightly raising your tone as you got frustrated. “What more can I do?, you leave me alone for days on end with no explanation. Not at least one call throughout the day to tell me you’re okay, nothing.”
“So yes I go to him, because he’s always there. Even though he gets overworked, busy, travels—he somehow makes time for me, without me having to ask.” you say as you take a seat. Looking down at your hands.
A few beats of silence.
“…We’re done. This relationship is over.” you simply murmured as you mustered up the courage to look up at him.
He sharply let out a laugh. “Just like that, right?”
“So you can finally have an excuse to go with him.”
You looked at him, your eyes tired with sleep and frustration. “Say whatever you want to say, I’m not discussing this anymore.” your voice exhausted at his actions.
His gaze burned holes through your head. His character filled with pent up anger it made you feel uneasy.
“You can leave now. Leave my key on the counter.” You stated as you motioned over to the kitchen counter. He bitterly nodded. Reaching into his pocket and throwing the key onto the table, his breathing was ragged. Angry. The look in his eyes scared you, it wasn’t the guy who you once liked. It felt like he was someone else entirely.
Your eyes began to burn with hurt.
“This isn’t over yet.” He walked over to you, he grabbed you by the arm harshly.
“Good luck finding someone who will put up with you. Don’t get shocked when they get bored of you.” His words spit out, your heart breaking at his words.
The hurt in your eyes became impossible to hide.
“As for Michael, what makes you think he’d choose you. The guy has thousands of chicks in every city, you think he’d settle for you?” He laughed in your face.
The tears began to fall from your face unwillingly. Embarrassment and a wave of insecurity took over your entire body. You felt weak and powerless as you stared at him. He kept on going, saying words that only degraded you.
You stopped listening as your mind stayed on his last sentences.
‘you think he’d settle for you?’
He was right. Michael had many beautiful girls that were after him, in every single town, city, state. All around the world there was someone else who he could love. Why would he choose you?
The amount of hurt that was taking over your body was unbearable.
As you got stuck in your head, you missed the way he let go of your arm and headed out the door. Slamming it shut. You stayed frozen, looking forward. A blank expression on your face, as you tried to collect yourself.
You took a seat and broke down. All the harsh words hitting you at once, replaying over and over again. Hot tears painting your face. You felt betrayed by the pain that was taunting you.
You didn’t know how long went by. Standing up and heading to your bedroom, avoiding looking into the mirror. Your eyes felt heavy, your heart was aching.
Walking into the room, you glanced at the telephone. You knew you should’ve called Michael, let him know you’re okay. That you are no longer in the relationship that he so disliked.
But as you stared at the phone, your ex’s words kept repeating constantly inside your mind.
More tears fell as you tucked yourself into bed. You wondered and wondered. Why?. That night you barely slept, kept turning and turning, the pain in your chest made it impossible to sleep.
Michael took over your mind, you didn’t call. You felt embarrassed too. He could find so much better than you, you didn’t want to hold him back. As much hurt as that brought onto you.
His confession, his beautiful words that he had given you slipped away as the words from your ex overcame them like a dark horrible storm.
It was a fog of confusion and pain you wanted to escape.
𝜗ৎ—
You watched as the sunrise came flowing through the sky. The light beaming through your windows bringing you some warmth.
Your tired puffy eyes from crying all night felt heavy. You laid there taking in deep breaths, closing your eyes.
As you closed your eyes, Michael popped into your head. Not like he ever left it either way. But still you found your heart calling out for him.
That previous night, Michael stayed by the telephone. Attached to it really, waiting for your call. His leg moving impatiently as he worried.
He didn’t want to leave you. Especially after seeing the way that guy had grabbed you, it messed with him so badly. But after seeing the worry in your eyes and telling him to leave, he listened.
He just wanted to know you were alright. As the night went on and the phone didn’t ring. He didn’t push, he simply gave you the time. When you were ready you’d call, he’d repeat to himself.
As his eyes gave up on him, he fell asleep on the couch.
When the morning came by he didn’t know what to do with himself, he wanted to reach that telephone and call you so badly. Drive over to you. Anything just to see you, to know you’re safe.
But he knew it might’ve came out as too clingy of him, so he held back. He grew impatient as the day went on, the sunset had begun to fall and still not a word from you.
-
Your head was pounding as you woke up, unaware that you had actually fallen asleep you see as the sunrise had passed and now was replaced with the beautiful sunset that softly illuminated the sky.
You stayed seated for a while as all the memories of last night flashed through your mind.
The heaviness of your heart seemed to have bought a slot in your heart to stay there forever. It was a burden for your body to carry that like it was nothing.
All those nasty words that came from your ex made you question everything. A part of you wanted to ignore it so badly, but a stronger part of you just couldn’t.
As you stared at the wall you decided to get ready, you felt suffocated inside the walls of your own home. You grabbed your keys and drove as you let your mind wander.
As you drove the sky got darker, the air became less warmer bringing in the cold night breeze . You rolled your windows down and took in some air. It felt as if you couldn’t breathe properly as your body ached inside.
The music played softly as you arrived at your favorite spot in town.
It was far away from all the chaos but close enough that you didn’t feel too far from home. It gave you the perfect view of all the lights across the buildings, but the night sky flowed with ease on top of it all.
Stepping out the car, leaving the music playing softly in the background, you open the back door to get a fluffy blanket. You closed the door gently as you made your way to the spot in the ground, laying the blanket just in the right position for you to lay down and look at the sky and ponder.
The inside of your head had seemed to finally take a pause and enjoy the moment, not think about the past. Or rather last night, and the months leading up to it.
The funny part was, it’s not like you were upset about the break up. In fact you were relieved. Happy even, but it’s the words that got you. Did he really mean them?
It stung in a way you just couldn’t erase.
You begun thinking about Michael. He talked about and to you like you were this perfect person. And now you couldn’t help but think that he’s got it all wrong. Maybe he would get bored of you, and yes he did have lots of other options. All these things and scenarios crossed your mind, and it left you with the idea that you just weren’t enough for him.
And that’s the part that ached the most. Not your ex boyfriend, not the break up. But the fact you felt like you would never be enough for a loving guy like Michael.
Nearly an hour had gone by, millions of thoughts had passed through you. Each leaving you distraught. The stars adorned the sky gently. You had caught a shooting star flashing across the skies, and it brought a slight smile on your face.
It brought you the memory from the last time you had seen one. It was a summer night, you and Michael were walking home from the movies as he pointed out to the shooting star, excitedly. You both watched in awe, the seconds seeming slow as you both admired it.
“Wish upon the star, wisely” he murmured, a smile on his face as he watched you. As he made his wish.
You quickly made your wish. Then you turned to him, your eyes furrowing at him. “What’d you wish for?” you asked, knowing good and well he wouldn’t say.
He looked at you with a cheeky grin. “Yeah right, like I’d ever tell you.” he spoke. “It’s a wish, silly-can’t say..maybe one day you’ll find out” he murmured as he quickly turned away, the last words barely above a whisper.
“What was that?” you teased.
He chuckled brushing it off. “Forget it.”
You smiled as you thought back to that night.
What you didn’t know is that you had both wished for the same thing that night. The exact wish.
As for this shooting star, you simply wished for whatever step was next for it to be the right one. One that would assure you happiness.
A sense of calmness entered your body. Leaving fate up to the universe, you had hope it would treat you kindly.
Minutes went by, as only the sound of the late night world was heard.
“Did you wish wisely?” a voice came behind you, softly.
You jumped as the sudden voice came, you sat up and looked just above you. He stood, glancing down at you.
“Michael-what, what are you doing here?” you say with a hand on your chest, catching your breath.
He walked closer and took a seat right next to you. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, I just figured you’d be here” he uttered,gently. “Hoped so, at least .” His voice sounded tired.
You stared at him, took in the look on his face. Suddenly feeling the guilt for not calling him like you had promised.
“Sorry for not calling last night.” you stated. Picking at the blanket beneath you. “I feel awful.”
He glanced at you, shaking his head. “Don’t- don’t apologize, i understand. I should be the one apologizing, I’m sorry about last night, i didn’t mean to worry you or have you in that situation.” He spoke with sincerity, then glancing down shutting his eyes.
“I hate the way he grabbed you. I didn’t want to leave you there..I shouldn’t have.” his voice filled with anger and hurt.
You wanted to reach your hand out to him but you held back. “You did nothing wrong, Michael.” You assured him. “And it’s okay, I had to talk to him anyway, had to make sure he’s out of my life for good.” you murmured.
He watched you. Saw the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “So you officially broke up?”, he asked as he waited for your response.
You just simply nodded. “yeah”. You said loud enough for only him to hear.
“Are you not happy about it?”. He asked genuinely curious, carefully processing your expression.
You sighed as you looked down. “I am.” you said as you avoided his gaze, suddenly the words that had been tormenting you the last few hours came back stronger than ever.
Michael noticed your short responses, the way your words fell flat. He felt you distant. “Then what’s that look on your face for, hmm?” He poked your sides, trying to get your attention.
Still avoiding his eyes, you knew if you looked into them you wouldn’t be able to control your emotions. You shrugged as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s just been a lot, I guess” you murmured.
He softly nodded. He let silence calmly sit in between you two. As he observed you, he took in the hurt in your eyes and it pained him, deeply.
“Y/n, you know you can tell me anything..right?” He spoke softly, reassuring.
Lightly stating, “I know.” you spoke to him.
He tried to not push, he really did. But he couldn’t stand the way it felt like you were brushing him off. After a few silent moments, he reached out to gently put your hand in his. His touch brought that comfort you’ve been seeking for.
“Hey, talk to me..please” he pleaded as he guided your head to face him. Finally looking him in the eye, he noticed your eyes went glossy.
“What happened last night- did he hurt you?” His voice filled with worry and fury as he thought back to how you had gotten treated that whole relationship.
You swallowed the tears that crept up. You were tired of feeling weak, not strong enough to face what life threw at you.
Shaking your head you responded, “he was just angry, said some things that I can’t get out my head.” You spoke the truth, just held back on what was picking at you.
The obvious hurt in your voice made a hole in his chest, he scoffed, “Whatever he said, it’s lies. He’ll spit out anything at you just to make you feel bad.” he murmured as his hands cradled yours.
“He’s an awful person that way.” he softly said, holding your gaze.
You took in his words, you didn’t know what to say. You felt pathetic, and you hated it.
As silence filled the air, “please tell me you know that y/n.” His tone firm, really hoping you could see yourself the way he does.
“You’re too nice to me.” you uttered, as you looked down.
He softly chuckled. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing, why would I be any other way?” he asked, but as he saw the way your smile faltered, his did as well.
“Tell me, hmm?” he nudged your shoulder.
You fiddled with your fingers as you looked forward, avoiding his gaze as you prepared to speak. “It’s just..I can’t help but feel like there’s something wrong with me-like my presence isn’t enough for people.” your tone was gray with hurt.
A doleful expression formed across his face as he heard the way you spoke about yourself. “Don’t say that.” he softly spoke as he once again turned your face to look him in the eyes. “..please don’t ever speak about yourself that way.”
He brushed a strand of hair off your face, keeping his hand warm against your skin. “There’s nothing-and I mean nothing wrong with you.” he looked at you so deeply it brought that familiar rush through your chest.
“And you are enough, more than enough actually. Why else you think you’re my favorite person, huh?” he playfully squeezed your thigh, making you let out a smile.
“I’m your favorite person?” you asked, raising your eyebrows, watching as he looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes.
A shy smile took over his face. “f’course you are, you’re my favorite girl to ever walk this earth.”
That brought out a giggle out of you, his expression softened at the sound.
“You’re so corny, sometimes” you tease.
He bites down on his lips, hiding his smile. “Yeahh, you bring out that side of me.” he looks around trying to hide the blush that was creeping up upon his face. “Can’t help it.”
Now it was you who looked at him while he avoided your gaze. A shy smile took over you two.
Suddenly you heard, killing me softly with his song.
The song started playing inside your car, the music softly flowing across the air. Michael then turned to you with a knowing look as he stood up.
Now with sudden confidence he looked down at you as he put his hand out, “share a dance with me?”
You bit back a smile as you stood and took your hand in his. His soft touch, immediately sending a wave of butterflies through your stomach.
A sparkle in his eyes, as a smile stayed on his face. He pulled your body closer to his as you started swaying to the music.
His hands softly against your sides, “I’m crazy about you, y’know that?” he whispered, the words only for you.
Your breath got caught. Eyes gazing up to his, really looking at him this time.
You placed your arms around his neck, “I am too.”
That’s all he needed to confirm, it wasn’t just him that felt that wave pulling him in.
“yeah?” he tempted, a cheeky grin appearing.
The heat of your face shying you away. He noticed and he brushed his thumb against your face, tracing the blush that settled onto your skin.
You nodded briefly, “I always have been, but I know how special our friendship is..I don’t want to ruin that.” you stated, as your smile faltered.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
Michael looked at you delicately, “You don’t ever have to worry about losing me, ever.”
He took your hand in his, guided you towards his heart. “I promise you, whatever happens, you’ll always have me by your side.” he spoke, certain.
He leaned in a bit closer, “and you couldn’t ruin our friendship, exactly because it’s something special. It’ll always be there.” he uttered, assured you.
This time the words really did stick with you, in a positive way. Like a sudden relief came over you.
“You mean that?” you ask,tentatively.
With certainty he responded, “of course I do.”
“i couldn’t imagine losing a girl like you.” he asserted. His voice so smooth, it knocked the air out of your lungs.
You swallowed as you tried to compose yourself. He looked you up and down, enjoying how easily you got flustered.
“Michael..” you brushed him off lightly, as you rolled your eyes.
He faintly chuckled, “I mean it. I seriously do.” as his tone turned more firm.
As you looked down you felt his hands fall down to your waist, pulling you flush against his body.
He didn’t miss the way your body almost silently gasped. Now the space between you two was unnoticeable, the heat radiating from his body was trapping you in the most beautiful way.
You were inches away from his face, his eyes looked into yours, filled with so much loving emotion it pulled at your heart.
He waited a brief moment to see any sign of regret from you, to see if you’d regret it all and pull away. To his relief that moment didn’t arrive, instead you both stood with the tension.
He bit his lip as he slowly began getting nervous, you were his most precious blessing and to have you in front of him like this sent him head over heels.
Your gaze flickered down to his lips briefly, the urge to for once know how they’d feel against yours.
And suddenly, as that spark took over his eyes he spoke, just above a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”
Your gaze softened as your heart jumped, “Do you even have to ask?” you teased.
That boyish smile appeared on his face, he lifted your chin up with his finger, looking you deep in the eyes before leaning in completely.
His lips were on yours, so softly.
It felt as if the world had paused as his lips moved against yours, so naturally. He then held your face as he deepened the kiss, craving more of you.
When you needed to catch your breath you both smiled against each other, slowly pulling away. But he kept his forehead on yours.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”
You slightly laughed. “Was it worth the wait?”
“Oh, definitely.” he grabbed your waist again, more firmly as his fingers pressed onto your sides.
“I’m not done with you, yet.” he grinned as he planted kisses throughout your arm.
You simply watched in awe. You were in love with him, you could feel it like never before.
It terrified you, but you were realizing it’s worth a shot. He’s worth the price.
He looked at you, “You’re so perfect. I hope you realize that.” he once again stated.
The softness and warmth in his voice melted your heart, he was always the one.
“And if I have to spend every day of my life proving that, I gladly will.” he muttered.
This time it was you who pulled him in, grabbing him as you crashed your lips onto his. He let out a small noise at your sudden move. You smiled against him.
He was frozen for a second before he reacted and moved his lips with yours, holding you close.
When you pulled away, you noticed the pink blush that lightly adorned his face. His hair messy, his lips a bit puffy. A beautiful sight.
“I could get used to that.” he teased.
You chucked as you bit down your lip, “shut up.”
He laughed as he looked down to you, “Remind me to get you a new door lock, don’t want unwanted visitors.” He pouted his lips, and shook his head.
You let out a breathy laugh as you caught what he was implying to. “Oh yes, we have to upgrade that.”
He quickly nodded, “uh huh- can’t have anyone else showing up on my girl.” he confidently said as he stood closer to you, a cocky smile poking at his lips.
You raised your eyebrows, “is that so?”
He perched his lips, “yeah..we can’t have that.” his tone lowered as he put a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze softening into something more serious.
“I gotta protect the wish that shooting star granted me.” he softly spoke.
Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. And from that night you knew your wish got fulfilled as well.
And now every once in a while you remember to look up into the sky and thank the stars for giving you the most wonderful person to have by your side.
-𝜗𝜚
a/n: …well this was longg overdue, sorry yall:( life got real busy but anyways here is part 2!!--again tysm for the love on these.
synopsis~ Y/n meets with one on one for the last time, or so they both thought.
paring~ OTW!Michael & Fem!reader
word count~ i lost count
content~ angst, hopeless romantic Michael, acceptance angst, Michael begs lol. babys first smut heheh, making out, f!receiving oral, p in v, dom!michael
AN~ idk if this counts as a one shot lol, but i had to split in three parts cuz it was too long hehe
⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔
February, 1980.
It had been three years.
Three long, complicated years.
Three years since their last conversation. Three years since words spoken through tears and heartbreak had marked the end of something neither of them had imagined would ever break.
Time had moved forward regardless.
Careers had flourished, and dreams had materialized.
New opportunities had appeared where old wounds once lived.
Yet three years was a strange amount of time.
Long enough for memories to soften around the edges. Long enough for anger to fade into something quieter. Long enough for people to convince themselves they were healed.
But not always long enough to forget.
Certain memories remained stubborn.
But here she was, at an award ceremony, where those memories could come rushing back in like a damn had been opened.
Los Angeles glittered differently during awards season.
Everything shimmered with excess.
Gold-lined marquees illuminated crowded sidewalks while sleek black cars crawled endlessly through traffic like glossy beetles beneath the California night. Neon signs reflected across rain-slick pavement. Music drifted from every direction, disco spilling from clubs on Sunset, jazz leaking from hotel lounges, radios humming through rolled-down car windows.
The entire city felt alive.
Electric.
And tonight, the center of it all was the Grammys.
Outside the venue, camera flashes exploded endlessly like miniature lightning storms. Crowds screamed behind barricades whenever another celebrity stepped from a limousine. Men in velvet jackets smoked cigarettes beneath glowing streetlamps while women wrapped in diamonds and satin disappeared through towering glass doors beneath the gold-lit marquee overhead.
Everything looked impossibly glamorous.
Like a movie.
And Y/n still could not believe she was actually there.
“You’re staring again.” Ava’s amused voice broke through the haze as their car slowed near the entrance.
Y/n blinked rapidly before letting out a quiet laugh beneath her breath. “I know.”
“No, seriously,” Ava said, adjusting one of her diamond earrings in the tiny mirror compact resting in her lap, “you look like somebody just dropped you in another universe.”
Y/n leaned helplessly toward the car window again.
Because truthfully, It did feel like another universe.
Crowds pressed against metal barricades outside the venue, screaming loud enough to be heard even through the closed car windows. Flashbulbs burst nonstop against the night sky so brightly they almost resembled fireworks.
“Oh my God,” Y/n whispered.
Ava grinned knowingly. “Yeah.”
“I seriously cannot believe this.”
“You better believe it fast because we’re almost at the carpet.”
Y/n turned toward her with genuine warmth softening her face. “No, seriously. Thank you for bringing me.” She shook her head slightly in disbelief. “I’ve only been to Los Angeles like… twice in my whole career, and both times I was working hour-long days on movie sets. I ain’t never seen it like this.”
Ava snorted softly. “Well tonight we’re not working.”
“Speak for yourself. I already did my own makeup.”
“Because you’re incapable of letting another human touch your face.”
“That is correct.”
Ava laughed loudly. “You are ridiculous.”
“You know what?” Y/n pointed at her. “I worked too hard learning makeup to let somebody put me out here looking crazy.”
Ava gasped dramatically. “So you think I look crazy?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You know what?” Ava straightened proudly. “It don’t matter anyway because tonight I’m finding a husband.”
Y/n stared at her flatly. “That has absolutely nothing to do with what I just said.”
“Yes it does.”
“How?”
“Because rich men attend award shows.”
Y/n burst into laughter. “Oh my God.”
“I’m serious!”
“You do not need a man.”
“Mhm,” Ava mused dramatically while examining her diamonds again, “just like I don’t need jewelry.”
“You actually don’t.”
Ava clutched her chest in mock offense just as the driver stepped out and opened the car door for them.
The second Y/n emerged onto the carpet, the atmosphere hit her like a wave.
The noise came first.
Hundreds of voices layered atop one another. Reporters shouting over each other. Publicists barking directions. Fans screaming names from behind barricades.
Then the lights.
So many lights.
Flashes exploded so rapidly she almost couldn’t process them.
For one disorienting second, Y/n nearly froze in place.
Ava leaned close immediately. “Don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You blinking like somebody turned the sun on in your face.”
“That’s because they did.”
Ava laughed softly before linking arms with her. Together, they stepped onto the carpet. And heads turned immediately.
Y/n’s gown moved like liquid garnet beneath the flashing lights. The dark crimson silk hugged her waist elegantly before cascading just below her knees in graceful folds that shimmered every time she walked. The rich color deepened the warmth of her complexion beautifully beneath the cameras.
And her makeup was flawless.
Of course it was.
Soft smoky shadows framed her eyes while muted wine-colored lips gave her an effortless sophistication that made her appear older, calmer, more composed than she actually felt.
Her hair framed her face in sculpted waves that brushed elegantly against her shoulders every time she turned.
She looked stunning.
And people noticed instantly.
“Miss! Over here!”
“Can we get a photo?”
“Smile this way!”
“Who are you wearing tonight?”
Y/n nearly laughed aloud from disbelief.
Ava squeezed her arm tightly. “Smile, baby.”
“I am smiling!”
“You look terrified!”
“Because I am terrified!”
A photographer pointed aggressively. “Red dress! Red dress, look this way!”
Y/n turned instinctively.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Good Lord.
The cameras were relentless. A reporter stepped forward first, microphone raised high. “How are you ladies feeling tonight?”
Ava smiled effortlessly, like she’d been born for moments like this. “Excited. Honored. Slightly overwhelmed.”
The interviewer laughed. “And what do you do?”
“I’m a violinist,” Ava answered proudly.
The microphone shifted toward Y/n. “And you?”
Y/n blinked once, almost surprised anyone cared. “Oh um...” A shy smile touched her lips. “I do makeup.”
The reporter’s eyebrows lifted instantly. “Really?”
“Mhm.”
“What kind of productions?”
“Well, recently I worked on prosthetics and makeup design for Friday The Thirteenth and Alien.”
Everything changed immediately. The reporter’s eyes widened. “Wait—Alien?”
Another interviewer nearby visibly overheard. “You worked on Alien?”
“What will you work on next?”
“Oh my God, how’d you get started?”
Suddenly microphones appeared from every direction.
Questions flew rapidly.
“What effects did you work on?”
“Did you design prosthetics?”
“How difficult was Alien?”
“What actors were your favorite to work with?”
“Where did you start?”
Octavia laughed softly, startled by the sudden attention. “Well… I actually started off working on The Wiz.”
Absolute chaos.
Questions erupted immediately.
“What was Diana Ross like?”
“Did anyone fight on set?”
“Who was difficult?”
“What was working with Quincy Jones like?”
“What are you wearing tonight?”
“Any behind-the-scenes secrets?”
Y/n tried answering politely while flashes exploded around her face nonstop. “Well everybody worked really hard—”
“What actor surprised you most?”
“Did Michael have any flings on set?”
The name hit her like cold water, her stomach dropped instantly.
Michael.
Even after three years, hearing his name still bruised something deep inside her.
Ava subtly glanced toward her.
Y/n recovered quickly— far quicker than she actually felt.
Professional.
Elegant.
Totally not burning at just the mention of his name.
She smiled gracefully. “Well,” she said lightly, “this is really a night for music and musicians. I probably shouldn’t spend too much time gossiping about movie sets.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips as she carefully redirected herself away from the crowd.
But inside, the old wound had reopened immediately.
Ava caught up beside her once they finally escaped toward the entrance doors. “Jesus,” she muttered under her breath. “I didn’t expect them to swarm you like that.”
“Neither did I.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
But Ava looked unconvinced immediately.
Because there it was.
That sadness.
Small.
Brief.
But undeniably present in Y/n’s eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Ava asked more gently now.
Y/n hesitated before sighing softly. “One of them asked about Michael.”
Immediate understanding crossed Ava’s face. “Oh.”
“They asked if he had flings on set.”
Ava grimaced sympathetically. “That was so long ago.”
“Not to me.”
They stepped inside the massive lobby together, and immediately warmth and noise swallowed them whole. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead while celebrities and industry executives drifted across polished marble floors dressed in velvet, silk, diamonds, and satin. Everything smelled faintly of expensive perfume and champagne.
“It’s only been three years,” Y/n murmured quietly.
Three years since she closed that apartment door.
Three years since she watched him cry in a hallway clutching a cardboard box full of his belongings.
Three years since she heard him promise he’d change.
And somehow, he still lived somewhere inside her.
Ava nudged her shoulder gently. “You know he’s gonna be here tonight.”
Y/n snorted softly. “Well, duh. He put out an album.”
Not just an album.
A phenomenon.
His music was everywhere now.
On radios, in grocery stores, in clubs, in cars stopped at red lights.
The entire world seemed enchanted by him.
Michael had become enormous, bigger than either of them ever imagined back on The Wiz soundstage beneath fake cornfields and hot studio lights.
Ava tilted her head curiously. “Did you listen to it?”
Y/n’s expression tightened immediately. “No.”
“Not even once?”
She shook her head slowly. “I can’t.”
Ava looked genuinely shocked. “Seriously?”
“My brother tried making me listen to one song over the phone.”
“What song?”
“She’s Out of My Life.”
Ava’s entire expression softened instantly. “Oh.”
Y/n looked ahead quietly while people swept past them in glittering gowns and tuxedos.
“He called me one night saying it was beautiful,” she said softly. “Said I needed to hear it.”
“And?”
“He held the phone up to the speaker.”
The memory slammed into her vividly even now. Michael’s voice pouring through static.
Tender.
Fragile.
The crying near the end.
Real crying.
Not performance.
Pain.
Y/n swallowed hard. “When he started sounding like he was about to break down…” Her voice softened almost to nothing. “I hung up.”
Ava reached over immediately, squeezing her hand gently. “Y/n.”
“What?”
“It’s been three years.”
“I know.”
“You have to let him go.”
Y/n looked down toward the glossy marble floor beneath their heels.
“You’re successful now,” Ava continued gently. “He’s successful now. Y’all were practically kids.”
Y/n inhaled slowly. “It was close to our first anniversary.”
Ava fell silent immediately.
Because that changed things.
This hadn’t been some careless fling to Y/n.
It had been real.
The kind of love that settles permanently into the bones.
Suddenly staff members began ushering guests toward the auditorium.
“Please begin making your way to your seats!”
“The program will begin shortly!”
Excitement rippled instantly through the crowd.
Ava grabbed Y/n’s arm excitedly. “This is insane.”
For one brief second, Y/n smiled the same way.
The wonder of it all still dazzled her.
The glamour.
The music.
The impossible grandeur of the night.
But then reality settled heavily back into her chest once more.
Because somewhere inside this building, Somewhere beneath all this glittering spectacle,
Was a man she had once imagined spending forever beside. And despite time softening the ache…The wound still throbbed.
The interior of the auditorium was breathtaking.
Everything gleamed beneath warm golden light.
Crystal chandeliers shimmered overhead like suspended constellations while rows upon rows of deep velvet seats curved elegantly around the massive stage below. Gold accents caught the light everywhere, along railings, balcony edges, even the trim surrounding the orchestra pit where musicians tuned instruments beneath a low murmur of anticipation.
The entire room buzzed with energy.
Famous musicians drifted through the aisles wrapped in sequins, velvet, silk, and diamonds. Producers laughed loudly near the front rows while actors and socialites leaned close in whispered conversations over clinking champagne glasses.
Camera operators maneuvered carefully between seats preparing for the live broadcast, enormous studio cameras gliding silently over polished floors like mechanical dancers.
Everywhere Y/n looked, there was somebody recognizable. And somehow that only made the whole thing feel even less real. “Ava,” she whispered as they stepped farther inside, “this is insane.”
Ava grinned triumphantly beside her. “I told you.”
“No, seriously.” Y/n slowed slightly just to take everything in. “This does not even feel real.”
“Well get used to it,” Ava teased, smoothing the front of her silver gown. “Because the way those reporters attacked you on that carpet? You might end up here every year.”
Y/n laughed nervously. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh yes.”
“I do makeup, Ava.”
“And?”
“And this room is full of legends.”
Ava snorted. “Baby, half the people in this room wouldn’t know what to do without somebody making them camera-ready.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point.”
An usher approached politely with a practiced smile. “Good evening, ladies. Right this way.”
Ava thanked him while Y/n followed behind, still staring helplessly around the auditorium. The lighting inside was softer than outside on the carpet. Rich amber glowed across the room, making diamonds sparkle brighter and tuxedos appear impossibly sleek beneath the chandeliers.
The atmosphere carried a strange mix of glamour and nervousness—the feeling that everyone present understood they were witnessing something important.
“You know who that is?” Ava whispered suddenly.
Y/n followed her gaze and nearly choked. “Oh my God.”
“Right?”
“That’s—”
“Yes.”
“No it is not.”
“Yes it is.”
Y/n stared openly now. “Ava, if you don’t stop embarrassing me—”
“You embarrassing yourself.”
“You’re the one gawking!”
“I’m appreciating artistry.”
“You are staring at that man.”
“And?”
Y/n burst into quiet laughter, finally relaxing slightly. “Lord help me tonight.”
“He already did. That’s why we got invited.”
Y/n shook her head affectionately.
Then she saw him.
And the entire world stopped moving.
Michael sat several rows away near the front of the auditorium, partially turned toward someone beside him in conversation.
But Y/n barely noticed anyone else at the table.
Only him.
Three years.
Three whole years.
And somehow, he still possessed the terrifying ability to unravel her with one glance. He looked older.
Not old, never old— but matured in a way that startled her deeply.
His afro was fuller now, sculpted perfectly beneath the golden lighting, soft curls framing his face beautifully. The black-and-white tuxedo he wore fit him impeccably, sharp tailoring emphasizing how much leaner he’d become since The Wiz.
But it was his face that nearly shattered her composure.
He looked exhausted.
Beautiful, yes.
Elegant.
Polished.
But exhausted.
There were faint shadows beneath his eyes that makeup couldn’t completely conceal. Something about his expression carried a quiet hollowness beneath the practiced celebrity smile he offered the people around him.
Like he’d perfected pretending.
Like every graceful movement, every charming laugh, every carefully timed smile had become performance.
A facade.
And then his eyes found hers.
Everything inside Y/n locked painfully into place.
Michael froze completely. The conversation around him seemed to disappear instantly as his gaze settled on her with unmistakable shock. For one suspended moment, neither of them breathed.
She watched his face change in real time.
Recognition.
Disbelief.
Then something heartbreakingly vulnerable.
And God
The way he looked at her still.
Like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
Y/n’s stomach twisted violently.
Michael stood.
Not dramatically.
Not abruptly.
Just instinctively.
Like his body moved before his mind could stop it.
One step.
Then another.
Toward her.
Panic surged through Y/n immediately. “Ava,” she whispered sharply.
Ava looked over. “What?”
“Come on.”
“What’s wrong?”
But Y/n had already grabbed her arm and started hurrying farther down the aisle.
“Y/n, slow down!”
“I am walking normal.”
“You are absolutely not walking normal.”
People turned briefly as they hurried past rows of velvet seats. Y/n could physically feel Michael’s eyes following her.
Her chest hurt.
By the time they finally reached their seats, her heartbeat was slamming so hard against her ribs she thought she might actually faint. She sat down too quickly. Champagne glasses rattled softly on the tiny table beside them.
Ava immediately turned toward her fully now. “Hey.”
“I’m okay.”
“You are sweating.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“It is not warm enough for you to look like you just saw a ghost.”
Y/n swallowed hard. Because that’s exactly what it felt like.
“Oh,” Ava murmured quietly. A passing waiter carried a tray of champagne nearby, and Ava immediately grabbed a glass and shoved it gently into Y/n’s trembling hands. “Drink.”
Y/n accepted it gratefully. Her fingers shook slightly around the stem.
Ava leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You okay?”
No.
Not even a little.
Because seeing him had done something awful to her. Something she genuinely thought time had healed.
Three years.
And somehow her body still reacted to him like a reopened wound. Y/n stared down into the bubbling champagne. “He looks tired.”
Ava blinked. “That’s what you noticed?”
“He does.”
“You haven’t seen that man in years and your first thought is that he looks sleepy?”
Y/n laughed weakly despite herself. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“I can’t help it.”
Ava studied her carefully now. “You still love him.”
The statement landed softly between them. Y/n didn’t answer immediately. Because what was the point in lying? Instead, she took a slow sip of champagne and whispered, “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”
“Yes you do.”
“No,” Y/n said quietly. “I know what I felt.”
“And now?”
Y/n looked out across the glowing auditorium. Michael was no longer standing where she’d seen him. Lost somewhere among glittering people and tuxedos and cameras. “…Now it just hurts differently.”
Ava’s face softened completely. “Oh, baby.”
Y/n shook her head quickly like she regretted speaking at all. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“It was years ago.”
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.”
Y/n inhaled shakily. “I worked so hard to get over him.”
Ava stayed quiet. Because she knew, after the breakup, Y/n had practically buried herself alive in work.
Overnight shoots.
Practical effects training.
Prosthetics.
Long production schedules nobody else wanted.
She worked until her fingers cramped from holding brushes fourteen hours a day.
And it paid off.
People respected her now.
She started a company and it was growing.
Her name carried weight in rooms that once ignored her entirely.
She had rebuilt herself from heartbreak.
So why did one look at Michael make her feel nineteen again?
Weak.
Vulnerable.
Foolish.
“You know what your problem is?” Ava asked suddenly.
Y/n sniffed softly. “What?”
“You romanticize pain.”
She huffed a faint laugh. “That sounds dramatic.”
“You are dramatic.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
That earned the tiniest smile from Y/n.
Ava relaxed slightly seeing it. “You loved him,” Ava continued more gently. “I know you did. But you cannot keep carrying that man around like a ghost.”
Y/n looked down quietly at her hands. Because the truth was, she had tried.
God, she had tried.
But some loves didn’t disappear cleanly. Some just dulled enough to survive around.
Her eyes drifted instinctively back toward the front rows again.
There he was.
Standing near the aisle now. Looking directly at her. Even across the crowded auditorium, she could tell immediately: He hadn’t stopped thinking about her either.
The realization hit so hard she had to look away first. Ava noticed instantly. “Oh Lord.”
“What?”
“He still looking at you.”
Y/n closed her eyes briefly. “Please stop narrating.”
“I’m serious.”
“Ava.”
“That man is staring like he just got drafted into war.”
Despite herself, Y/n laughed softly through the ache in her chest. Then quieter, “He looks sad.”
Ava sighed. “So do you.”
Before she could answer, the orchestra suddenly swelled beneath the stage.
The rich sound rolled beautifully through the auditorium, instantly pulling everyone’s attention forward. Conversations softened. People hurried toward seats.
Massive velvet curtains shimmered beneath golden light while cameras swept dramatically across the audience.
Then the announcer’s voice echoed powerfully throughout the room: “Ladies and gentlemen… welcome to the 22nd Annual Grammy Awards!”
Thunderous applause erupted instantly.
People rose briefly to clap while spotlights danced across the crowd.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
The ceremony unfolded like a fever dream dipped in gold.
As the hours passed, the Grammy Awards transformed into something almost surreal beneath the dazzling canopy of stage lights and orchestral swells. Music bled seamlessly into applause, applause into laughter, laughter into emotional speeches that left entire sections of the auditorium dabbing carefully beneath their eyes with silk handkerchiefs and manicured fingertips.
Everywhere Y/n looked, there was glamour.
Women draped in shimmering gowns leaned elegantly across velvet seats, whispering to one another between categories. Men in immaculate tuxedos smoked cigarettes near the back corridors during commercial intermissions while producers hurried frantically through aisles clutching clipboards and headsets.
The atmosphere buzzed constantly.
Alive.
Electric.
The enormous Grammy stage gleamed beneath layers of warm amber light, its polished floor reflecting every movement like liquid glass. Cameras drifted endlessly through the audience searching for reaction, famous faces caught mid-laughter, emotional nominees clutching hands beneath tables, performers mouthing silent prayers before winners were announced.
And besides Y/n, Ava was losing her mind.
“And the Grammy goes to—” The presenter paused dramatically while the audience collectively leaned forward.
Ava immediately seized Y/n’s wrist in a death grip. “Oh my God,” she whispered harshly.
Y/n nearly laughed at the sheer panic in her voice. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“N,o you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You look like you’re about to faint.”
Ava shot her a horrified glare. “Shut up.”
The presenter smiled brightly toward the audience. “—The New York Philharmonic Orchestra!”
Ava screamed.
Not gasped.
Not yelped.
Screamed.
The sound burst from her so suddenly that Y/n jerked back in startled laughter while the orchestra section erupted into utter chaos. “Oh, my God!” Ava cried, halfway standing already. “Oh, my God!”
“You won!”
“I WON!”
“Well—not you specifically—”
“Y/n!”
She burst into louder laughter as Ava smacked her arm, then immediately dissolved into emotional applause, tears gathering in her eyes.
Around them, people rose to their feet, clapping enthusiastically while cameras swung toward the celebrating orchestra members.
Octavia felt emotional, too.
Because she remembered, she remembered Ava stumbling exhausted into her apartment after twelve-hour rehearsals. She remembered nights spent sprawled across the couch, surrounded by sheet music while muttering angrily about impossible compositions. She remembered blistered fingertips.
Locked wrists.
Frustrated tears.
The sacrifice.
“You deserve this,” Y/n said warmly, squeezing her hand.
Ava looked genuinely overwhelmed now. “I practiced for months.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Ava insisted emotionally. “Hours. Every single day.”
Y/n smiled softly. “I know.”
“My fingers used to lock up.”
“I know, Ava.”
“I had to soak my hands in ice water.”
“I know.”
Ava laughed shakily through tears before covering her face dramatically. “Oh, my God.”
“You need another drink.”
“I absolutely need another drink.”
“I agree.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
That only made Ava laugh harder. Nearby orchestra members embraced one another tightly while cameras flashed endlessly across the section. One violinist openly cried into her husband’s shoulder while another kissed his Grammy repeatedly to roaring laughter from the audience.
The joy in the room felt contagious.
Warm.
Triumphant.
For a little while, Y/n forgot everything else.
The ceremony continued in brilliant waves afterward.
Performances flooded the stage one after another, powerhouse vocals, glittering choreography, musicians drenched in spotlight and applause. Every category announcement seemed louder than the last as excitement built steadily throughout the night.
Champagne flowed continuously.
People relaxed deeper into their seats.
The audience became looser, brighter, louder.
Then eventually, the presenter returned holding another envelope. “And now…”
The room quieted subtly.
Not completely.
But enough.
“This next category recognizes some of the year’s most unforgettable vocal performances…”
Something deep inside Y/n tightened instantly. Ava noticed immediately. The massive screen overhead flickered softly.
“…Best Male R&B Vocal Performance.” The nominees began appearing one by one across the glowing screen.
“Cruisin’ — Smokey Robinson.”
Applause rolled warmly through the audience.
“Don’t Let Go — Isaac Hayes.”
More applause.
“Love Ballad — George Benson.”
“Mama Can’t Buy Love — Elton John.”
“Some Enchanted Evening — Ray Charles.”
“Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough — Michael Jackson.”
The entire auditorium detonated.d, Screams burst from every direction. Whistles pierced through the applause, and people shouted his name openly from the balconies overhead while cameras instantly whipped toward him.
Y/n’s stomach dropped violently. She looked away from the screen immediately.
Couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t sit there staring at him while the entire world adored him.
Not when part of her still did too. But even without looking directly, she could feel him.
Several rows ahead, Michael wasn’t looking at the cameras.
Wasn’t smiling toward the audience.
Wasn’t acknowledging the applause.
He was searching, his eyes moved carefully through the crowd beneath the golden lights, scanning row after row with quiet intensity.
Looking for someone.
Looking for her.
And when he found her, even from across the auditorium, Octavia felt it like a physical touch.
That look.
God.
That same unbearable softness he used to reserve only for her. For one suspended moment, neither of them moved.
The noise around them became distant.
Muted.
Then Michael slowly turned back toward the cameras, wearing that familiar polished smile. The one Y/n recognized instantly.
The real-but-fake smile.
The carefully perfected celebrity expression.
Beautiful.
Charming.
Controlled.
But never entirely genuine.
“And the Grammy goes to…” The presenter opened the envelope slowly. A pause. “Michael Jackson for Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough!”
The building erupted.
People shot to their feet immediately.
Thunderous applause crashed violently throughout the auditorium while shrieks echoed from every direction. Fans screamed declarations of love from upper balconies. Several people near the front whistled loudly enough to make others laugh.
Michael stood slowly beneath the chaos.
Gracefully.
Almost shyly.
The applause somehow intensified.
Y/n finally looked toward him despite herself.
He looked breathtaking beneath the lights.
His black-and-white tuxedo fit him flawlessly, crisp against the warm gold glow surrounding him as he buttoned the front jacket carefully before moving toward the stage. His afro framed his face beautifully beneath the overhead lighting, every soft curl illuminated like a halo.
But up close, or as close as distance allowed—
Y/n could still see it.
The exhaustion.
The shadows beneath his eyes.
The slight hollowness hidden beneath elegance and composure.
He looked like a man carrying far more than the audience could possibly understand.
And as he walked toward the stage beneath endless applause, Michael looked directly at her.
Subtle.
Quick enough, most people wouldn’t catch it.
But Y/n did, of course she did.
Because she had once known every expression he possessed better than her own.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Beside her, Ava glanced carefully between them but wisely said nothing.
Michael climbed the steps toward the microphone, Grammy clutched tightly in one hand, nd while applause slowly began settling into softer waves. For one brief second, he simply stood there breathing.
Overwhelmed.
Human.
Beautiful beneath the stage lights. Then softly spoke. “Wow.”
The audience laughed warmly.
Michael smiled faintly before glancing down briefly at the award in his hands. “I—” He exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”
More applause.
“I have a lot I wanna say,” he continued softly, “but I’ll try to keep it short.” His voice carried that familiar gentleness Y/n remembered too well. “I wanna thank my mother Katherine…My father Joseph…”
More applause.
“Production… Quincy…”
He smiled briefly. Then his eyes lifted again. Straight toward Octavia. And suddenly his entire expression changed.
Softer.
Rawer.
Like he forgot the cameras existed.
“But…” His voice quieted slightly. “I really wanna thank the person I thought about while making this album.”
Y/n froze completely. Beside her, Ava slowly turned toward her in disbelief.
Michael kept speaking while looking directly at Y/n almost the entire time. “I wrote a few songs for them specifically,” he admitted softly. “So…” Michael blinked hard once. “Thank you.” His voice nearly cracked. “Because you still do a lot for me… even when you aren’t around.”
Y/n’s breath caught painfully.
Michael looked away briefly, blinking rapidly like he was fighting tears. Then he smiled again for the audience. “And to my wonderful fans…” he said shakily. “I love you guys. Thank you so much.”
Thunderous applause erupted again.
But several people nearby were already glancing toward Y/n.
Connecting dots.
Understanding.
Ava slowly looked over at her.
And only then did Y/n realize tears had slipped silently down her face. “Hey,” Ava whispered gently. “You okay?”
Y/n inhaled sharply.
No.
No, she absolutely was not okay.
“I need air.” Before Ava could stop her, she stood quickly and hurried toward the aisle. The auditorium blurred around her.
Lights smeared together.
Applause echoed distantly behind her while tears clouded her vision.
She was angry.
Angry at him for still holding onto her.
Angry at him for standing on national television, indirectly confessing his love.
Angry at herself most of all.
Because after all this time, she still loved him too. The realization made her chest ache viciously.
She wandered aimlessly through quieter hallways outside the auditorium until she finally found a secluded corridor tucked far from the crowd near a row of unused conference rooms.
Silence.
Finally.
Y/n leaned shakily against the wall and pulled a cigarette from her purse with trembling fingers. “Damn it…” Her lighter shook violently in her hand. The cigarette slipped from her fingers entirely and fell to the floor. “Shit.”
Frustrated tears spilled harder now as she crushed it beneath her heel aggressively. “Get it together,” she muttered harshly to herself.
She wiped angrily at her face, like she could physically force the tears back inside.
Then, Footsteps.
Soft.
Quick.
And a voice she knew better than her own heartbeat.
“N/n.”
Her entire body went rigid.
The nickname alone was enough to split something open inside her chest.
Y/n stopped walking immediately, her breath catching so sharply it hurt. For one brief second, she squeezed her eyes shut because hearing him say it again after three years felt entirely too intimate.
Too familiar.
Too dangerous.
Slowly, she turned around.
Michael stood at the far end of the corridor beneath the dim golden lighting, still clutching the Grammy awkwardly in one hand like he had forgotten it was even there.
And God.
He looked destroyed.
Not physically.
Beautiful, of course, he would probably always be beautiful to her, but emotionally wrecked. His tuxedo remained immaculate, black velvet hugging his frame perfectly beneath the soft lights, his curls shaped carefully into that familiar halo around his face.
But his expression, his expression looked shattered.
His eyes were glossy already.
Exhausted.
Haunted.
Like the polished celebrity smile he wore onstage had finally collapsed the second he found her alone.
Y/n’s chest tightened painfully. She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to look away before she completely lost her composure.
“Please go away, Michael.” Her voice cracked immediately.
Humiliatingly.
“Please.”
His face visibly twisted hearing the tremble in her voice, but he didn’t move. Instead, he took one slow step toward her. “I can’t.”
“Just go.”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.”
“We said everything already three years ago.”
Michael shook his head instantly. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “You did.”
That made her spin around sharply. “Oh, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you were some victim in all this.”
His brows furrowed painfully. “I’m not acting like a victim.”
“You ignored me for months, Michael!” Her voice echoed harshly down the empty hallway. “I sat there begging you to pay attention to me while you flirted with every woman that smiled at you—”
“I never cheated on you!”
“That doesn’t make it hurt less!”
Silence crashed between them.
Michael visibly flinched.
Good.
For once, she wanted him to hurt too.
Y/n turned sharply, attempting to walk away from him again. But carefully, Michael caught her wrist.
Not rough.
Never rough.
Just desperate.
“Y/n, please.”
“Michael—”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Before she could protest again, he guided her quickly toward a nearby empty conference room, opening the door and pulling her gently inside before shutting it behind them. Silence swallowed the room whole instantly. The conference room was dimly lit, small and intimate in the worst possible way.
A long polished table sat in the center beneath low fluorescent lighting while dark curtains covered the windows overlooking the city.
Y/n immediately pulled away from him and started pacing. “I can’t do this right now.”
“I still love you.”
She laughed bitterly through tears. “No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Every waking moment,” he whispered brokenly, stepping closer, “I hated not hearing your voice.”
She shook her head quickly. “Michael—”
“I called you every day for a month.”
That stopped her cold.
His eyes were glassy now.
“You never answered.”
Y/n swallowed hard. “I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I was trying to survive losing you!” The confession exploded out of her violently. Michael looked shattered instantly. “I just can’t,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t stay stuck in the past!” Her voice cracked apart now. “I don’t know whether to hate you, cuss you out, or sit somewhere and cry about all this!”
Michael stepped closer desperately. “I wrote those songs for you.”
She froze completely.
“She’s Out of My Life,” he whispered shakily. “I Can’t Help It. It’s the Falling in Love.” Tears slid freely down his face now. “I told our story.” Octavia stared at him helplessly. “How we met… how I fell in love with you… how I lost you…” His voice broke entirely. “I need you back, Y/n.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too warm.
Too full of memories.
“I can’t live without you.”
Y/nimmediately looked away because hearing him say that nearly destroyed every ounce of resolve she still had left.
“Please,” he whispered desperately. “Can we work this out?”
Her eyes filled instantly again. “I waited so long for the pain to stop,” she whispered shakily. “I had to let you go.”
“Y/n—”
“You had chance after chance to fix it!” she cried suddenly. “You couldn’t even recognize what you were doing to me!”
Michael’s face crumpled.
“I was hurting in front of you for months, Michael!”
“I know—”
“No, you didn’t know!” she snapped harshly. “Because if you knew, you would’ve cared!”
“I did care!”
“Then why did it take me leaving for you to fight for me?!”
The question echoed brutally through the room.
Michael opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
And that silence hurt more than any answer could have.
Y/n laughed bitterly through tears. “Exactly.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, that’s not fair.”
“Fair?” she repeated incredulously. “You wanna talk about fair?”
“Baby—”
“I was nineteen years old trying to keep a relationship alive with somebody who acted embarrassed to even claim me!”
“That’s not true!”
“It is true!”
Michael’s breathing became uneven instantly. “I loved you!”
“Then why did I feel alone while I was still with you?!”
That shattered him.
Completely.
He looked down briefly, covering his mouth with trembling fingers while tears spilled harder down his face. “I was scared,” he whispered finally.
“So was I!”
“I didn’t know how to handle everything happening around me!”
“And I did?!” she cried. “You think I knew how to watch the whole world fall in love with you while you slowly stopped seeing me?!”
Michael stepped closer desperately. “I never stopped seeing you.”
“Well, it sure as hell felt like it!” Y/n wiped furiously beneath her eyes before turning toward the door again. “I can’t do this.”
Michael panicked instantly. “No—”
“I mean it.”
She reached for the door handle.
And suddenly, Michael grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him.
Not aggressively.
Desperately.
Like a drowning man.
“Y/n, don’t walk away from me again.” His voice cracked violently.
Y/n looked up at him, stunned by the sheer panic written across his face. “I have to.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No!” The desperation in his voice echoed through the room. “I can’t lose you again!”
“You already did!”
That silenced everything.
Michael looked like she had physically hit him.
Then slowly, he dropped the Grammy onto the conference table beside him. And got on his knees.
Y/n froze completely. “Michael…”
“No,” he interrupted immediately, tears streaming openly now. “Please just listen to me.”
Her heartbeat thundered violently in her chest, He looked ruined kneeling there in front of her.
Not famous.
Not untouchable.
Not the superstar the world worshipped.
Just Michael.
The boy she loved.
The boy who had broken her heart.
“I can’t do another three years without you,” he whispered brokenly.
Y/n’s eyes flooded instantly. “I can’t.”
His shoulders shook unevenly now. “You have no idea what losing you did to me.”
“Get up,” she whispered shakily.
“No.”
“Michael—”
“I mean it.” He grabbed desperately at her hands. “I’ll stay right here all night if that’s what it takes.”
A watery laugh escaped her despite herself. Tears slid down her face harder now.
“I love you so much it makes me sick,” he admitted hoarsely.
Y/n shut her eyes tightly.
“I tried dating other people,” he confessed shakily. “I tried distracting myself. I tried working until I passed out just so I wouldn’t think about you.”
Her breath caught painfully.
“But every song became you.” His voice cracked apart again. “Every city. Every stage. Every hotel room.” He looked up at her helplessly. “You were everywhere.”
Tears spilled freely down Y/n’s cheeks now.
“I hate waking up alone,” he whispered. “I hate going home alone.” His chest shook violently. “I hate that nobody knows me the way you do.”
“Michael…”
“I’ll do anything.” The desperation in his voice nearly broke her knees. “Anything, Y/n.” He held her hands tighter. “I was stupid. Selfish. Immature.” Tears slid endlessly down his face now. “I thought you’d always stay.”
Y/n looked down at him helplessly.
“And when you left…” His face twisted in agony. “It felt like somebody ripped my soul out.”
A sob escaped her before she could stop it.
Michael looked frantic immediately seeing her cry harder. “Please don’t cry,” he whispered desperately. “Baby, please don’t cry.”
“You’re making this so hard,” she choked out.
“Good,” he admitted brokenly. “Because losing you was hard.”
Y/n covered her face briefly. “You broke my heart.”
“I know.”
“You humiliated me.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel unwanted.”
Michael’s expression crumpled completely. “I know,” he whispered again.
The sincerity destroyed her anger piece by piece. “I hate that I still love you,” she admitted shakily.
Michael looked up at her like she’d handed him life itself. “You still love me?”
She laughed through tears. “You know I do.”
That nearly unraveled him completely. He pressed his forehead against her hands desperately. “Then please,” he whispered brokenly. “Please don’t leave me again.”
Y/n’s resolve shattered watching him fall apart like this. Because no matter how much pain existed between them— She loved him too much to pretend this wasn’t destroying her too. Slowly, shakily, she crouched down in front of him.
Michael immediately cupped her face carefully like he needed reassurance she was real. “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
Y/n started crying harder. And then, he kissed her.
Soft.
Trembling.
Tentative.
Like he was terrified she might disappear.
And the second she kissed him back.
Everything unraveled.
The kiss deepened immediately, years of grief and longing crashing violently between them all at once. Michael’s hands slid desperately along her waist, pulling her flush against him while her fingers tangled into the fabric of his tuxedo jacket.
God.
He still felt the same.
Still tasted the same.
Warm.
Familiar.
Addictive.
Y/n broke away suddenly, breathless. “This is wrong.”
Michael rested his forehead shakily against hers. “All I ever do is think about you,” he whispered brokenly. “I have to have you by my side.” Tears slid down his face again. “You mean the world to me.”
“Michael…”
“Three years made me sick.” His voice cracked apart completely. “I’ll do better—I am better.” He cupped her face carefully. “Please,” he whispered. “Just give me one more chance to show you.”
Y/n looked at him fully then.
Really looked at him.
And all she could see was the boy she met years ago.
The shy one.
The gentle one who stumbled over compliments because he thought she was beautiful.
The one who looked at her like she hung the moon itself in the sky.
And no matter how hard she tried, no amount of distance or success or time had ever filled the space he left behind.
So she kissed him again.
Hard.
Hungry.
Desperate.
Michael groaned softly against her lips as his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Their mouths moved feverishly together, years of restrained longing finally collapsing between them all at once.
Y/ns fingers slid into his curls as she kissed him deeper, breathless and aching and furious and still hopelessly in love.
Michael backed against the conference table with her still in his arms, never breaking the kiss.
Michael backed against the conference table with her still wrapped in his arms, their mouths moving together desperately, feverishly, like neither of them knew where one ended and the other began anymore.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
There was only breath.
Only heat.
Only three years of restrained longing finally collapsing between them all at once.
Her fingers stayed tangled deep inside his curls while Michael held her impossibly close, one hand pressed firmly against the small of her back as though he physically could not bear even an inch of distance between them now that he had her again.
Slowly, reluctantly, they separated just enough to breathe.
Both of them breathless, both trembling slightly. Michael rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising unevenly beneath the crisp fabric of his tuxedo shirt. His eyes stayed shut for a second like he was trying to memorize this moment before it disappeared.
Then carefully, his hands slid beneath her thighs as he guided her fully onto the edge of the conference table. Y/n inhaled sharply as the backs of her legs touched the cool polished wood.
Michael stepped between her knees immediately.
Close.
So close she could still feel the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat against her. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The movement pulled a soft, broken sound from him.
Three years.
Three entire years without touching her.
Without holding her.
Without this.
Michael looked at her like he could hardly believe she was real. His hands moved slowly along her thighs before settling tightly against her hips, fingers flexing there almost possessively. Y/n’s hands drifted upward, carefully sliding his tuxedo jacket from his shoulders.
Michael let her, watched her.
His gaze never left her face.
The jacket slipped down his arms and landed forgotten somewhere beside them on the floor. Then his hands gripped her bottom firmly, pulling her closer to the edge of the table until there was barely space left between their bodies. Y/n shivered softly at the feeling.
Michael noticed immediately. Everything about her still affected him.
Every breath.
Every expression.
Every tiny reaction.
He kissed her again briefly, slow this time, lingering and reverent instead of desperate, before pulling back just enough to truly look at her.
And when he did, His entire expression softened.
That look. Like she was something sacred. “You looked so perfect tonight,” he whispered.
Y/n’s breath caught.
Michael shook his head slightly, almost in disbelief. “The second I saw you…” His thumbs brushed gently along her waist. “I swear I forgot where I was.” A faint, emotional laugh escaped her. “I did.”
His voice grew quieter now. “You caught my eye immediately.” The honesty in his tone made her chest ache. “I wanted to run across that room and kiss you the second I saw you standing there.”
Y/n looked down briefly, suddenly overwhelmed beneath the intensity of his gaze.
Michael noticed that too.
He always noticed everything about her.
Carefully, he tilted her chin upward again. “Don’t hide from me.”
His voice came out soft.
Affectionate.
Almost pleading.
“You’re so beautiful, my baby.”
The nickname sounded gentler now.
Warmer.
His lips brushed slowly along her jawline before trailing downward toward her neck. Y/n inhaled shakily as he kissed the sensitive skin there softly, lingering for a moment beneath her ear. Michael’s hands tightened slightly at her waist when he felt her shiver again.
A quiet sound escaped him, like he missed this more than words could explain. His kisses continued downward carefully, unhurried now.
Reverent.
Tender.
Along the graceful line of her throat.
Across her collarbone.
Down to her cleavage, amongst her soft, perky breasts, Y/n’s fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt as warmth flooded through her body.
Michael paused briefly against her skin before looking back up at her. And despite the desire clouding his expression, there was still hesitation there too.
Carefulness.
He wanted her.
God, he wanted her desperately.
But more than anything, he wanted her trust again.
His hands slid gently up her dress, along her thighs as he searched her face quietly. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
The sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten,Y/n looked away for a second, overwhelmed by everything she was feeling.
The history between them.
The ache.
The love.
The years they lost.
Michael immediately moved back upward, pressing another soft kiss against her lips instead of pushing further.
Patient.
Waiting.
“Talk to me,” he whispered against her mouth.
Y/n’s fingers slid shakily through his curls again before she finally nodded once.
Small.
But certain.
Michael exhaled unevenly against her skin, relief and yearning mixing in one trembling breath before his lips slowly began trailing lower again, his hands holding her carefully like something precious he thought he’d lost forever. He carefully moved his hand further up her dress as his mouth ventured lower and lower.
He got on his knees and slid the crimson fabric to her waist, locking eyes with her as he pressed soft kisses along her inner thigh. The heat of her swollen cunt exuded as he got closer with his mouth. He looked back up to see her holding back a moan.
"I barely even got close." He muttered, his sweet, smooth voice echoed in between her thighs. He slowly stood up and kissed her again. His large digits made their way to her warmth, entrapped by the thin lace fabric. Slowly, he started rubbing the outside.
"Fuck-" Y/n softly moaned into the kiss.
Feeling her wetness practically dripping through the fabric, Michael slipped a thick finger and another one in without warning, causing a sharp noise from Y/n to escape into his mouth.
"Shh, I don't need nobody coming in." He spoke into the kiss, pumping his digits in and out of her, hitting the soft spot of her aching pussy.
"Please, Michael-"
He dropped to his knees. His mouth found her, pressed flat against her sensitive nub. His mouth sealed over her clit, sucking hard. His tongue flicked fast around it as her sweet juices covered his face. He didn't slow down; he couldn't, not when he was finally touching her. After many hookups and dates, all he could do was think of her while fucking someone else.
She lifted her leg onto his shoulder as she was close to completion. His free hand grabbed it and held it there. His mouth ravaged her clit possessively and aggressively, as if when he stopped, she wouldn't be there. He parted his fingers, still curving into her, and then he shoved his tongue into her as if he was trying to lick his way into her. He knew her body inside and out, so when he felt her start to squirm on top of him, he stood up.
She closed her legs, but he peeled them back open. He stood there and stared at her, admired all her beauty like he was seeing her for the first time again, she closed them again, knocking him back to reality.
"Don't just stand there like you haven't seen me like this before." A hint of disappointment spread on her face.
He laughed as he kissed her again, he then removed his pants along with his boxers, and god he was as big as she remembered.
He lay her down, the cold table kissed her back as she shivered against it, Michael fully pulled her dress up to her stomach, like muscle memory. He loved watching his length go in and out; he loved watching the outline press against her stomach. He hovered his tip over her slit, nudging it barely against her. He then pushed inside just enough to make her gasp.
"It's okay, baby, just relax and take it, okay?" He said, pushing in inch by inch until he was fully in her, Y/n could feel him everywhere. He stayed still for a moment, letting her get used to the feel of him again. She looked away, shy because she couldn't believe she was fucking her ex, her only sexual partner, at the Grammys.
He grabbed her chin, "Look at me, I need to see you." He began to move slowly at first, picking up the pace in short bursts; She tried to maintain eye contact, but she was on cloud nine, she was feeling a feeling that she hadn't felt, not by herself at least.
He pounded into her slowly, deep, long rolling thrusts that made her cry out from pleasure. He put two fingers in her mouth as he bent close to her ear, smirking, "You want everyone to know how good I make you feel?"
Y/n spoke, broken up by the sounds of pleasure, "Michael, please, faster."
He took her hands and pinned them above her head. He slammed into her at a fast, ungodly rhythm. Driving into her harder, the sound of their bodies filled the empty room and most likely the hallway too. Every stroke he drove deeper into her, like he was telling her she was his and he wasn't leaving anymore.
"Keep your eyes on me, baby, I make you feel- good, huh?''
Y/n's eyes rolled into the back of her head, barely able to get a sound out, "Fuck- yes, yes you do."
"Good, because I'm- not letting you go again." He said as he gripped her waist to steady himself before he rammed into her. She moaned as her slopping wet cunt clenched around him. He moved faster and deeper, losing control. They both were close; they both could feel it building up.
"Im-Michael fuck" Y/n cried out, shaking, rolling her hips to the pace of him slamming in and out of her. The room smelled like sex, and the sound of his balls hitting her cunt turned her on even more. He pressed further; he couldn't help but call out her name. His cock disappeared into her with an immense force, savoring every thrust, every inch, every time he whispered her name, every time he let out a grunt. A white ring of her formed at the base of his cock.
She was almost there, he wanted her to look at him as he finished inside her and her on him.
Michael's pace quickened, then turned sloppy. Y/n hand reached for her clit but was moved away and was engulfed by his large hand, "I'm- I'm coming- please baby please."
That sent her over the edge; she came apart, a sharp cry ripped from her throat as her hands shot up to the hem of Michael's shirt, her body clenched around her, and he followed suit, his body shuddering against hers following a groan of content. She felt him pulse inside her, his thick white warmth coating her entirely.
The room fell into a soft, breathless quiet afterward.
The kind of silence that only came after overwhelming emotion finally settled into something gentler.
Warmer.
The fluorescent lights above them hummed faintly while both of their breathing slowly returned to normal. Somewhere far outside the conference room walls, distant applause and muffled music from the Grammys still carried faintly through the building, but inside that room, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared entirely.
Michael leaned forward slightly, exhausted curls falling around his face while he caught his breath. Then slowly, carefully, he removed himself and reached down to pull his boxers back up.
Before he could fully fix himself, Y/n reached across the conference table toward the tissue box sitting near the far edge.
Michael looked at her immediately.
And watched.
Quietly.
Tenderly.
Y/n pulled several tissues free before gently cleaning herself up first, then him too, without even thinking about it.
The gesture was so natural.
So familiar.
So heartbreakingly domestic.
Michael suddenly chuckled softly beneath his breath.
Y/n glanced up at him suspiciously. “What’s funny?”
He shook his head immediately, smiling in that shy, boyish way she remembered far too well. “Nothing, my baby,” he murmured warmly. “I’m just happy.” His eyes softened impossibly. “I really am.”
Something in her chest twisted hearing that.
She missed him.
Even when she was angry at him, she missed him.
Y/n rolled her eyes lightly to hide the emotion threatening to rise again. “You are unbelievable.”
Michael laughed quietly under his breath while fixing the rest of his clothes. “No, seriously,” he continued softly, unable to stop smiling at her. “You have no idea how long I dreamed about this.”
“That’s because you’re dramatic.”
“I am not dramatic.”
Y/n gave him a look.
Michael paused. “…Okay, maybe a little.”
“A little?” she repeated incredulously, hopping down carefully from the edge of the table to smooth her dress back into place. “Michael Joseph Jackson, you got on your knees crying in a conference room.”
“And I’d do it in public if I had to.”
The sincerity in his voice made her fail miserably at suppressing a smile.
Michael immediately noticed.
And stared.
Like seeing her genuinely smile again after all these years, physically stunned him.
Y/n caught him looking and narrowed her eyes playfully. “Don’t start.”
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“That pathetic little ‘I’m so in love with you’ look.”
Michael grinned shamelessly now. “I can’t help it.”
She shook her head, trying not to laugh while fixing the straps of her dress properly on her shoulders again. “You stressed me out for three whole years.”
“I stressed myself out too.”
“Oh, poor Michael.”
“I’m serious!”
Y/n laughed softly under her breath while running her fingers carefully through her hair, trying to tame the slight mess he had made of it.
Michael watched her the entire time, completely mesmerized, like he still couldn’t fully believe she was standing there with him again.
“You know,” she muttered teasingly while adjusting an earring, “you really had me begging and crying like somebody just died.”
Michael looked offended. “I was emotional!”
“You were damn near hyperventilating.”
“I love you!” he defended dramatically.
Y/nburst into laughter, finally.
Real laughter.
Not forced.
Not guarded.
And the sound nearly knocked the air from his lungs.
Because he had missed that, too, missed making her laugh, missed hearing joy come from her instead of pain.
Michael stepped closer slowly, hands settling carefully against her waist again. “You got jokes now,” he murmured.
“I always had jokes.”
“You used to be nicer to me.”
“You used to not flirt with other women in front of me.”
Michael winced immediately. “Ouch.”
“Mhm.”
“That one hurt.”
“Good.”
But she was smiling when she said it. And somehow that made it worse and better all at once.
Michael leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. “I deserved that.”
“Yes, you did.”
A comfortable silence settled briefly between them afterward.
Not awkward.
Not painful.
Just… familiar.
Like slipping back into something they once knew by heart.
Then finally, Y/n glanced toward the door. “So…” she said casually, smoothing the front of her gown again. “Are you going to this after party?”
Michael looked at her like she had personally offended him. “The after party?”
“Yes, Michael. The Grammy after party.”
He shook his head immediately. “I would much rather have my after party at home with you.”
The smoothness of the answer made Y/n roll her eyes instantly. “Oh, my God.”
“But am I wrong?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not.”
“You are absolutely wrong.”
Michael smiled lazily. “I missed you.”
“Say something else, Starboy.”
“It’s still true.”
Y/n tried to suppress another smile and failed again.
A genuine one this time.
Soft.
Warm.
The kind that reached her eyes.
And Michael looked completely awestruck by it.
Like after three years of heartbreak and regret and longing, he had finally gotten a piece of his life back.
Y/n grabbed her purse from the nearby chair before heading toward the door, fixing her hair carefully in the reflection of the dark conference room window. Then she glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Call me later.”
Michael blinked. “Later?”
“Yes, later.”
“We’re playing hard to get again?”
She smirked faintly. “You’ll survive.”
“Y/n.”
“Call me,” she repeated teasingly before opening the door.
Michael laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head while watching her walk out of the room.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Still entirely capable of ruining him with one smile. And as the door shut behind her, leaving him standing there alone beneath the dim conference room lights, Michael realized one thing with absolute certainty.
synopsis~ Y/m meets with one on one for the last time, or so they both thought.
paring~ OffTheWall!Michael & Fem!reader
word count~ i lost count
content~ angst, hopeless romantic Michael, acceptance angst, Michael begs lol.
⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔
Y/n's apartment was unbearably silent.
Not the peaceful sort of silence people romanticized after long days, but the suffocating kind. The kind that pressed against the walls and settled deep inside the lungs until breathing itself felt heavy.
Outside, the city carried on without her.
Cars hissed across rain-darkened streets below the apartment building. Distant music drifted faintly through the humid New York night. Somewhere down the block, people laughed loudly as they spilled out of a bar, alive and careless and completely untouched by heartbreak.
But inside apartment 3B, there was only grief.
The amber glow of a single lamp illuminated the living room in muted gold, casting long shadows across the carpet where Michael’s belongings had slowly begun collecting into a cardboard box beside the couch.
A jacket draped over the armrest.
Records stacked beside the stereo.
A hair pick abandoned near the bathroom doorway.
A few shirts folded with stiff, mechanical precision because if she let herself linger too long over them, if she let herself breathe him in too deeply— she knew she would collapse completely.
The ashtray beside her overflowed with cigarette butts.
Half a pack.
And she had promised him when they got together that she was done smoking.
Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table with one of Michael’s sweaters clutched tightly in her lap. The fabric still smelled like him.
Something warm and heartbreakingly familiar.
Her chest tightened so painfully she almost doubled over.
On the table beside her sat a scattered pile of photographs.
Polaroids.
Tiny frozen moments from happier days.
Michael grinning with his arm slung around her shoulders.
Michael kissing her cheek while she laughed and shoved at his face.
Michael half asleep backstage with his head resting in her lap while she fixed his makeup before another take.
The two of them tangled together on her couch at three in the morning, smiling like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Her vision blurred.
Then there was the bracelet. The silver bracelet wrapped delicately around her wrist caught the dim apartment light whenever she moved. Michael had bought the matching set from a street vendor one night after dragging her through Lower Manhattan at nearly midnight because he insisted the city “looked prettier when everybody else was asleep.”
At the time she’d laughed at him.
Now the memory made her stomach ache.
Tears threatened behind her eyes again.
Y/n inhaled sharply and forced them back.
No.
No.
She would not cry again tonight.
She should’ve felt like this months ago.
The first week he stopped calling just to hear her voice.
The first week conversations started feeling forced.
The first week she realized she was begging for attention from a man who used to give it freely.
She should’ve left then, but she stayed, stayed and twisted herself smaller and smaller trying to become easier to love.
The realization made anger flicker sharply beneath the grief.
A sudden sound startled her from the spiral.
The doorbell.
Her whole body froze.
For one terrible second she considered pretending she wasn’t home.
Then it rang again.
Longer this time.
Y/n already knew who it was, of course she did.
Slowly, she set the sweater aside and rose from the floor.
Her legs felt heavy as she crossed the apartment.
The moment she opened the door— Michael stood there.
Rain clung lightly to his curls and darkened the shoulders of his jacket. His eyes looked tired. Red around the edges.
Like he hadn’t stopped crying either.
For a second neither of them spoke.
Then his eyes dropped immediately to the cardboard box visible behind her. And something inside him visibly broke. “Baby…” he whispered.
Y/n's expression hardened instantly. “Don’t.”
Michael swallowed hard. “Please let me come inside.”
“No.”
“N/n—”
“I'm sorry for making you come, you can get your stuff another─.”
“I don’t care about the stuff.”
“That’s convenient now.”
The words hit him hard.
Michael stepped closer before she could shut the door. “Please don’t do this.”
“I already told you we’re done.”
“You didn’t mean it.”
“I did.”
“No.” His voice cracked softly. “No, you're just mad.”
Y/n laughed bitterly. “You think this is anger?”
“What else is it?”
“It’s exhaustion.”
That silenced him for half a second; Rain tapped softly against the hallway window nearby, Michael looked at her like he was trying to memorize every inch of her face before she disappeared forever. “I know I messed up,” he said quietly.
“You did.”
“I know I've been distant.”
“Yes.”
“But I can fix it.”
Y/n shook her head immediately. “You should’ve fixed it when I was begging you to notice me.”
Michael winced. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“That’s the problem.”
“Baby—”
“No.” Her voice sharpened. “You do not get to stand here acting shocked now.”
Michael ran shaky hands through his curls. “I thought we were okay.”
“Well we weren’t.”
“I know that now.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
His eyes glossed over again. “Baby, please.”
The desperation in his voice twisted painfully through her chest. But she held her ground.
Michael stepped into the doorway before she could stop him completely. “I love you.”
Y/n looked away instantly. “I love you too,” she admitted quietly. “And look where that got me.”
Michael physically recoiled like the words hurt. “Don’t say it like that.”
“How should I say it?” she snapped suddenly. “Should I say it sweeter? Softer? Should I smile while telling you how awful you made me feel?”
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Well congratulations.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Painful.
Michael’s breathing grew uneven. “I can do better.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I mean it this time.”
“You meant it before, too.”
“I know.” His voice cracked harder now. “I know, okay? But please don’t leave me.”
Y/n shut her eyes briefly. Hearing him beg was almost worse than hearing him angry. Because she loved him.
God, she loved him.
And that was exactly why she had to leave.
Michael stepped closer carefully. “Baby, look at me.”
She refused.
He gently caught her hands anyway, gripping them tightly like he was afraid she’d vanish. “Please,” he whispered shakily. “Please don’t throw us away.”
She finally looked at him and nearly shattered, because he was crying now.
Actually crying.
Tears sliding silently down his face while he held onto her hands like they were the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’ll fix it,” he promised desperately. “I swear to God I’ll fix it. I’ll stop all the flirting, all the dumb stuff, whatever you want. I’ll do anything.”
Her throat tightened painfully. “Michael—”
“I mean it.” His voice trembled harder. “I need you.”
Y/n slowly pulled her hands free. “No,” she whispered. “You need me now that I’m leaving.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Michael shook his head immediately. “Baby, no.”
“You got comfortable.”
“I never stopped loving you.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“Then don’t go.” His voice cracked completely on the last word.
Y/n looked away because seeing him like this hurt too much. “I can’t keep teaching someone how to care about me properly.”
“I care about you!”
“Only when you’re scared to lose me!”
“That ain’t fair!”
“No,” she snapped, tears finally spilling over, “what wasn’t fair was me crying myself to sleep next to somebody who made every other woman feel special except me.”
Michael stared at her like she’d stabbed him. “N/n…”
“You don’t get to beg now because I finally found enough self-respect to walk away.”
He wiped angrily at his face. “So that’s it? You just giving up on me?”
“I fought for you for months.”
“You could fight a little longer!” The desperation in his voice echoed through the apartment.
Y/n's face crumpled briefly before she forced herself steady again. “No,” she whispered. “Because I’m starting to lose myself.”
Michael looked destroyed now.
Completely destroyed.
He stepped toward her again anyway. “Please.” His voice broke helplessly. “Please don’t do this to me.”
Tears slid freely down Y/n's cheeks now, but she stood firm. “I’m not doing this to you,” she said softly. “I’m finally doing something for me.”
Michael grabbed the doorframe tightly like he needed support to stay standing. “You're really gonna let me walk outta here?”
Y/n's lips trembled. “Yes.”
The word nearly killed both of them.
Michael stared at her for a long, unbearable moment. Then finally, in a shattered whisper, “I don’t know how to live without you.”
Y/n's entire face tightened with pain.
But still
Still
She opened the door wider.
And seeing him like that nearly destroyed her resolve instantly.
Rainwater still clung to the curls around Michael’s face. His eyes were swollen and glassy, lips parted slightly like he’d rehearsed a thousand things to say on the drive over only to forget all of them the second he saw her.
For one dangerous moment, all Y/n wanted was to fall into him.
To bury her face in his neck and let him hold her the way he used to after fourteen-hour filming days. The way he used to kiss her forehead and mumble sleepy apologies whenever work exhausted them both.
But that version of them was already dying long before tonight.
Quietly, she pointed toward the box sitting beside the couch. “There’s some of your stuff.”
Michael glanced toward it. The sight alone seemed to physically hurt him. A muscle jumped hard in his jaw before his eyes returned to her face.
Y/n folded her arms tightly across herself like it was the only thing keeping her upright. “There’s more,” she added softly. “Some of it’s stuff I bought you, though. I didn’t know if you wanted it.”
Michael stared at her for a second too long. Then quietly— “I don’t want the stuff.”
Y/n looked away immediately. “Well, it’s yours.”
“I want you.”
The ache in his voice almost cracked her open.
She turned toward the couch quickly before he could see the effect the words had on her. “I’m gonna grab the rest.”
But before she could take another step, Michael’s gaze landed on the ashtray overflowing beside the lamp.
His expression fell instantly. “…You really started smoking again?”
The question sounded wounded.
Almost accusing.
Y/n let out a dry little laugh without humor. “I stopped.”
Silence.
“Picked it back up when you flirted with that chick in front of me.”
Michael visibly flinched.
Actually flinched.
Like she’d hit him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The city noise outside filled the silence instead. Tires hissing over wet pavement. A distant siren. Rain tapping softly against the apartment windows.
Then suddenly Michael crossed the room toward her.
Fast.
“Y/n, please—”
“No.”
“I’m serious.” His voice cracked immediately. “Please don’t do this.” She stepped backward automatically when he got too close. Michael stopped himself instantly. Like he was afraid pushing too hard would make her disappear completely. “I’ll do better,” he rushed out desperately. “I swear to you I’ll do better.”
Y/n finally looked at him fully then.
And that was the worst part.
Because she believed him. She could see the sincerity burning in his eyes now that she was already halfway gone. The panic. The regret. The horrible realization that he’d let things rot for too long. But one chance too late still counted as too late.
“You could’ve tried earlier,” she whispered.
Michael swallowed hard.
“You could’ve fixed this before I got tired.”
“I didn’t know you were hurting this bad.”
“That’s the problem.” Her voice sharpened slightly. “You stopped paying attention enough to notice.”
“I was working.”
“So was I.”
“I been stressed.”
“So was I.”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored.”
“But you did.”
Michael’s breathing turned uneven.
Y/n bent down and started placing more of his things into the box because if she stood still too long, she knew she’d cave.
Records.
Jewelry.
One of his favorite button-ups.
Michael watched her helplessly from the middle of the living room. “I thought you’d stay.”
Her hands paused briefly over the box. The honesty in his voice hurt worse than defensiveness ever could.
Octavia inhaled shakily. “I know.”
Michael looked completely shattered now. “You always stayed.”
A tear slid down her cheek before she wiped it away angrily. “Yeah,” she whispered. “And look what that did to me.”
Michael crossed toward her again slower this time.
Tentative.
Like approaching a wound he caused himself.
“I love you.”
Her hands stopped moving completely. The apartment went deathly still.
Michael’s voice broke apart around the words. “I love you, Y/n.” Tears filled his eyes instantly again. “I don’t wanna lose you over this.”
Y/n shut her eyes briefly.
Jesus
“I know you love me.”
“Then don’t leave.”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t.” He stepped closer desperately. “Baby, please. We can fix this.”
“You said that already.”
“And I mean it!”
“You meant it every other time, too.”
Michael shook his head frantically. “No, this is different now.”
“Because I’m actually leaving?”
The words landed hard. He looked stunned for half a second.
Because she was right.
Y/n finally looked at him again, tears slipping freely now. “You got comfortable,” she whispered. “You stopped trying because you thought I’d always forgive you.”
Michael looked devastated. “I never stopped loving you.”
“That’s not enough sometimes.”
“It should be.”
“Well it isn’t.”
Michael grabbed her hands suddenly, gripping them tightly. “Please.” His voice cracked horribly. “Please don’t do this to me.”
Tears slid down Y/n's face faster.
Because he sounded terrified.
Absolutelyy terrified.
“I’ll change,” he whispered desperately. “I swear I will. I’ll stop flirting, I’ll stop shutting you out, I’ll spend more time with you, whatever you need—baby, please just tell me what to do.”
Y/n looked at him with heartbreak written all over her face. “That’s the thing,” she whispered. “You should’ve wanted to do those things before I had one foot out the door.”
Michael’s face crumpled. “I was stupid.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize—”
“Yes, you did.” Her voice cracked harder now. “You saw me hurting. You just thought I’d stay anyway.”
Michael went silent. Because he knew she was telling the truth. “I need another chance,” he whispered.
“You had months of chances.”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”
Y/n almost broke right there.
Almost.
Because part of her wanted to believe him so badly.
Michael stepped closer until they were barely breathing apart. “I need you,” he whispered shakily. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Y/n's face twisted with pain. “You should’ve thought about that before you started treating me like I was optional.”
Michael actually cried then.
Not quietly.
Not prettily.
A broken sound escaped him as tears slid down his face. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.
The desperation in his voice shattered the last fragile thing holding her together.
She threw her arms around him instantly, bursting into tears.
Michael held her so tightly it almost hurt, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed firmly against her spine like he could physically keep her from slipping away. “It’s okay,” he whispered shakily into her curls. “Baby, it’s okay. I got you. I got you.”
Y/n sobbed against him, clutching fistfuls of his shirt.
God, she loved him.
She loved him so much it made breathing painful.
Which was exactly why she couldn’t stay.
Slowly—
She pulled herself out of his arms.
Michael immediately reached for her again. “No, no, baby please—”
But Y/n stepped back before he could hold onto her. Tears streaked both their faces now. “I do love you,” she admitted softly. “I do.”
Hope flashed violently across Michael’s expression.
Then she shook her head. “But I can’t be with somebody who only fights for me once I’m already gone.”
His face fell instantly. “No, that's not true—”
“You ignored me for three months.”
“I was overwhelmed—”
“You stood me up.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel lonely while sitting right beside you.”
Michael shut his eyes tightly.
“And I know you’re not a cheater,” she whispered brokenly. “I know you would never sleep with another woman.”
His eyes filled again instantly.
“But emotional neglect hurts too.”
The words wrecked him.
Completely.
Michael bent forward slightly like the air had been knocked out of him.
Y/n grabbed the box carefully and pressed it into his arms. “Bye, Michael.”
He looked at her like she’d stabbed straight through his chest. “Don’t do this,” he choked out immediately. “Please. Please don’t throw us away over something I can fix.”
Y/n managed the smallest trembling smile through tears. “I really hope you find yourself.”
“Baby, no.” His voice turned frantic again. “Think about our future. Think about everything we planned.”
“I did.” Her lips trembled violently. “That’s why this hurts so much.”
“I’ll marry you,” he blurted. The room froze. Michael’s chest heaved unevenly. “I mean it. I’ll marry you tomorrow if that’s what it takes. I’ll tell everybody about us. I don’t care anymore.”
Y/n's face crumpled completely.
Because he meant it.
And because roughly three months ago, hearing those words would’ve healed every broken thing inside her.
But now
Now it just felt tragic.
“You can’t propose to me because you’re scared,” she whispered.
Michael grabbed desperately for her free hand. “I’m proposing because I love you!”
“You love me now that you’re losing me.”
“I always loved you!”
“But you stopped caring for me properly.”
He broke all over again. “Please,” he whispered helplessly. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
Something inside Y/n finally snapped from sheer exhaustion. “Enough.”
Not cruel.
Not angry.
Just tired.
So unbearably tired.
She gently guided him toward the door while he continued pleading softly through tears, voice tripping over itself.
“Please call me tomorrow.”
Silence.
“Please.”
Nothing.
“At least tell me you’ll think about it.”
Y/n couldn’t answer, because if she opened her mouth again, she might stay.
At the doorway, Michael stopped moving. Neither of them knew how to say goodbye.
Finally, Y/n leaned forward and pressed the tiniest kiss against his tear-damp cheek. “I love you,” she whispered brokenly. “And I wish you the best.”
Michael’s face collapsed entirely.
Then she closed the door. And the second it clicked shut—
She slid to the floor sobbing so violently she could barely breathe.
Outside in the hallway, Michael stood frozen clutching the box against his chest.
Then he broke too.
Completely.
The rest of filming passed in fragments. Long days beneath blistering studio lights.
Artificial cornfields.
Painted sunsets.
The constant hum of cameras and music and exhausted crew members trying to hold an enormous production together with coffee and sheer determination.
And through all of it— Y/n stayed professional.
Painfully so.
The first morning after their breakup, she arrived earlier than usual carrying her makeup case in one hand and a fresh cup of coffee in the other. Her eyes were swollen from crying, though cleverly hidden beneath careful makeup and composure practiced in the mirror for nearly an hour before work.
Nobody mentioned it.
Not directly.
But people noticed.
The set felt different now.
Quieter around them.
More careful.
Diana watched Y/n with soft concern every now and then, occasionally squeezing her hand in passing without saying a word. Crew members stopped teasing Michael as openly during breaks. Conversations lowered when the two of them occupied the same room.
Still, work continued.
Because work always continued.
And every morning, without fail, Michael sat in her chair.
The first time it happened after the breakup, the entire makeup trailer had gone tense.
Y/n remembered the silence vividly.
Michael walked in slowly, eyes tired, curls hidden beneath a scarf while costume assistants hovered awkwardly nearby pretending not to notice the unbearable tension hanging in the room. For one long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then quietly, professionally— “Morning.”
Octavia adjusted her brushes carefully. “Morning.”
That was all.
No bitterness.
No cruelty.
Just distance.
Michael sat down slowly while she draped the cape around his shoulders with practiced hands that never trembled no matter how badly her heart did. “You sleep okay?” he asked softly after several minutes.
Y/n continued blending makeup near his jawline. “Long night.”
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
Silence again.
Heavy.
Not angry anymore.
Just sad.
And that became their new normal.
Every day she fixed his makeup beneath harsh vanity lights while he sat quietly watching her reflection in the mirror like he was trying to memorize her all over again.
Sometimes he tried to talk.
“You eat yet?”
“Mhm.”
“You still smoking?”
“Less.”
“You should stop again.”
“You should mind your business.”
That earned the faintest ghost of a smile from him.
But Y/n never lingered.
Never softened too much.
Because she knew herself well enough to understand how dangerous tenderness could become around him.
So she stayed polite.
Graceful.
Distant.
When he cracked jokes with the cast, she barely reacted.
When women on set flirted with him, she no longer looked twice.
When he searched for her eyes between takes, she busied herself cleaning brushes or adjusting wigs or blotting sweat from somebody else’s forehead.
She was there to do her job.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And Michael noticed.
He noticed how she no longer waited for him after filming wrapped.
How she stopped reaching for his hand absentmindedly.
How she no longer laughed first at his jokes.
How she never called him “Mikey” anymore.
The absence of her affection became louder than any argument they’d ever had. Sometimes he looked absolutely miserable sitting in her makeup chair.
Especially toward the end of filming.
One evening during a late-night shoot, Y/n stood close enough to touch while carefully repainting the fading details around his eyes. The set around them buzzed with exhausted energy, everyone eager to finish the final scenes.
Michael watched her quietly through the mirror. “Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly.
Her hand paused for only a second. Then continued working. “No.”
“Feels like it.”
She sighed softly. “I could never hate you.”
The honesty in her voice visibly affected him. “Then why won’t you talk to me anymore?”
Finally, she met his eyes in the mirror.
Because this was the truth neither of them wanted to say aloud:
Talking to him still hurt.
Loving him still hurt.
Missing him still hurt.
So instead, she simply dabbed powder beneath his cheekbone and said gently, “Hold still. You’re smudging.”
Michael looked down after that. And didn’t speak again for the rest of the touch-up.
By the final week of filming, the entire cast felt emotional.
There were hugs between crew members.
Tears during final takes.
Photographs snapped constantly to preserve moments nobody wanted to let go of.
The last day arrived too quickly.
The soundstage buzzed with bittersweet energy from the moment people walked in that morning. Flowers appeared in dressing rooms. Champagne bottles sat hidden away waiting for wrap. Everybody smiled a little too brightly to disguise the sadness underneath.
Y/n spent most of the day moving quietly through organized chaos, powder brush in hand, touching up actors one final time beneath the familiar heat of studio lights.
And eventually, Michael sat in her chair for the last time. Neither of them acknowledged it aloud, But the air between them felt unbearably heavy.
Y/n adjusted the collar of his costume carefully while avoiding his eyes. “You missed a spot,” she murmured softly, brushing powder near his temple.
Michael watched her quietly. “You always notice.”
She ignored that. A long silence followed. Then finally, “I meant what I said that night,” he whispered.
Her hands stilled briefly. “I know.”
“I still love you.”
The words landed gently this time.
Not desperate.
Not manipulative.
Just honest.
Y/n swallowed carefully before stepping back from the chair. “I know that too.”
Michael looked at her like he wanted to say more. But for once, He let her go gracefully.
The assistant director called for places moments later, breaking whatever fragile thing had settled between them.
Michael stood slowly.
For one lingering second, neither moved.
Then Y/n offered him the smallest professional smile. “Go finish your movie, scarecrow.”
And for the first time in weeks
Michael smiled back. Soft. Heartbroken. Real. “Yes ma’am.”
Then he walked toward the glowing soundstage lights while Y/n remained behind with powder-stained fingers and a quiet ache she suspected would follow her long after the cameras stopped rolling.
⟡ ────୨ৎ──── ⟡
(there will be a part three tmr freaking tumblr said it was tew long lol)
UMMM this is my first time uploading on tumblr soo lmk how to really work it and set certain things up!! (there will be a part two) and if you guys dont want to wait everything is on my ao3 @-ohmj !!
-I want you back-
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The soundstage smelled faintly of aerosol hairspray, hot electrical wiring, and the sweet, powdery residue of greasepaint. Overhead, the blistering studio lamps burned with a relentless intensity that made the fabricated cornfield shimmer beneath a veil of artificial heat.
Painted backdrops stretched high into the rafters, their dusky oranges and indigos imitating a prairie sunset that would never truly arrive indoors. Crewmen shuffled across the set carrying cables and coffee cups, voices overlapping in hurried bursts while cameras stood poised like giant mechanical beasts waiting to awaken.
It was 1977, three months into the production, and everything about it felt larger than life.
Y/N stood near the edge of the set with a makeup brush pinched delicately between her fingers, her vanity case open beside her. Tiny compacts, powder puffs, and tubes of cream pigment were scattered in organized disarray across the tabletop. A radio somewhere behind the lighting rigs crackled out muffled soul music between static while assistants hurried back and forth carrying clipboards.
She barely noticed any of it anymore.
After the first weeks on set, the chaos had become background noise.
“Y/N!” one of the production assistants called. “Touch-up!”
She turned automatically, already reaching for translucent powder before she even saw who needed her.
The actor playing the crow slumped dramatically in his chair near the camera dolly, feathers drooping around his shoulders. “I’m melting,” he groaned. “Tell them I can’t die like this.”
“You’re not dying,” she said as she stepped toward him. “You’re sweating.”
“There’s a difference?”
“A very important one.”
He tilted his chin upward while she dabbed carefully beneath his eyes. “You makeup girls have no sympathy.”
“We lose sympathy around hour ten.”
“That explains the cold-heartedness.”
A laugh escaped her despite herself. “Hold still.”
He obeyed with exaggerated suffering while she repaired the cracking black greasepaint around his mouth. Her fingers worked expertly, practiced from long days beneath unforgiving lights.
But her attention drifted elsewhere.
Because only a few feet away stood Michael.
Perched atop the wooden post in full scarecrow costume, he looked almost unfairly beautiful beneath the haze of stage lighting. Straw spilled from the sleeves of his patched shirt and clung to the dark curls dampened by sweat around his forehead. One long leg dangled lazily from the crossbeam while he listened absently to a grip explaining something about camera angles.
Even exhausted, he drew attention without trying.
Always.
The crow actor noticed where her eyes wandered and smirked knowingly. “You gonna fix scarecrow pretty-boy next?”
Y/N tried to keep her expression neutral. “He’s next in line.”
“Mhm.”
She ignored the teasing tone. “Done,” she said, snapping the powder compact shut.
“You’re an angel.”
“No,” she replied dryly, “I’m underpaid.”
That earned another laugh from him as she turned away, makeup brush still in hand.
The closer she got to Michael, the more aware she became of the pounding inside her chest. Which was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. She’d spent months around him. Months listening to him hum softly between takes, months catching his grin from across crowded sets, months staying late beside him while wardrobe fixed costumes and stagehands reset scenes.
Usually, being near him felt easy.
Lately, it didn’t.
“Michael,” she said softly.
He glanced down from the post. “Mm.”
Just a sound.
Barely acknowledgment at all.
Something small and unpleasant twisted in her stomach.
Still, she climbed the little ladder carefully until she stood close enough to reach his face. Up close, she could smell sweat beneath the sharp trace of cologne and tobacco. The makeup around his cheekbones had begun fading beneath the heat, and tiny beads of perspiration shimmered along his hairline.
Usually he smiled when she got this close.
Usually he said something low and playful just to make her blush.
Today, nothing.
Y/N dipped the sponge lightly into cream makeup. “Tilt your head a little.”
He obeyed silently.
The distance between them felt wrong.
“You’re sweating through the prosthetic,” she murmured.
Michael exhaled tiredly. “It’s hot up here.”
“That’s what happens when they stick a man under six studio lights dressed like a scarecrow.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it disappeared almost instantly. “Guess so.”
She carefully blended color near his jawline. “You barely spoke at lunch.”
“Been thinking.”
“About?”
“Stuff.”
That single word landed like a closed door.
Y/N tried not to let it show on her face. “That sounds ominous.”
“It's not ominous.” His voice stayed soft, distracted. “Just tired.”
“You’ve been tired all week.”
“So have you.”
“Yeah, but I’m still charming.”
That usually would’ve made him laugh.
This time, he only hummed quietly.
The silence afterward stretched too long.
Below them, crew members rushed around resetting props while someone argued loudly about lighting cues. Music drifted faintly from somewhere offstage, swallowed by the constant hum of production.
Y/N focused carefully on fixing the paint near his temple. “Did I do something?”
That got his attention. His eyes shifted toward hers at last, dark and unreadable beneath the stage makeup. “What?”
“You’ve been distant.”
“I have not been distant.”
“You kinda are.”
Michael looked away again almost immediately. “We’re working, Y/N.”
The way he said it made her chest tighten. Like she’d crossed into territory she wasn’t supposed to enter.
“I know we’re working,” she said quietly. “I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Then stop talking to me like I’m asking for too much.”
His jaw flexed slightly beneath her fingertips. For a second, she thought he might actually say something real. Instead, he just sighed. “Can we not do this right now?”
There it was.
The thing she’d been dreading all week.
Y/N swallowed hard and looked down at her makeup sponge so he wouldn’t see the hurt flicker across her face. “Do what?”
“This.”
“This what?”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “You know what I mean.”
No, she wanted to say. I don’t.
Because a few months ago, he’d been sneaking into the makeup trailer just to sit beside her. A few months ago, he’d been brushing his fingers against hers when nobody looked. A few months ago, he’d promised they’d finally go somewhere once filming slowed down.
Now he could barely look at her.
She forced herself to keep working steadily. “Are we…” Her voice softened. “Still going out after filming tonight?”
For the first time all afternoon, Michael looked directly at her. And somehow that hurt worse.
Because the warmth she kept searching for wasn’t there anymore.
Not gone completely.
Just buried somewhere too deep for her to reach.
He hesitated long enough for dread to settle heavily in her stomach. “Maybe sometime later,” he said casually.
Casually.
Like he was talking about rescheduling a meeting. Like she hadn’t spent nearly a year quietly falling in love with him.
Y/N felt her hand falter for the briefest second before she forced herself steady again. “Oh.”
Michael shifted slightly on the post. “Things have been busy.”
“Right.” She nodded once. “Busy.”
“You know how this gets.”
“Mhm.”
Another silence.
Thick. Miserable.
She concentrated on blending the edge of his makeup because if she looked directly at him again, she might embarrass herself. Below them, someone shouted for quiet on set.
Michael cleared his throat softly. “Y/N—”
But before he could finish, the director’s booming voice echoed across the soundstage. “Places everybody! Let’s shoot again!”
The moment shattered instantly. Crew members rushed back into position. Cameras rolled across tracks. Assistants scrambled with clipboards and headset wires tangled around their arms.
Y/N climbed down the ladder carefully, clutching her makeup kit against her chest a little tighter than necessary.
“Thanks, N/N,” one of the grips called distractedly as she stepped aside.
She barely heard him.
Above her, Michael adjusted himself atop the wooden post, slipping effortlessly back into performance mode. The exhaustion vanished the second the cameras pointed his direction. His posture straightened. His smile returned. Charisma poured from him like stage light itself.
Like their conversation had never happened at all.
“Rolling!”
“Speed!”
“And… action!”
Music swelled faintly from offstage while artificial wind machines roared to life, rustling costume fabric and scattering loose pieces of straw across the floor. The actors launched into choreography and dialogue beneath the burning lights.
Michael performed flawlessly.
Animated.
Magnetic.
Beautiful.
And Octavia stood just beyond the cameras holding a powder brush in trembling fingers, trying desperately not to let anyone notice that her heart had cracked open right there on the soundstage.
When the director finally shouted, “Cut!” the entire soundstage seemed to exhale at once.
The artificial wind machines powered down with a low mechanical groan. Crew members loosened shoulders. Someone near the cameras muttered, “Thank God,” while another immediately reached for a cigarette.
“Take five!” the director called, pulling off his headset. “I wanna check playback before we go again!”
The actors dispersed almost instantly.
The actor who played one of the crows disappeared toward wardrobe, complaining loudly about sweat ruining his mane. Diana Ross dropped heavily into a folding chair while two assistants rushed to fan her down.
And Michael...
Michael hopped down from the wooden post with irritating ease, landing lightly despite the heavy scarecrow boots. He tugged off his hat and shook out damp curls, chest rising and falling beneath the patched costume.
Even exhausted, he looked good.
Too good.
Y/N stood frozen beside her makeup station, pretending to reorganize brushes she’d already cleaned twice.
Don’t look at him.
Her eyes drifted anyway.
Michael headed toward craft services, rolling tension from his shoulders while a production runner handed him a towel.
Then she saw the woman approaching him.
Tall. Blonde. Perfect teeth. One of the assistant stage directors.
The kind of woman who somehow still looked polished after twelve-hour shoots beneath melting studio lights. Her blouse was crisp, her lipstick untouched, and her laugh carried brightly across the set before she even reached him. “Well, scarecrow,” the woman teased, offering him a bottle of water, “you looked awfully convincing up there.”
Michael smirked while unscrewing the cap. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhm.” She leaned against the table casually. “Though personally, I think the makeup girl deserves half the credit.”
Michael glanced briefly toward Y/N's station. “Probably more than half.”
The woman laughed louder, touching his arm lightly.
And Michael let her.
Something hot and ugly twisted inside Y/N’s chest.
Her hand tightened around a powder brush.
She looked down quickly, pretending to focus on cleaning palettes. But every few seconds her eyes betrayed her.
The assistant director leaned closer.
Michael said something low enough that Y/N couldn’t hear it. The woman threw her head back laughing, fingertips brushing the sleeve of his costume again like she’d already decided she belonged there.
And Michael smiled at her.
Not the polite smile.
Not the public smile.
That smile. The crooked one that started in his eyes first. The one he used to give her when he leaned against her makeup chair late at night talking about music and dreams and stupid little things nobody else got to hear.
“You’re staring holes through him.”
Y/N nearly jumped.
Diana stepped beside her with graceful ease, already partially changed between takes. She sipped from a paper cup while watching the scene across the set with entirely too much understanding in her eyes.
“I’m not staring,” she muttered.
Diana hummed skeptically. “Mmm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Baby, if looks could kill, that poor woman would be laid out on the floor.”
Y/N snapped her compact shut harder than necessary. The sound cracked sharply through the air.
Diana glanced at her.
Y/N immediately regretted it. “Sorry.”
“No you ain’t.”
That almost made her laugh.
Almost.
Diana leaned lightly against the makeup table. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Mhmm.”
“I mean it.”
“N/N.”
The softness in Diana’s voice nearly unraveled her. Y/N swallowed hard and kept shoving brushes into the wrong compartments. “He’s acting weird.”
“Weird how?”
“He barely talks to me anymore.” Her voice tightened despite herself. “One minute everything’s fine and then suddenly it’s ‘maybe later’ and ‘we’re working’ and now he’s over there flirting with damn Barbie.”
Diana glanced toward the craft table.
The assistant director was laughing again. Michael smiled down into his water bottle like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Diana sighed quietly. “Men.”
“Oh no,” Y/N scoffed bitterly, “don’t give me the ‘men are stupid’ speech. I don’t wanna hear that.”
“Well unfortunately they are stupid.”
“He wasn’t stupid before.” That slipped out too fast.
Y/N let out a humorless laugh. “I think I might hate him, actually.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Sure you are.”
Y/N grabbed a towel aggressively and started wiping makeup residue from the table though it was already spotless. “I just don’t understand why men do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like they want you and then suddenly decide you’re inconvenient.” Her movements became harsher. “Like if he didn’t wanna go out anymore he could just say that instead of acting all weird and distant and—” She stopped herself abruptly.
Diana watched her carefully. “And what?”
“And standing over there grinning at Miss Maybelline like I’m stupid.”
Diana snorted into her drink.
Y/N finally looked at her. “It’s not funny.”
“It kinda is.”
“Oh my God.”
“I’m sorry!” Diana laughed softly. “It’s just—you are so mad right now.”
“I am not mad.”
“Baby, your eye is twitching.”
Y/N slammed another brush into her case. “I swear to God if she touches him one more time—”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet.” Y/N finally risked another glance across the set.
Big mistake.
The assistant director had moved even closer now, saying something near Michael’s ear while fixing a piece of straw on his shoulder.
And Michael—
Michael looked comfortable.
Comfortable.
Like she wasn’t standing twenty feet away trying not to combust. Something inside her snapped. “Oh, he got me messed up.”
Diana blinked. “Uh-oh.”
“No, seriously.” Y/N shoved past her station. “He got me all the way messed up.”
“Y/N—”
“I’m up here looking stupid over a man dressed like a damn haystack.”
Diana burst out laughing.
“I mean look at him!” she hissed. “You know what? Fine. Fine. Let Miss Blondie powder his face then.”
“Girl—”
“No! Because I’m done.” She pointed dramatically across the set. “He can flirt all he wants. I don’t care.”
Diana gave her a look.
Y/N’s jaw clenched. “…I care a little.”
“A little?”
“Shut up.”
The assistant director laughed again at something Michael said.
That did it.
Michael glanced up suddenly, almost like he’d felt her staring. Their eyes locked across the crowded soundstage. For one suspended second, neither of them moved. Michael’s smile faded slightly.
Y/N rolled her eyes so hard/it bordered on theatrical before turning sharply on her heel.
“Y/N!” Diana called between laughs.
But Y/N was already storming toward the quieter rear section of the soundstage where spare equipment cases and personal belongings were stacked. The further she got from the lights and cameras, the cooler the air became. Dim shadows swallowed the noise of production until only muffled voices echoed faintly from the main set.
Y/N dropped beside her bags with enough force to rattle the metal cases nearby. “Oh, I hate him,” she muttered furiously while yanking open her purse.
Cigarettes clattered inside.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled one free. The lighter sparked twice before catching. She inhaled deeply, smoke scorching down into her lungs while anger and humiliation tangled painfully in her chest.
Behind her, someone moved equipment across concrete floors with a loud scrape.
Y/N ignored it.
Ignored everything.
She shoved makeup brushes violently into cases she’d already organized, rearranged folded clothes she didn’t need, snapped latches harder than necessary.
Anything to keep busy.
Anything to stop the awful sting pressing behind her eyes.
Because if she stopped moving for even one second—She might cry.
And she absolutely refused to cry.
The storage area behind the soundstage was quieter than the main set, but not truly silent. Metal equipment cases lined the walls in crooked stacks. Spare props disappeared into shadows beneath hanging tarps. Somewhere nearby, an industrial fan rattled loudly, pushing cool air through the dim backstage corridor.
Y/N stood beside her bags with one arm wrapped tightly around herself, cigarette balanced between trembling fingers.
Her chest still burned.
Anger.
Humiliation.
Heartbreak.
All tangled together so tightly she could barely separate one from the other. She inhaled deeply again, smoke filling her lungs until it hurt.
Then—Footsteps behind her.
Steady.
Familiar.
“Hey.”
Michael.
She didn’t turn around, didn’t answer.
She just stared ahead at the concrete wall, jaw tight enough to ache.
A beat of silence passed.
Then softer this time—“Baby.” The nickname nearly made her snap the cigarette in half. Michael stepped closer carefully, like approaching something wounded that might bite him if he moved too fast. “C’mon now.”
She ignored him completely.
“Y/N.”
Still nothing.
He sighed quietly before reaching for her arm.
The second his fingers brushed her sleeve, she jerked away violently. “Don’t touch me.”
The sharpness in her voice sliced through the dim corridor instantly. Michael froze.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and dangerous.
Y/N took another drag from the cigarette, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead. Finally, without looking at him, she spoke. “We’re done.”
Michael blinked hard like he genuinely hadn’t heard her right. “…What?”
“We’re done.”
His expression shifted immediately from confusion to disbelief. “Y/N, Baby, stop playing.”
“I’m not playing.”
Michael stepped closer fast now, catching her arm despite her resistance and turning her toward him. “Look at me.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
She refused stubbornly, eyes locked on the floor. Michael’s grip tightened slightly—not painful, just desperate. “Talk to me.”
That did it.
Y/N’s head snapped upward so fast her hair whipped around her face. Her eyes blazed with fury and hurt so raw it nearly startled him backward. “You think this is fun for me?” she demanded. “You think I enjoy standing out there looking stupid while you flirt with every damn woman that smiles at you?”
Michael frowned immediately. “Jesus Christ, it was just talking.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“She had her hands all over you!”
“She was joking around!”
“And you loved it!”
His jaw tightened. “You're making this bigger than it is.”
Y/N laughed sharply. A broken, bitter sound. “We’ve been together almost a year, Michael.” Her voice shook harder with every word. “A year. And you expect me to stand there while you grin in some woman’s face like I’m nobody?”
“It was harmless.”
“Harmless to who?”
“To everybody!”
“No,” she snapped, jabbing a finger hard into his chest, “harmless to you.”
Michael grabbed her wrist gently before she could shove him again. “Baby, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Her voice echoed off the concrete walls.
Somewhere in the distance, muffled crew laughter drifted faintly from the main set, painfully normal compared to the storm unraveling backstage. Y/N yanked her hand free. “You know what’s crazy? I sat there trying not to embarrass you.”
“You did embarrass me.”
That landed wrong immediately.
Michael saw it the second her expression changed.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “So that’s what you worried about.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“No, it is.”
“Y/N—”
“You embarrassed?” she interrupted. “Imagine how I felt.”
Michael exhaled hard through his nose, frustrated now. “You're acting as if I cheated on you.”
“Maybe because you keep acting single!”
“I do not act single.”
“You flirt with everybody!”
“I flirt with people naturally!”
“Oh, my God.” She threw her hands up. “Listen to yourself!”
“What?”
“You saying that like it’s cute!”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to me!”
The force behind her words made Michael fall silent.
Y/N’s chest rose unevenly now, emotions slipping further out of control no matter how hard she tried to hold them in. “I have sat back for months,” she said, voice cracking, “watching girls throw themselves at you while you smile in their faces and then come back to me afterward like I’m supposed to just accept it.”
Michael rubbed both hands over his face. “You know what this life is like.”
“No,” she shot back instantly. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about fame.”
“I’m not making it about fame!”
“Then what are you making it about?”
He hesitated. And that hesitation told her everything. Frustration finally flashed across Michael’s face. “You can’t blame me completely here.”
Y/N stared at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“You’re the one who wanted us to be secret!”
Her expression hardened instantly. “That does not mean you get to act like you’re not in a relationship.”
“You told me not to say anything!”
“I told you to protect us!” The shout echoed sharply through the storage area.
Michael went quiet.
Y/N shook her head slowly, tears beginning to gloss her eyes despite how furiously she fought them. “You don’t get to use that against me.”
“I’m not using it against you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m saying this whole thing gets confusing sometimes!”
“What’s confusing about loyalty?”
“That it's not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is me loving you enough to protect your image while you stand out there entertaining every woman that bats her eyelashes at you.”
Michael’s face twisted with frustration. “I never asked you to do that.”
“But I did it anyway.”
That silenced him completely.
Because it was true.
Y/N had protected him constantly. Granted, it'd only been a year, she did. Protected his privacy. Protected his peace. Protected the fragile little world they built behind closed doors while he became bigger and bigger beneath studio lights.
And suddenly she felt stupid for it.
Absolutely stupid.
Michael’s voice softened slightly. “Sweetie…”
She looked away immediately. Because hearing tenderness from him now felt unbearable.
“You know I love you.”
A tear slipped free before she could stop it. Y/N wiped it away angrily. “That ain’t enough sometimes.”
Michael stared at her like she had physically struck him.
She crushed the cigarette hard into a nearby ashtray. “Come by my apartment sometime this week and get your stuff.”
Michael blinked. “…You don’t mean that.”
But she did.
Even though it felt like someone was splitting her open from the inside. “You don’t get to make me feel crazy for being hurt,” she whispered.
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“You don’t get to make me compete for your attention either.”
“I never wanted that.”
“Well, that’s exactly what it feels like.”
Michael stepped toward her again. “Baby, please.”
“No.”
Her voice broke completely that time.
Raw.
Shaky.
Painfully human. And somehow that hurt worse than all the yelling.
Y/N grabbed her bag roughly off the equipment case and shoved past him before he could stop her again.
“Y/N—”
But she kept walking.
Fast.
Past dangling cables and towering set pieces and exhausted crew members who immediately pretended not to notice the tears streaking down her face.
Michael stayed where she left him beneath the dim backstage lighting, shoulders tense, eyes locked helplessly on the woman he loved disappearing further and further away from him for the very first time. “Y/N, please.”
She kept walking.
Fast.
Her boots struck hard against the concrete floor as she pushed through the maze of backstage equipment, gripping her bag so tightly her knuckles ached.
Behind her, Michael hurried to catch up. “Y/N, wait.”
“No.”
“Just listen to me for one second.”
“What makes you think I want to listen to you after you haven't listened to me for three months?”
That made him stop short for half a beat. Just long enough for her to keep moving.
Then he was following again. “You're acting like I've been out here cheating on you.”
She spun around so abruptly that he nearly walked straight into her. “You know what?” she snapped. “I am so tired of you doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making me sound crazy for reacting to things you actually did.”
Michael spread his hands helplessly. “I ain’t saying you crazy.”
“Yes, you are! Every single time I get upset, suddenly I’m dramatic or overreacting or making things bigger than they are.”
“Because sometimes you do!”
Y/N laughed in disbelief. “Oh, my God.”
“I’m serious.”
“No, you know what’s serious?” She stepped closer, voice shaking harder now. “You being cold to me for three damn months while acting sweet to everybody else.”
Michael frowned immediately. “That’s not true.”
“It is true.”
“It ain’t.”
“You barely touch me anymore!”
“That’s because we are at work half the time!”
“And somehow that stops you from flirting with everybody else?”
“I do not flirt with everybody else!”
“You literally called that woman adorable in front of me!”
Michael blinked. “…That’s what this is about?”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“She made a joke!”
“And you smiled all hard at her and called her adorable while your girlfriend was standing right there!”
Michael rubbed both hands down his face in frustration. “Jesus Christ.”
“No, don’t ‘Jesus Christ’ me!”
His voice sharpened suddenly. “You flirt with your coworkers, too!”
That stopped her cold. Y/N stared at him.
Slowly.
Dangerously.e
“…What?”
“You heard me.”
“No, I wanna hear you say it again.”
Michael exhaled hard, already realizing he had stepped wrong, but too frustrated to back down now. “You laugh with people, joke around, touch folks when you're talking—”
“Talking and laughing is not the same thing as being dry with your girlfriend for three months!” The force in her voice echoed through the corridor.
Michael opened his mouth again, but she cut him off instantly.
“It is not the same as ignoring my calls half the time.”
“I wasn’t ignoring you—”
“It is not the same as acting irritated every time I try to spend time with you!”
“That ain’t true.”
“And it sure as hell is not the same as calling another woman adorable while your girlfriend is standing right there looking stupid!”
Michael’s jaw clenched tightly. Y/N could see the frustration building in him now, too.
Good.
Let him feel something.
“Why are you acting like I don’t love you?” he demanded.
“Because you stopped acting like it!”
“That is not fair.”
“What’s not fair,” she shot back, voice cracking, “is me begging for crumbs from a man who used to make me feel wanted.”
The words hit him hard. She saw it immediately.
Michael looked away briefly, swallowing.
Y/N’s chest tightened painfully. Because part of her still wanted him to fix this.
To say the exact right thing. To suddenly become the man she’d been missing for months.
Instead, he just whispered, “Baby…”
“No.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“I’m already doing it.”
Michael stepped closer carefully, eyes frantic now. “Y/N, listen to me. I know I've been distant sometimes, okay? I know I've been stressed and distracted and probably hard to deal with—”
“Probably?”
“Okay, definitely.” He ran trembling hands through his curls. “But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.”
“It feels like it.”
“It's not.”
“Then why do I feel alone every time I’m with you now?”
That silenced him completely. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The distant soundstage noise hummed faintly beyond the storage corridor. Somewhere far away, someone laughed. A lighting rig clanged loudly against metal.
But back here, the world felt painfully still. Michael’s voice came softer this time. “You're really leaving me?”
Y/N looked at him and nearly broke apart right there. Because he looked scared now.
Actually scared.
Not irritated. Not defensive.
Scared.
“I don’t want to,” she admitted quietly.
Hope flashed across his face immediately.
“But I have to.”
The hope disappeared just as fast.
Michael stepped even closer. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“We can fix this.”
“You should’ve fixed it before I got this tired.”
“I’m trying now.”
“Now.”
The single word dripped with exhaustion. Michael reached for her hands again, slower this time, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he moved too quickly.
When she didn’t pull away immediately, he held onto them tightly.
“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.
The desperation in his voice nearly shattered her resolve.
“Michael—”
“I mean it.” His eyes were glossy now, too. “Please. Don’t do this. I’ll do better.”
Y/N shut her eyes briefly.
God.
Hearing him beg hurt worse than the fighting.
“I love you,” he said shakily. “You know I love you.”
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.
Michael wiped it away instantly with trembling fingers. “Baby, please.”
For one horrible second she almost gave in. Almost melted right back into him.
Then she remembered the loneliness.
The waiting.
The humiliation.
The constant feeling that she cared more than he did.
And slowly, she stepped backward out of his hands.
Michael’s face crumpled immediately. “No…”
“You can’t love me properly right now.”
“I can.”
“You don’t.”
“I do!”
“Then why am I miserable?”
That shut him up again.
Y/N looked away before she lost her nerve completely. “I’m angry right now,” she said quietly.
Michael swallowed hard. “You got every right to be.”
“And if we keep talking, I’m gonna say something cruel just because I’m hurt.”
“N/N—”
“So stop.”
He stared at her helplessly. She wiped her face quickly and adjusted the strap on her bag with shaking hands. “When you come get your stuff…” Her voice wavered slightly before she steadied it again. “Maybe we can talk then.”
Michael latched onto that immediately. “So this isnt over.”
“At my apartment,” she corrected firmly. “Not here.”
“But—”
“At work?” Her eyes hardened again. “Leave me alone.”
The words visibly wounded him. Still, he nodded faintly.
Y/N stepped backward again. Michael looked like he wanted to chase her, argue more, grab her, and hold her there until she changed her mind.
But something in her expression stopped him. Because she meant it.
For the first time since he’d known her, Y/N was actually walking away.
Michael’s voice cracked softly as she turned. “I don’t know what to do without you.”
Her shoulders tensed. But she didn’t look back. “Figure it out,” she whispered.
Then she disappeared back toward the glowing soundstage lights, leaving Michael alone in the dim backstage corridor with tears burning in his eyes and the terrifying realization that begging hadn’t been enough to make her stay.
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