" GUILTY FEET "
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thriller!michael jackson x dancer!reader ; wc: 7100+
SUMMARY: they say guilty feet have no rhythm. while these ones don't lose their rhythm they definitely falter in the face of the one their family hurt. reader gets recruited to be a backup dancer for some mystery project without even knowing who the lead performer is. after they reluctantly accept and arrive they're faced with the fact that the project is lead by none other than michael jackson, their old childhood friend who was hurt by their father's game of payout that they were equally dragged into.
CONTAINS: emotional angst, fluff-ish ending, childhood friends to estranged to at least acquaintances (I still don't know how exactly to categorize my stories, forgive me)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this one ended up REALLY REALLY LONG so... hopefully we do not shun long wips here. I might end up writing another part for it eventually if I get the urge but we shall see. I'm not quite sure how I feel about the conversation between them so honestly idk how long I'll keep this up lowkey but hopefully you still enjoy it! thank you for choosing to read my story!
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It was all sudden.
Not a moment had been expected. From the first time you met to the last.
Rather… what was supposed to be the last. Maybe the closing note was the only thing they had tried to plan and that's why it failed.
You had been Michael's confidant for so long. Attached at the hip, hand in hand when moments allowed it. You were facing the world together until you weren't. For him it seemed unexpected, for you it was planned to the letter. Not maliciously, lord knows not maliciously. It just happened, maybe that was what hurt the worst about it.
Young childish innocence, there's nothing like it. Being completely oblivious to all of the things that were pulling you away from the one thing that made sense. All in the name of, 'it's whats best for you.' How would they know that? It was a question that plagued you even in this very moment. A decade later and you still wondered if you had done something different, if you had noticed sooner, that maybe he would still be there. In that yard, on the porch swing, without a care in the world.
Life doesn't wait on the what if's though, does it? You were too abruptly brought to that reality as your agent called your name from across the table as if you were miles away.
"Huh… what?"
"You were lost again." They commented, still flipping through the paperwork you both had, "Sometimes I wonder how you would get anything done without me." It was a light-hearted tease at how spacey you could be. It managed to make you smile at least a little bit.
You were meeting over brunch, a casual meal that was anything but right now. Your agent had come to you with paperwork for a project. The trick was? All you had to go off of was the concept for… whatever this was. Some sort of short film, maybe indie? You honestly weren't certain. The budget definitely didn't seem like anything just starting up, so then what was with all the secrecy? It wasn't even like they omitted the name from the documents but every time a name was supposed to be there it was marked out in thick black ink. It honestly just made you even more curious and anxious in equal measure.
"So… what? Am I supposed to just make my best judgment based on the concept? Why can't I know who I'm working with?"
"I'm not sure, all they told me was that you were personally requested. They haven't even started auditions for this project."
Personally requested? Even if you were making your way you definitely weren't the biggest name out there. Though a backup dancer really didn't need to be well known, did they? Still though, a personal request to be someone's back up? Were you the only one that thought this was a touch bizarre?
"So these guys just so happened to recruit me specifically based on… what?"
"They said the artist didn't mention why just said they wanted you on the project."
You didn't get it. All you could do was stare at the papers in front of you. The concept was intriguing enough. The costumes definitely sounded like they'd be fun. Full zombie get-up? This would be the only way you'd be caught dead as something you normally avoided… no pun intended. A project was a project though and the payout was definitely a pretty penny. It just felt strange. The timing, the secrecy, the process, "I need to think on it."
"Think on it?!" Your agent sounded practically offended as if they themself had written up the deal, "What's there to think about? You're interested, yeah?"
"I mean yeah."
"So what's the issue?"
"The issue is how odd this feels." You huffed out the words, "Does this not seem strange to you? How much information is here yet how little there actually is?"
"It's got the important information, right? Pay, length of filming, expectations, scheduling. The way I see it you shouldn't fret about the who, you probably won't even be that involved with them through the process."
"You do remember this is for me to dance with this mysterious whoever."
"Sure but do you really need to know who you're dancing with to dance to a tune?"
This was one of those moments you and your agent definitely disagreed. While you understood their perspective you still couldn't help but feel apprehensive. It was something about your personal feelings, moral compass or whatever. If you were going to be dancing with someone you wanted to at least have an idea of who they were. Do research and what not to understand what you were getting yourself into. Though it was your first really big gig out on your own. It's not like you had people clamoring for your skills just you and a camera that you recorded choreographies on. Nothing special, nothing big but definitely personal. Your dancing was an extension of yourself, you wouldn't just dance with or for anyone. Maybe that was why you were struggling now anyways.
"Look, I can give you the night to think it over but they really want me to give them an answer sooner rather than later." Your agent's tone softened, a bit more friendly than business, "The way I see it this could be your big break to working with the big leagues. Even if it's not your choreography if you prove your skills then maybe someone will get curious enough for it to become your choreography one day." You honestly couldn't tell if they were being genuine or just saying things to try to convince you to take the deal. It felt like an odd mixture of both motivations.
"I know just…" Why must this be so difficult, "Just give me some time?"
With that the agent could only nod. They'd been working with you long enough to know that no amount of bombarding you was going to make a decision happen any faster. You were stuck in your ways, in your feelings for dance. It would never be just a business and despite how frustrating it could be they held a level of respect for you about it.
The rest of the meeting went by mostly seamlessly. Casual chat here, a bite of food there then you were finished. Of course before you parted ways they reminded you of your thinking deadline by tomorrow morning. No pressure.
You spent the night in the studio that evening. A room you had rented frequently enough that the business knew what room you wanted without asking, all you had to do was say your name and drop the cash. It was honestly refreshing just to have a space. All the while the paperwork sat in your bag while you stretched to whatever was on the radio waiting for something to spark some sort of inspiration. For a while you simply stared at yourself in the mirror, scrutinizing herself in a way. Personally requested for some sort of secret project? It felt all too unlikely. Maybe your agent had pulled more strings than they were admitting. Nevertheless you had to think about it, you had to make a decision. The thought that they were downplaying the effort it took to potentially get this offer only made your gut sink deeper.
Then suddenly your attention was pulled away by a familiar voice on the radio. That gentle yet intentional tone, the way he only ever got when he was singing. You could still picture his face during rehearsal, albeit much younger than he was now but still. It was the thought that counted. It was hard not to think about him when he was everywhere, the infamous Michael Jackson. Though when you knew him he was just Michael. Still a level of fame to his name but definitely not as much as he had now.
Like his voice always did, it was like it possessed your body. Moving with the kicks of the instrumental. Dun dun dun — followed by a funk you never got sick of. Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' had to be your favorite song off his new album, though picking a favorite was always difficult. You let the beat take over, let yourself imagine the good old days where he'd sing and you'd interpret. You couldn't help but dance to his work. He made it easy to create songs that were impossible to ignore, at least for you they were.
The entire time the song played you let your body rock with the flow. Interpreting every beat, every word, whatever your mind hooked on in the moment. Was it wrong to still dance to his voice like this? Was it weird that it only made you yearn for the what if's more?
You wondered how he was holding up now. With all the fame, the attention, undoubtedly the pressure. All your late night talks came to mind where he'd express his worries. How he'd ramble about how it needed to be perfect, it needed to be new and unique, something that's never been done before. You would always assure him he had nothing to worry about in terms of originality, history would never find another Michael Jackson. While a part of you felt he always brushed off the words you hoped sometimes that they hit their mark. You hoped some of them stayed with him now. Fuck, who were you kidding? He was a big star now, he'd probably forgotten all about you by now.
By the end of the song a new form of tranquility sat in your soul. A relief that only a freestyle session could provide as you collapsed onto the floor. The radio announcer droned on about Michael and how he needed no introduction, which was true. If people didn't know who Michael Jackson was were they really alive? The speech went on to talk about his successes and you slowly but surely zoned out staring at the ceiling.
What were you going to do about this deal?
Sure, it was a golden opportunity. A chance not only for growth but for recognition but the lack of identity from the performer still left you on edge. Although now all you could think of was what would Michael have told you? What would his answer have been? You didn't need to speak to him recently to know.
'You deserve it.' He would've said, 'If they thought you were perfect for it they have good taste.'
Even thinking about him saying it made you laugh softly to yourself. That smile he'd have as he poked at you with encouragement. Maybe that was the push you needed. If only he knew how much he still helped you with things like this.
~→
Weeks went by since you accepted the offer. It was nothing more than an elongated waiting game. First your agent had to let the producers know, then they had to let them know when to show up which wasn't for a little while. When you got to the location though the energy was already electric. Excitement tingled in your fingertips as you held onto your dance bag.
It was just the first rehearsal, you kept reminding yourself, just relax.
Using the directions you were given you navigated to the studio you all would be practicing in. When you entered you saw all the dancers together, all in their own form of comfy practice clothes. You were always partial to a t-shirt and shorts when practicing, leggings under the pants just to be safe. Your own favorite pair of beat up sneakers with some leg warmers over the top. Comfy was best, especially when you were learning.
All the dancers were doing their own things: stretching, talking, warming up. The energy in the room was buzzing because you could tell everyone wanted to be here. That every dancer was going to put in their 1000% effort and that of course was beyond reassuring.
"Hello there." A man walked up to you donned in a suit. He seemed friendly enough but he definitely wasn't one of the dancers here to practice, "Thank you for coming. Can I get your name?"
Politely you answered, your tone a bit shy instinctively not because he seemed dangerous but because you weren't expecting him to seem so jolly, "Lovely name, it's a pleasure to meet you." He continued before extending a hand, "John Landis, I'm the director for the project." You took his hand in a firm shake. You remembered seeing that name in the contract.
"Our performer will be here shortly, feel free to stretch or whatever you need to do to prepare. When he gets here we'll get started." With that he was off outside, maybe to go meet with the performer in question. Nevertheless you took the invitation and found a spot to set your bag down before stretching. You weren't sure how long this practice would last considering it was the first one. You'd been warned these might go on for some time so to not be surprised. It's not like it would've bothered you anyway.
You heard bits and pieces of conversations the other dancers were having. Although, the more you listened the more it felt like there was a detail missing. Everyone else was so excited, like they knew exactly who to expect through that door. Was there something you didn't catch? Listening a bit closer to some of the conversations around you hoped to pick out a name, whoever they were they were a big shot though. Someone important, maybe it was good you accepted the job.
Then you heard it, someone with the excitement of a kid in a toy store said it, "…Michael Jackson."
Your entire body froze, your breath stilled. What?
Surely they were just talking about a dream project, someone they hoped to dance for one day right? Right? Though when other dancers around them started to share in the excitement it all started to settle in.
Fuck. If that really was who was going to walk through that door that would honestly explain the secrecy, the lack of information, the mysterious request for no apparent reason. There was no way, surely there just so happened to be someone else who had that name, it had to be. Michael was a pretty common name. Surely fate wouldn't play such a strange trick on you.
Then the doors opened and a lull fell over the practice room, "Alright everyone, the star is here!" John said and you could already hear that gentle laughter that tainted your memory. You didn't want to look up but surely it would be rude if you didn't. Of all the people this mystery gig had to pertain to, it had to be him.
Slowly you lifted your attention towards the source of soft footsteps across the floor. John was saying… something. Honestly everything else felt like white noise in comparison to where your attention was. Everything dulled out when he was in a room and now was no different. He hadn't even looked in your direction yet and you could already feel knots in your stomach. What was this, some kind of sick game of revenge? You hurt him so he'd been simmering all this time to somehow get his lick back? No, gods that was stupid to think. Michael wasn't a vengeful person, why would you think that would be any different now?
You noticed the small differences. How fame seemed to sharpen his features and yet how hollow he seemed. Not because of any lack of enthusiasm or dedication, simply because you could see how tired he was. Chances were it was from his own perfectionism too, like it had always been.
You saw his eyes scan over the crowd of dancers as John talked longer. Something about the project, how thankful they were for everyone there and how this was going to be the next big thing. Then your eyes met… and like always it was like the rest of the world faded away.
The eye contact made your stomach twist. Seeing him made you feel horrible all over again. Yet you didn't see any venom in his gaze, not even disdain. If you still knew him as well as you had you could already pinpoint the look in his eyes. Longing. One he only gave to song lyrics that escaped him. Something he had, something he needed that fell from his grasp. You needed to look away, you had to if she had any sense of guilt for your past mistakes… but you couldn't. It was as though your eyes were magnets that couldn't help but stick to each other. It wasn't until the room erupted in excited cheers that you finally broke away from his eyes, attempting to join in the applause as you stood from the floor.
This was going to be a long, long project.
~→
The entire practice that day you felt like you were walking on needles. Carefully stepping around the fact every time you looked in the mirror you instinctively looked for Michael's gaze and somehow he'd always be looking back. An old rhythm you assumed had been lost to time.
No, you chastised herself, focus. This is work, act like it.
The choreographer was honestly really nice considering how tight this performance had to be. Most of the conversations he had was with Michael, referencing for creative direction and what not, and Michael, ever the sponge, picked up on everything with ease.
You were thankful that the other dancers seemed nice as well, at least the dancers you were around. There were two you mainly spoke with, Sasha and Noah. Having someone to speak with through everything definitely helped ease your anxiety. It felt like you and Michael both had something to say but there was never a window to say it. Honestly you preferred for that window to stay that way, shut. Though the distractions also made your dancing sloppy, not as sharp, which in turn only made you frustrated. You bit the inside of your lip with focus. It was embarrassing truthfully. This room of professionals and here you were stumbling like you just waltzed in with no direction.
The first few days would be for learning the routine, getting the moves down in their heads. That should've helped you go easier on yourself but it only made you want to be sharper faster. The quicker you knew it by heart the less you held the group behind. No you weren't the only one that needed help but asking every five minutes for clarification was humiliating.
By the end of the practice they had a general idea of what the number should look like. They refused to leave the studio till this section was laid out. Of course details and formations still had to be ironed out and made concrete but at least there was an idea, a vibe to go off of.
When they called the practice over they said some dancers could stay back if they wanted to, getting the moves down more so they felt more prepared for the next practice. Most dancers went straight home when it was called done, the practice had already gone well into the night already. Your newfound friends were among the ones that intended to head out.
"I feel like my feet are gonna curse me if I dance any longer." Sasha whined, pulling a chuckle from you and Noah.
"Don't push it, we've already got a lot of practice to go. Not to mention filming." You said, Sasha could only groan in response to the reminder.
"We were probably gonna hit the diner a few streets over, you wanna come with?" Noah offered, gesturing towards the door to the studio.
With a shake of your head you sighed, "No, if I don't get these steps right they're going to haunt me in my nightmares. I want to practice them a bit more."
"Suit yourself, just don't kill your feet. They'll become zombies themselves before we even get into costumes." The three of you laughed at Noah's poor joke before him and Sasha left, waving goodbye behind them.
With most of the dancers heading home it only left you and a few others that wanted to practice a bit more. None of you really grouped together, you just kind of did your own thing working on parts you each felt you needed to iron out better. You checked the clock above the mirror. 9:19PM. You could still squeeze in a few more hours of practice without killing your sleep for the next day. So that's exactly what you did.
Your attention locked completely on your own reflection practicing each and every move tirelessly. Your own perfectionist tendencies really came out when it came to dance. If you weren't spot on then it wasn't good enough. Especially now that you knew Michael was leading the project. You couldn't afford for him to be a distraction. The sooner you had these steps down to a T the less you had to worry about nerves killing you, at least about your skills.
Time flew by, you hadn't even noticed the practice room empty out. The few other dancers that remained had been gone for a while by this point. All that was left was you, the sound of your sneakers squeaking on the floor, your heavy breathing between steps. You hadn't noticed your solitude. Well, your almost solitude. Had you paid attention you would've noticed the figure lingering in the corner, an all too familiar figure. Maybe it was because he was the very one you were avoiding or maybe you truly had a one track mind when it came to practice.
You had started working on the isolations, the ones that truly gave the illusion of a corpse awkwardly moving their body yet it was rhythmic all at once. You were struggling to feel a flow through it. Maybe there had been a step you were missing? No matter what you tried it felt like you were always off somehow.
"You almost got it." A gentle voice called out, startling you out of focus.
When you turned towards the voice you saw Michael start to walk up to your side. Casual, seamless. Like you had never even met before. That wasn't what his eyes said before.
"You keep moving your shoulders, they don't really move though. It's in the torso." With the laser focus of a professional he demonstrated the very move. At first in time then he broke it down further. You should've been taking it in, following along with his movements but you didn't move a muscle. Instead your entire body tensed, frozen in place. All the while your eyes couldn't leave his face. You probably looked stupid, just sitting there and staring at him. Yet he didn't seem to be bothered by it. As a matter of fact, when he noticed he stopped and just looked back at you. A steadfast gaze that would tear you down from the inside out.
The room went still. The sounds of the city outside dulled out in the tension. Even your own breath seemed to silence when facing this moment. Memories running through your mind joyful and agonizing in equal measure. You wanted to run, to curl inside yourself. Above all, you wanted to cry.
"It's been a while," Michael finally broke the silence, "Hasn't it?"
You wished his first words sounded harsher, that his gaze was still filled with the same hurt it had when you parted ways. Not because you enjoyed it but because it made it easier to distance yourself knowing he hated you. That he never wanted to see you again. Now all you could see was that softness he'd given you before he knew your father's schemes. Before he assumed you were in on the ploy. The softness in his words made a ball form in your throat making it hard to speak.
"I'm surprised you accepted." He chuckled softly, looking awkwardly towards the floor.
"I didn't know you'd be here." Those words drew his attention quickly, his brows furrowed for a moment. Just processing until he realized what you said, "What?"
"I didn't know you'd be here." You repeated simply. His shock threw you off but you didn't feel the need to explain any further. If he had been the one to request you surely he had known that his name was omitted in your copy. He had to have done it himself.
Except his reaction didn't seem like he knew. Part confused and part wounded. Like he held onto the hope that you accepted because he was here, because you still wanted to see him. The thought of that not being the case seemed to hurt him greatly which in turn hurt you somewhere deep down.
"I should go." You muttered, starting to step away when he quickly grabbed your wrist to stop you.
"Wait," It was a simple wish. A wish you didn't have to grant… but you did, "I… I'm…" It was like he was fighting for words, trying to treat this as some sort of rekindling. Maybe he just wanted to be cordial for the sake of the project.
"You don't have to do this."
"Huh? D-Do what?"
"Act like you're happy to see me." You didn't look at his face when you spoke, it was easier if you looked away. You could feel how his grip on your wrist faltered though, "I'm not here to cause problems so we can just go about what we need to do until this is all over."
Even saying the words killed you but it felt necessary. Draw the line, force the boundary before he tore it down without your permission the way he always did. His presence could disarm you without another word but this time was especially dangerous. The way things had been left before, it felt easy to keep the distance you'd been forced into. Even at the cost of your own yearning reawakened.
A silence fell over you both again. You tried to keep yourself calm so that he couldn't note the tremble in your breathing as you fought your own flurry of emotions. Guilt from years past, relief he seemed well, pain from… everything. Yet his hand didn't move, he didn't move. It was like time had stopped and both of you were trapped in it. You heard him take a breath, starting to speak but it ended just as quickly in defeat. He was at a loss for words, good. That meant he couldn't sweet talk his way through your defenses. Just let yourself remain the villain, one of the people fans threatened to smite on his behalf because how dare they hurt him?
You never meant to, genuinely. You had never been aware that your friendship was being used as a weapon behind the scenes. Two fathers who each wanted their payout using their two children as the means. It was cruel but it was the hand you'd been dealt or rather you were a card in the hand your father was trying to play. Yet even you felt as though you should've known better once your father grew too curious. The moment he started butting in, suggesting things to say you should have known something was wrong. It had all seemed casual though, polite. As though he just wanted to help Michael with his big break, that's what you thought. How naive of you.
Though you had been too stuck in ruminating in your own memories to realize Michael was in front of you now. His voice sounded distant until you realized how the scene had changed. You realized your vision was a bit blurry and you immediately felt your stomach sink.
You pulled your wrist away defensively as you tried to ignore the concern in his eyes, "Damn it." You cursed, wiping at your eyes as Michael chuckled. When you looked at him right after he seemed to pick up how that laughter seemed.
"Sorry, I'm not laughing at you I just…" It was like he couldn't contain it, "It's strange hearing you cuss when you used to swear off it." You had completely forgotten about that childish promise to yourself.
"Yeah well, I made a lot of promises just to break them, didn't I?" As if you needed to kill the mood any faster. It was true, there had been a lot of promises you ended up breaking: no cursing, no coffee till you were like 30 because it was 'an adult's drink', never leave Michael's side, never hurt him, never forget him. Well, at least you kept one of those. He didn't need to do any soul searching to know which ones you were referencing though.
This encounter just kept getting worse and worse. The fact it happened at all was probably an omen itself. It was your fault anyway that you were in this position. Your emotions translated into passive aggressive comments. The kind that don't really leave room for any rebuttal just awkward tension left from a comment too self deprecating to elaborate on.
"You still hang onto that, huh?"
"You don't?" You replied, finally looking him in the eye, "I hurt you Michael, in the worst possible way I could have." You paused, taking a deep breath as if bracing for the words, "I used you, that's all there is to it, right? I was just another girl trying to get a dime out of Michael Jackson, trying to keep him contained."
"Is that what you tell yourself still?" His response was… confusing. This wasn't the same hurt boy who screamed at you in Hayvenhurst, who was too wounded to listen to your side of things. He had already had issues trusting people, you only gave him more reason to question. To second guess.
No, these words were different. Like across time he had grown to forgive you somehow despite the hurt he felt. He seemed pained that you thought that way. Maybe it was because those were the words he said then. They had stuck with you because of course they had, even though you knew you never did it. You had been just as much a chip as he had been but still… you hurt him. You held onto that fact the most. That was the fact that killed you inside, that haunted you in your sleep.
"I won't lie and say I wasn't hurt then." He started, his voice breaking slightly, "But… growing up and thinking back on it made me realize that maybe I was… a bit quick to accuse." A light breath of laughter escaped him, that nervous laugh you always heard when he was uncomfortable. His fingers fiddled nervously at his sides, his breath shook, his eyes struggled to focus but he forced them to.
The words settled between you both as you processed what he was saying. He was apologizing. Maybe it was for never actually listening to what you had to say back then, maybe it was more for his own peace of mind than anything. You should feel relief, right? The fact that he was willing to hear you now, you had a chance to fix things even if it was almost a decade later. Then why did you feel confused? Maybe it was because you never thought you'd get this chance. The opportunity to explain yourself, to explain you had never manipulated him in any way. He was your best friend, looking at him now it felt like he still was in some ways.
"Can we just… start over?" Your brows furrowed slightly in response, "We were young, I was emotional and… and the fact my best friend might have been another person trying to get something from me devastated me but…" He stopped to gather himself. This was hard for him, you could tell, but you didn't interrupt him, "But I should have trusted you more. I should have… should have known better than to think you would have tried to keep me under my father's thumb."
For some reason this moment didn't flood you with relief. There wasn't some inexplicable sense of joy that healed your heart hearing him say those words. It felt bittersweet in a way, like he was just expecting it to heal the hurt you had experienced as a result of his own. Maybe that was what you held onto the most after all, it wasn't as selfless as you always assumed. Sure you had felt bad for Michael's upset but what had hurt you the most was his lack of trust. How willing he had been to believe your friendship meant nothing, that it was simply a means to an end for you. All the late night talks, the studio sessions spent together, the confiding in one another. The laughs, the tears, the anxiety you shared with each other. The way he wrote all of it off had stung. It still did.
"I'm sorry." Michael finally said. He didn't move, didn't reach for you, just let the words settle in the space between. Hoping they would mend the chasm between you two.
Both of you knew it wouldn't be that simple though. For as much guilt as you felt you felt just as much frustration.
"Y'know, all this time it felt so easy to just accept the fact that I hurt you and that was that." You started, your eyes falling more towards the floor, "But… I don't think you understand how much everything hurt me too." You had never stopped to think about it all these years. Sure you felt the hurt when everything was happening, when it was all fresh and you had nothing to do but sit in it. Now though, it was the first time you had given yourself the room to talk about it. The first time you let yourself feel everything all over again. You were holding a lot more hurt than you had ever realized.
"I won't sit here and say you were paranoid or over reactive, you had your reasons but… was it really so easy to paint me as just another person who wanted something from you?" The look in your eyes grew pained as you looked back at him, "After all we had done together? All the secrets and sneaking out together to avoid practice. The late nights in the studio where I let you play tracks for me for my opinion. The nights where all we did was dance like fools while everyone else was asleep." There were so many memories you could pull out but all it did was bring more tears to your eyes, "Was it really so easy for you to paint our friendship as just manipulation the whole time? Did you feel nothing?"
You didn't bother to stop the tears that fell nor did you ease your tone for the sake of comfort. Let him feel every ounce of frustration, even if it was always naturally dampened by how much you cared about him. Let him see your tears, feel the impact of your words and sit with the fact that a simple "I'm sorry" isn't going to fix it.
He looked lost again, wounded. Good. That was what you wanted, even if it was a bit vindictive. All he could do was look at you as you cried. His eyes tracked every tear as if each one pained him more than the last. Finally he looked back into your eyes. Right now he wasn't Michael Jackson, he wasn't the 'King of Pop'. He was just Michael. You could see the softness in his gaze, how he faltered like he always had when you cried. His hands seemed to instinctively reach for you before he thought better of it, keeping them at his sides.
"I…" He started only to stop just as quick, "It wasn't easy for me-"
"But it was Michael." You cut him off immediately, "Usually if someone heard something out of character they would ask if the person had done it. If they meant it. You didn't even let me speak my piece back then."
That made him swallow his words almost instantly. You could tell that hit a chord and you hoped it left a sour taste in his mouth.
"This isn't a simple apology and then its fixed. Even if we both want it to be." No amount of trying to explain around each other was going to mend what had been done, "We were both hurt from everything, from what our fathers did. There's nothing we can do to undo that." It felt final, as though there was no way around it. What was done was done and neither of you could just forget what had happened.
"But… but we can try again, right? Without them?" The desperation in his words hit you square in the chest. You had never heard him plead before, at least not this deeply, "We're older, wiser in some ways. Can't we… can't we just meet each other the way we are now?"
Meet each other the way you were now. It felt too simple for something that should have been so complicated. Would it really be so easy to just write off what happened? To act like the two people standing here now weren't the same people standing in Hayvenhurst back then?
The longer you thought about it the closer he stepped. Slowly, carefully, giving you plenty of time to stop him in the process. Even though your mind screamed to stop him you didn't, maybe you couldn't. Instead you let him get closer — you let him in again with that easy rhythm that still lived inside you both. That song and dance that complimented each other so well neither of you ever bothered to stop it.
Your eyes were both locked onto one another, staring into each other's souls. He lifted his hand slowly like he was approaching a wounded animal. He let you see it raise and for a moment you stared at it. Not with disdain, not with confusion but with an odd longing to feel his comfort. In that familiar back and forth way he picked up on it and slowly his hand made it's way to your cheek, settling there as if nothing had ever happened. All that did was make you cry harder. You should stop him, shouldn't you? Protest about how this situation ran deeper than he could soothe and walk off… but you didn't. You stayed, you let him wipe the tears from your face and eventually you let him hold you. His arms coming around you in that all too familiar bubble.
Against your judgment you leaned into it, letting your head rest on his shoulder. His scent was still so painfully familiar just older. That didn't take the comfort away from it. What were you doing? This was what you had wanted to avoid, letting him break down those walls with a simple look. Maybe you should've known better than to think you would've become immune to Michael by now.
For moments that felt like forever you both stood there. His arms around you, his head resting on yours, your head resting against his shoulder. As if you had gone back in time to when you were both teenagers and comfort like this came so easily.
"I'm not saying we just… forget everything but I am saying that…" He paused, his breath catching, "That I missed you, even when I thought I hated you."
Something about that hurt. He had missed you even despite how angry he had been initially, he had missed you. What hurt even more was the fact you had missed him too, all this time. Not a day went by where you weren't reminded of Michael. He lived permanently in your spirit, an etch in your soul you couldn't sand down. One you honestly didn't want to disappear because that felt too much like accepting he was gone. Even through the guilt and the pain, you had hoped maybe one day you would get to explain yourself. Now that opportunity was here yet you snapped at it. Like biting was easier than crying. Now there were no excuses were there? Now that your tears stained his shirt and his warmth kept you close, what else was there to snap at?
"I missed you too." You admitted softly, your voice breaking around it. You felt his arms tighten around you in response as though that was all he needed to hear. Despite how hard those words had been to say you distinctly felt your chest lighten now that it was out.
Slowly you two separated. Not far but far enough that you could look at one another. Another brief blanket of silence, this one felt more comfortable than the last. Even if there was still tension at the edges, one that would never truly fade away.
"Can we start again?" Michael dared to ask again and all you could do was look at him, debating.
Would it be stupid to try to start again? To build on a foundation that was already fractured? He seemed so confident in it, that blind optimism only he could hold. You had your own reservations about it though. What if something similar happened all over again? What if it ended up with the same outcome? Just because you both were detached from your fathers didn't mean another narrative couldn't be twisted… but could you really just walk away from it now? Now that you felt a fraction of what it had used to feel like.
With a deep, uneven breath you decided on your answer, "Slow."
He blinked a couple of times like he was shocked you didn't just say no.
"Nothing… nothing huge just getting to know who we are now, like you said." You explained, "We can see how this goes."
You knew you were opening a door you weren't sure about. Welcoming in something familiar that might burn just as much as it did before should something happen. Yet the thought of having Michael back in your life, in any capacity, felt refreshing. It made your heart lighter than it had been for a while.
As his arms came around you one more time, a bright smile on his lips, you hugged him in return this time. You would work through it together. How you should have always done it all along.
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[ woah you made it to the end! thank you so much! let me know your thoughts and if you would want to see another part to this, I hope you enjoyed! ]