chivalry. » m. jackson
who? michael jackson x fem!reader
what? you and michael's friendship had become complicated at the turn of your adolescence. while you and him still kept in touch as your paths branched, the communication got strained over time as he reached for stardom and you reached for a worthy diploma. now an upperclassman at howard university, you find yourself slipping into old habits and wanting nothing more than to hear from him, but life has other plans for you on a fateful friday night.
tags. angst and two twenty-somethings who don't know how to resolve their own feelings. kinda cringe and maybe a little unrealistic but i researched it... it only takes around 4 to 5 hours to fly from california to washington d.c.! takes place ~thriller era or a little before that.
word count. 6.2k
notes. again... kinda cringe but i couldn't stop thinking about this. another childhood friends situation. while the reader goes to a specific college there isn't anything else about them that's described for maximum immersion. also, please let me know what you think about the other fictional characters i included in this, i did it as a way to flesh out the story/world... and i did do research for the sake of some accuracy (pls praise me)! thank you for reading! NOT PROOFREAD
april 1982. — howard university. — washington, dc.
“we — i need you to come in,”
the phone cord wrapped around her index finger. an additional loop that breached the threshold of unacceptable blood circulation was added at the muffled command. [name] slumped in the armchair, and on instinct did she bring her knees to her chest, excuses coursing her mind like an artist drafting their next piece.
‘i have to walk my dog…’ she didn’t have one.
‘my roommate’s real sick…’ the whole campus knew her roommate wouldn’t stay inside if she had the bubonic plague.
‘i’ve got an essay to work on…’ it was friday night.
the voice on the other side was feminine. krista, her name was, and she liked to flatter herself by thinking she ran her humble little cafe like the navy. [name] knew she didn’t, and everyone who worked and dined there knew she didn’t. instead she was flying by the seat of her pants every day and it was a miracle from god himself that she knew how to keep the thing afloat. that was what made the food so good.
“ellen’s in a standoff with her guy and won’t leave her room, pat’s down with crabs…” her boss ran on and on. “and, y’know, i went down the list like you told me to,” it had to be mentioned that the entire workforce of chivalry coffee pitched in their own efforts to keep krista’s ducks in a row. [name] included, by introducing her to effective ways of handling call-offs and unexpected staffing issues like this.
it bit her in the ass.
“so there’s nobody to close, then,” she noticed the paint on her right pinky toe was chipped. a shame, “and you’re calling me on my friday night—“
“it’s real busy,” chivalry’s proprietress whined, “and you’re the only one who can make those lattes with the hearts.” she was digging real low in her pockets for a compliment, voice pitching up all cute.
[name] couldn’t help but chuckle, “you say that like they’re lining up for ‘em.”
“they could be! you wouldn’t know unless you came in… like i’m askin’ you to do right now,” a quick rebuttal. she cursed krista’s wit.
looking over her shoulder, the rest of her apartment came to life outside the vacuum that she shrunk herself into for the sake of conversation. meridian hall’s apartments, exclusively for upperclassmen, weren’t anything to write home about. a thin layer of smoke served as a permanent fixture passed down from those who came before her. the atmosphere was warm thanks to the scattered lamps of questionable origins, casting everything that surrounded [name] in an amber filter. the butter yellow walls all throughout the apartment were tattooed with posters, pictures, and miscellany alike. each roommate had their own signature which melted into a soup of clashing colors and patterns and themes. it was just the way they liked it.
the living room entrance peered into the hallway that reached down to their individual rooms, where the smoke concentrated from fresh cigarette butts and curling irons. this friday night in particular was young yet, evidenced by the fact that everyone there was sober still. a record spun from one of the bedrooms, it’s music staining the sound barrier and obscuring the offkey voices that sang along.
everyone had plans that night, including [name]. those plans consisted of takeout, joan crawford, and staring at the telephone until it eroded. it wasn’t exactly fulfilling. if she had been truthful with herself, she’d be able to confidently look in the mirror and say it was depressing. thankfully, there was no need to do that. she already had two people in her ear telling her so.
a pent up sigh escaped her, “give me half an hour, alright? i don’t know how long it'll take for me to—”
“yes! yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, thank you!” krista couldn’t contain her excitement. “okay, see you soon!”
the music gained clarity as she entered the hallway, those familiar offkey voices trying to reach notes they had no business flirting with. she made a beeline for her room with the goal of slipping past her roommates’ ire. one step onto her carpet solidified her success.
a question born from morbid curiosity was found sitting above all the noise, “you comin’ out with us tonight?”
[name] stopped right beside her dresser. she had almost made it, almost narrowly slid under the rug. there was a part of her that knew it wouldn’t go her way, but she hadn’t exactly scripted what she’d say in an event like this.
rosie was a hot one, a young woman born with flames that held little mercy. she stood tall on her convictions and her beliefs, with a tube of lipstick within arms reach at all times. justice rang it’s bells loud and proud in rosie’s head. if she wasn’t at a rally or a protest, something was wrong. she looked at [name] through the bathroom mirror, curling iron clicking in one hand as it released a piece of her hair. when no answer came, the activist spoke up again, “or are you plannin’ on waiting by the phone again all night?”
the woman in question gave no bite and instead plucked her bag from her bed. she didn’t bother changing into anything different, more laundry meant more quarters to dish out and she was saving them for the gumball machines. her cheeks gained heat while her mind internalized rosie’s cadence and intention. persuading herself that waiting by the phone for someone to call (who hadn’t called in months) wasn’t downright pathetic was getting increasingly difficult. and the thing about [name] was that she hated when rosie was right.
michael had become a sensitive topic in her life at sixteen, when the body truly started changing and the world suddenly became heavier to hold. the two of them grew close from the proximity of their homes in their youth and the chattiness of their mothers. innocence and discovery painted the young pairs’ blossoming friendship and even when the boy did a hop, skip, and a jump to fame, [name] kept his feet on the ground. when she’d watch him lie about his age on television she felt as if she knew the truth of oz, knew something that everyone else didn’t.
their lives had started the same and there was a whisper in the back of her heart that wished they had stayed the same. she’d lay in bed selfishly wondering what it could’ve been had michael and his brothers not been thrust into the spotlight by his father. he wouldn’t have discovered his gift or his artistry, and that was more important than whatever they had back then. michael was happy and for the years that followed his departure to california, that was enough for [name].
not many people knew about the valley that laid between friend and lover. it was murky and gray and opaque. one day a bridge was built to connect these two stages. for some it took no effort to cross. for her and michael it was never there to begin with. they danced and laughed and sang in the dark depths of the valley without even knowing where they were. in the letters they exchanged, the phone calls that lingered far past when they should’ve ended, the persistent stares while the other looked away, that sick and twisted place surrounded them with no way out.
as michael took the reigns of his own artistic journey, the communication slowed. while still rich and dense with substance, the time taken between letters and phone called stretched longer with each passing year. though it wasn’t just him, [name] had found a life of her own and had begun to bury the idea of them into the ground. she convinced herself the chapter had ended, so why did she still sit by the phone as if a plot thread hung loose?
her shoulders hung low and her head dipped to the side when she stood in the bathroom doorway. rosie turned to her, giving a once-over lined with silent judgement. loving, as always. “you’re not going out like that, right?”
another girl sat on the windowsill, blowing cigarette smoke through the grates. her dress was short and slid even further down her thigh as she propped her boot up onto the towel rack, “i have clothes you can wear.”
[name] finally spoke up, “don’t get mad, please.”
the record had stopped playing. it needed to be flipped.
“i’m gonna go to work.”
“[name] [surname]!” rosie’s face morphed into her mothers’, “you’re joking! what the hell!”
the window dweller piped up, “aren’t you off on fridays?”
“they need help, they're slammed right now,” she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “the tip money’s gonna last me a few weeks, anyway.”
rosie couldn’t contain herself, “your options were to wait for whoever-the-fuck to call or go out with us, and you chose to go to work?” she turned her attention back to the mirror.
everyone in the apartment knew it was pathetic, and it was even more pitiful that neither of her roommates knew who the glorified pen-pal was. “said i’d be there in twenty,” she started to make way for her shoes at the front door.
“mel, please tell her that she’s pissing her life away!” rosie kept on. [name] drowned the objections out of her ears once she closed the front door. she didn’t need to hear what she already knew.
this was going to be a long night.
april 1982. — hayvenhurst estate. — encino, california.
the halls of the jacksons’ family home had shrunken, michael was sure of it. everyone was getting too big, too loud, too close and in his face. his room served as his safe haven away from joseph’s surveillance, but he still seeped under the doorframe and crawled into his head. even he himself felt too big in his own body, like another growth spurt was due at the ripe age of twenty-two.
“michael!” katherine called out to him from the foyer. concern was etched onto her face, though it quickly shifted to frustration once her head turned to joseph and jermaine. the dust was settling, but whatever they had fought about, it was enough for michael to completely shut down and retreat.
there were emotions that the man held in his hands that he didn’t know what to do with. he could drop them, squeeze them, break them, and it would all be wrong in his fathers’ eyes. what more it was that joseph required of michael the musical prodigy did not know, and it was eating away at him the longer it kept on.
he didn’t enjoy shutting everybody out, especially his mother. but her pleas melted in with jermaine’s incessant complaints and joseph’s militaristic condemnation of his every move. it all became one singular voice and shockingly, for once in his life, michael yearned for silence. but he heard music in everything; in the low rumble of the homes’ internal workings, the inaudible sharp tone katherine had taken up downstairs, and in the frenzied shuffling of his hands through his nightstand.
he was looking for something, a box, with pale dated ribbon and a dent on its side. a flash in his memory told him to look underneath his bed. his hand blindly skirted the tops of everything he shoved there. some of it was banished there in an effort to forget about it, this box included. it had become a symbol of those emotions he had no basis of navigating, and so his best option was to shut it away and hope for the best.
the worst came, it was just his luck, that every dream he had she was somehow there and every song he wrote he imagined singing it to her. he saw her in every woman that passed his way. michael felt truly sorry for them, as they were silently being set to a standard they couldn’t reach. so when the fated box reared it’s head to him he let out a long breath, one that he had an iron grip on.
michael read [name]’s letters to him like gospel. her life was documented in that box, responses going back to their early teens preserved like wedding day flowers. the last one she wrote to him felt so far away yet so close that she was practically whispering in his ear. her words were laced with some kind of clairvoyant knowing that this distance was sanctuary and getting closer only attracted trouble.
but the two of them loved nothing more than to sit in their denial. michael cuddled up to the comfortability that she was pursuing her life, going to college and getting and education. she'd grow up to be beautiful and talented and smart. she'd find someone good for her who could take care of her while he fell in love with the stage.
"’s not right," he unknowingly shook his head as his eyes glossed over her handwriting, vision unfocused and doubling in real time. the silence he needed wasn't here in his bedroom but in a place where he could just hear her breathe and know she was there.
twenty minutes had soon elapsed; twenty minutes of sifting through their ever-evolving string of conversations tethered together by blue and black ink. a quiet rapping against his door reminded him that the world kept pushing on beyond his flustered stupor. the darkness of his bed swallowed the box in a flash.
michael wrapped his calloused hands around his legs, “hi, mama.”
“hi, baby,” katherine sat on the edge of his bed, him on the floor burning holes into the carpet with eyes of burnt mahogany. her gentle touch reached to his furrowed eyebrows, “if you keep scrunching like that you’ll be stuck with that face.”
that got a weary grin from him, “it’s just not fair, i don’t get it.” michael’s foot thumped once, twice, “i’m finally making something of my own and, and joseph’s got nothin’ but a laundry list waiting for me.”
he continued, “n’ i see you give him a piece of your mind and he just looks anywhere but at you. he doesn’t listen.” his head finally craned up to her, “it bothers me.”
katherine felt an all-too familiar sting. she was good at brushing it to the wayside under these circumstances, “it’s not about me, you know that, and i don’t like you worrying like this.”
she joined him on the bedroom floor, taking his hand into hers and rubbing circles into his skin, “you got something he can’t take away from you..”
michael met her gaze as she spoke, “a big heart, that’s what.”
“i got it from you,” a smile broke onto his face. katherine mirrored it instantaneously. “you always know what to say.”
“didn’t come overnight,” a quiet chuckle escaped her and soon did her expression shift to subtle worry. “you can’t stay in here forever, whatcha gonna do now?”
“i gotta clear my head, i need…” his mind rewound to the box that hid behind him, “i need to see someone.”
this sparked curiosity in katherine, “see someone? you don’t mean a shrink, baby? because we—”
“no, mama,” michael’s laugh was music to her ears, “no, a friend!” hopping to his feet, he helped his mother up without a second thought.
“are you gonna make me guess who?” once the words escaped her mouth, she dutifully noted a particular look in his eye. a cloudiness shrouded by a thick fog only that mystic valley held. katherine supposed he need not say anything else. he hadn’t spoken of [name] in months, almost a year.
“…you’d best be careful,” motherly advice that michael didn’t want to hear.
“i’ll be fine.”
“you said that last time.”
his back was turned to her when she said that, in the middle of grabbing his things; a jacket, sunglasses, a spare hat, “i know.” they were two fools in love who couldn’t stop dancing.
katherine lingered by the door, one hand on the knob. she had more, much more to say, “take bill with you,” was all that came out. ‘love you’s were shared yet a knowing presence found residence in his hayvenhurst bedroom. michael’s heart was already three-thousand miles east, he just had to get there to meet it.
april 1982. — howard university. — washington, dc.
there existed very few instances in which michael could quietly watch life progress. he could count them on his hand, those times, and he felt rather joyful that he could add another tally to that list. sitting in the passenger seat of his bodyguards’ hastily rented vehicle, the blanket of nighttime comfortable put michael in the shadows, where he could observe with glutton.
“ahah! look at ‘em,” he tapped against the window, two underclassmen being chased out of meridian hall by girls with much bigger gusto than them, one daring to bark loudly as they fled for their lives. just along the way more kids crowded around each other to coordinate plans for the night. this was their world and michael looked on with the happiest face of jealousy.
bill shifted in his seat. his fingers drummed against the steering wheel, “you ready to go in?”
ah, right. they were there for a reason. the gentle reminder of their goal shifted the singers’ mood instantly. michael looked over at him, “yeah… yeah, how do i look?”
“like a true visionary,” bill stifled a laugh. a dark curly wig sat on his head, and his sharp cheekbones were obscured by sideburns that would easily be mistaken a cats tail. black tinted carrera aviators blurred his eyes from view as they swooped down into his nose. unruly, comical teeth were carelessly shoved into his mouth, his soft-spoken cadence replaced by a shoddy daffy duck impersonator.
a stark yellow hat was perched on top of the wig, a bit lopsided, but bill refrained from adjusting it and instead marveled in the wonder of michael’s disguise. besides, it matched the mustard and navy flannel he wore underneath his vest.
“alright, well—” michael was already out of the car, not giving bill a chance to get another word in.
this must’ve been what normalcy felt like.
the halls of the apartment complex stretched far beyond what he could clearly see from behind his glasses. students slammed their doors, chunks of three and four heads at a time moved together like microbial organisms, music blasted from both sides of the walls. nobody seemed to bat an eye at him besides the occasional drunk psychology major who wanted to dissect why he insisted on wearing aviators indoors at night. bill kept on his heel and they were lucky that [name] was a chronic over-sharer lest they lose themselves in the seven-story building.
michael didn’t know what to do with himself. with his disguise hard at work he saw what most people in his position didn’t. he witnessed people acting without a care in the world, without a worry that their blackout keg stand would make it on the front page the next morning. they swore, they whined, they bitched, they danced, they fought and they did it so happily. they did it in front of him without knowing who he was or what he stood for. and michael couldn’t help but think about [name] yet again, how she walked through these same halls and saw these same people. she had a good life and he wanted to keep it that way. if her having that life she worked so hard for meant he wouldn’t be in it.. he swore up and down he’d make that sacrifice.
and so he was here because he couldn’t bring himself to do that. michael was selfish and if a book publisher mistakenly swapped marie antoinette’s picture with his he wouldn’t complain. he wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
her apartment door rattled with the sounds of music and heavy-footed shuffling. “just behind here,” michael brought a soft hand up to the door, giving it a set of dainty raps.
there was no answer. “you gotta put some more into it, boy,” bill suggested. “like you want it.”
his next set of knocks surpassed the clinking of glass bottles and obnoxious bickering from inside. the music stopped, and a distant ‘okay, damn!’ could be heard. michael gave bill a look.
suddenly the peephole cover slid open, “not openin’ the door ‘til you take them glasses off.” rosie.
michael froze, “…i can’t do that.”
silence entered the conversation unceremoniously until rosie inquired, “you blind or somethin’?”
“wh—” this wasn’t how he was expecting it to go, and it appeared bill felt the same as all he could give michael was a short shrug and quirked brows. “no! no, i’m… i can’t take them off, okay?”
“then i can’t open the door.”
“that’s a weird rule.”
before he could continue, rosie interrupted, “you’d get it if you lived here. what do you want? we’re tryin’ to leave.”
“um, lookin’ for [name], is she there?”
strangely enough, two sets of low laughs rumbled from the door. a different voice answered this time, “why should we tell you?”
this was proving difficult, “i just really need to see her.”
“she’s at work,” mel delivered the bad news like she had been asked that same question a hundred times before.
michael nodded, taking a half step back, “alright…” he didn’t know where that was.
it grew quiet again for some unknown stretch of time. every single person surrounding that door on both sides wondered what they were still doing there. the disguised man opted to lean against the wall, stare at his loafers a bit. [name] never talked about her roommates and he was starting to understand why.
rosie was utterly fascinated with the people [name] attracted, all of them were oddballs and couldn’t carry smalltalk if their lives depended on it. soon she felt pity for the man and wished better for him and his teeth. to michael’s surprise, the locks on the door began to turn and it finally opened. a half-drank bottle of boone’s farm swung without a care in rosie’s hand. her hair was curled from root to tip and cascaded down onto her second-hand jean jacket cut at the waistline.
she was annoyed and on the fast-lane to tipsy, “chivalry coffee, on the corner of harvard street. we’re leaving now.”
michael’s eyes lit up. waiting it out was successful after all, “okay, thanks a lot!" his kindness was always at the forefront of everything he did.
the two duos went their separate ways down opposite ends of the hall until mel called for him, "hey, uh," michael turned around.
"if you're looking to rob her, she doesn't have anything," the young woman stated plainly, "you're better off finding someone else. not worth the trouble."
with a grin, he raised his hand in formality, signaling a final goodbye to the two girls. she had everything he wanted.
april 1982. — chivalry coffee. — washington, dc.
much to bills' dismay, michael demanded they walk to chivalry coffee. he had grown quite fond of the disguise and, since it was working, he wanted to indulge on everything the college area had to offer. they were lucky, as they had chosen a particularly eventful evening. underground concerts of no-name bands and raw talent were abound at almost every bar and dive they passed. pacers and wagoneers flew down georgia avenue full to the brim with college students and crushed beer cans in the trunk. a low howl of the winds’ whisper kissed the apples of michaels’ cheeks. and on top of it all, nightfall painted the perfect backdrop, complete with van gogh’s own stars winking a sleepless eye.
for the fifteen — perhaps twenty — minutes that the singer and bodyguard walked the streets of washington d.c., he had nearly forgotten what he’d eventually have to come back home to, for he was completely submerged in the banter and business of the streets surrounding him. he didn’t mind it when people ignored him or bumped shoulders with him. it was quite the opposite. michael became a fly on the wall, another person in an anonymous crowd.
while chivalry coffee was nothing to write home about, the students at howard university held a special place in their hearts for it. it was a love letter to the area, a devotion to all that four fleeting years meant to them. the walls were a scrapbook of memories and concert posters and stolen traffic signs and if you looked at a certain spot on the ceiling you’d see a pair of plaid boxers. a wrap-around bar served at the centerpiece of the dining experience. complementing it was a makeshift stage to its’ right with a singular microphone and two speakers. none of the couches or chairs matched each other as well as the tables, but krista seemed to possess a quality for design that far surpassed her own ability to run the place logically.
thankfully, she had her boyfriend, robbie, in the back kitchen, who had carefully curated the menu and kept the woman in line. he was the last person to head out for the night, leaving [name] to finish closing up shop.
michael’s gaze bounced from the flickering chivalry coffee sign down to the apron-clad man that walked out the door. the windows lining the restaurant peered into the dimly lit atmosphere, and from his vantage point across the street something in his stomach made him feel like an intruder. it wasn’t until the stage-lights mellowed that he saw her walk out from the backroom behind the bar.
her hair was thrown up without a care in the world. she had done so just ten minutes after arriving, after seeing just how slammed they truly were. she was different to michael but just the same that from the side she shapeshifted into the girl that taught him how to jump rope. a singular overhead light above the counter gave her figure a renaissance feel and the surrounding lamps in the cafe brought about a familiar warmth he had always associated with her. there existed an image of her in his head and it didn’t hold a candle to what his eyes captured. and he didn’t bother to see the forest for the trees, because it would tell him something he already knew so well: that he was in love with her no matter how strained the strings between them felt. michael had finally met his heart where it was.
bill broke through the city’s ambience, through michael’s deafening heartbeat, “i’ll sit right here.” he took a seat on a bench behind him.
“i’m nervous,” michael’s rubbing hands created sparks of anxiety. bill offered no words of encouragement.
“aren’t you going to say something?”
a shrug from bill, “waitin’ for you to cross the street.”
“but i said i’m nervous, i—” michael whipped his head back to make sure [name] was still there. “she might not recognize me, maybe i’ll take all this off.”
“mike,” bill sat up a bit, “you’re fussin’ for no reason. so, i’m gonna count to ten, and if you’re not over there by the time i get to nine, i’m gonna start walkin’ off.”
“oh, c’mon, bill, stop that! i’m not six, all i need is a pep talk or somethin’.”
“one…”
michael looked both ways before jogging to the opposing sidewalk.
[name] had forgotten to lock the door after robbie left, and from having retreated back to the kitchen her sharp ear caught the sound of it slowly opening. a string of both established and made-up profanities were uttered under her breath and she set down the crate of glass mugs before coming out.
she called to the unknown patron prior to seeing who it was, “we’re closed, sorry.”
the quiet rumble of d.c.’s heartbeat filled the silence that otherwise would’ve taken the throne as she beheld michael’s disguised gaze. he had taken the aviators off by then, both hands behind his back as he caught the breath she let out upon seeing him. she thanked whatever god told her to put the glassware down or else she would’ve shattered it.
doe-eyes latched onto her for safety whilst his body pressed onto the door preparing to leave in a moments notice. they put each other in a stand-off to see who was going to speak up first.
[name] took the plunge, asking a question she knew the answer to, “michael?”
“hey,” he hurriedly removed the fake teeth, “hi, [name].”
“…how are you?” she was too chicken to ask what he was doing there.
“i’m good! good…” an unconvincing nod paired with a stare down at his loafers, “i’m okay.”
he piped up again, “how are you?”
“okay, too,” she had drawn closer to the bar now to get a better look at him. “…you can sit, if you want.”
michael did as such, sitting just feet away from her. he didn’t care for his disguise anymore, setting it all on the counter. it was useful to look at while he watched [name] clean out the coffee grinder in the corner of his eye.
the mental rolodex of things to say served useless for her, and once again did the ambience of the night fill the space where words should’ve been said. an elephant made itself comfortable in the room. he didn’t call, didn’t respond to her last letter, didn’t do anything to show he even cared for what they had anymore and yet the universe demanded him be there in front of her helplessly.
she earned her badge of hospitality by setting a cold glass of water in front of him. a quick exchange of ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’s commenced.
“been thinkin’ about you a lot,” michael began to open pandora’s box. “i like reading your letters.”
her eyebrows furrowed, “you haven’t written back.”
“yeah,” that was expected, “i’ve been busy.” his tail was in-between his legs.
“you could’ve called.”
“well, so could you,” the pot had declared the kettle black.
she grabbed a broom and swept the floor, still behind in her fortress of the main bar, “i didn’t want to bother you.”
“you’re never a bother, don’t say that ‘bout yourself,” michael shook his head fervently.
“then why haven’t i heard from you?”
i didn’t want to bother you, he thought to himself. instead, “you deserve a good life.”
she stopped sweeping, “what do you mean?”
“i mean you deserve quiet… and peace,” michael finally met her eyes again. they were laden with sincerity and if you tilted your head to the side you’d see a tint of heartbreak, “you shouldn’t get caught up in all this, what i’ve got goin’ on.”
“that’s your excuse?”
“i’m serious, [name],” it all sounded better in his head.
the words festered in the air, she let them marinate and absorb the tension, and for a moment she pretended he wasn’t there.
“i’ve got something good here. i’ve got friends and this job and a good future, i think,” she didn’t articulate herself as convincingly as she liked, “i have everything i want.”
michael simply looked at her as she kept on, “but i still wait by the phone for you.”
she didn’t think it necessary to tell him those were her original intentions tonight.
“you’re gonna have the world at your feet one day, michael, and you flew three thousand miles for some girl?”
his fingers tightened around his aviators, “why do you do that all the time?” frustration bore into the wrinkles of his face, “you act like you’re not important to me, you’re startin’ to sound like joseph, saying this and that about priorities.”
[name] could cut through michael’s irritation with a knife. unfortunately, it wasn’t entirely wrong of her to surmise that a portion of his annoyance came from her as well. just out of her view, the elephant had begun to close its’ distance from them.
“alright, come with me.”
michael quirked a brow at that. following nonetheless, he rounded the bar and kept on her heel.
the backrooms of chivalry coffee weren’t exempt from krista’s eclectic design philosophy. the kitchen, spotless from robbie’s overtly sanitary hand, had pots and pans hanging from a lazily installed wirerack. a plague of outdated grocery flyers mixed in with half-naked model posters stained the walls. just beside the freezer door, a corkboard hung just slightly lopsided. polaroids of each employee, past and present, were pinned lovingly on it.
“who’s that?” michael pointed with a squint.
she chortled, “the girl that runs the place.”
“her hair’s a mess…”
krista would’ve considered it a good hair day, “have fun telling her that.”
a mist of cold air bellowed out onto the pair once the door flew open. while spacious for one person to file in and out of, the freezer struggled when two or three people got involved. and despite the hair on their arms poking to the heavens, internally both michael and [name] were sweating. it was the closest their bodies had come in proximity to one another. to make matters worse, he could’ve sworn her eyes peered at his lips.
“this is where we come to scream,” she rested her hands on either side of the freezer racks. “nobody can hear you, it helps when you’re really pissed.”
“did i look mad?” michael wasn’t exactly the face of self-awareness. the moment joseph’s name left his mouth the red flags were raised.
a laugh escaped her and crystallized into the frigid atmosphere, “oh yeah, fuming, even. now, scream!”
“do it with me!” he was starting to loosen up, starting to remember the way he didnt feel the immense weight of the earth when she was there. she’d make him forget, and it mystified him.
on their count of three, the pair gathered all the might in their lungs and broke the dam of their voices. it all came out in droves; the frustration, the anger, the words abandoned on the cutting room floor. for a brief blush in time’s fabric they forgot all that was asked of them and simply screamed. not a soul came to check on them for truly nobody could hear the shrieks of two young souls who’s tethers to each other only fortified with time despite their protests.
heavy breathing was all that could be heard once the screams concluded, faces hot and red, daring perspiration. [name] ogled the ground while michael’s pleading eyes hooked onto her for the meaning of life.
“i can’t keep doing this,” he shamelessly ripped the bandaid off, “and… and don’t ask me ‘what?’ because you know it too.”
she attempted to skirt around him to no avail, “it’s getting hot in here, i have to—”
“you’re not leaving until you hear me out, [name], please.”
avoidance seeped through the freezers’ molding. michael was putting all he had on the line for a woman who wouldn’t bring herself to look at him. rosie and mel would’ve been the first ones to call him pathetic.
“i’m just going to get in your way,” her dismissal was just shy of a newborn cats mewl.
without a hesitation he blurted out, “you are my way! god…” michael hadn’t the room to pace back and forth, “would any sane man fly across the country like this? like i have? don’t you see it?”
pandora peered down on them with a sly grin and the light from that treacherous valley they curled up in poked at the clouds. michael persisted, “i don’t know what i have to do, say the word and i’ll do it, but please… let me be someone important in your life.”
she finally met his eyes, regret welling up in her tear ducts, “you already are.”
“more important than that.”
“i think you’re underestimating things.”
he let out an exhausted sigh. at that point he had become a cocktail of desperation, expenditure, and anguish. they’d been through this before, but a bit younger, when words didn’t come as easily or with as much clarity. it hadn’t gotten much better since then, but something in the back of their minds was telling them that what was unfolding then in chivalry coffee’s freezer would be the final verdict of the years to come.
an exorcism may have taken place within [name], due to the swift motion of her hands cupping his cheeks and reeling him in. lips soft but cold to the touch, they met in a frosted celebration while michael’s hands, no, his entire body was slow to comprehend what she had done. he soon enough recalibrated, enveloping himself in her embrace for it was nothing short of tender and kind. an exterior hardened from the trials of life, the woman melted beside his ever-burning flame. it was the culmination that years of stolen glances and brushed hands built.
the tether that brought them together by force was at its’ most powerful there. perhaps it was the earths’ leylines or maybe it was just fate or gods’ righteous hand. she, with hesitance, pulled away to take a breath, his eyes still shut and mouth agape.
“[name]—”
“when do you have to leave?”
he didn’t want to think about that, “tomorrow, probably.”
“…you wanna go to party?”
fin.
concluding notes. idk what this became... just had this idea in my head again and had to write it and see it unfold. don't know if there will be a part two to it anytime soon, as i'd like to write more wife!reader headcanons and such! lmk what you thiiiink, again sorry for the cringe...