the only real thing
summary: After throwing a punch at a reporter for harassing you with questions accusing your ex boyfriend, you land yourself in jail. Now he's the one signing your bail papers.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
For years, you and Michael had been the couple. The papers called it a fairy-tale romance, the kind of rare, deep love that felt entirely untouchable. You were seen at every event by his side, paparazzi shot photos of you two at your many dates at Disneyland, dinners and even simpler places like the grocery store, cafes and shopping malls. You did everything together, and in every photo of you two, both of you were always smiling, staring at each other with nothing but adoration. In every interview, he never failed to find an excuse to bring you up, and go on and on about how deep his love is for you. In every video footage, your voice is the loudest one heard cheering him on. You were meant to be, and the both of you had always known it was always going to be each other.
But then came the gruelling tour schedules, the distance, and the heavy, suffocating silence that followed. As Michael’s personal and mental health struggles began to consume him, he shut you out entirely. You tried everything to save the relationship, but eventually, you had to make the agonising choice to walk away just to keep yourself afloat.
༻✦༺
You hadn't spoken a single word to him since the breakup. Now, the year was 1993, and the world was burning around him as the first allegations hit the news.
The day you heard the news about allegations against Michael you were shocked. The headline so ridiculous you almost laughed at how far from the truth it was. You were furious, the first page printed photo of him used on the magazine was enough to make you tear up. he looked so sad in it, so defeated. Your heart broke for him, you knew how devastating this must be for him, as all he's ever done was try and make the world a better place. You almost picked up the phone to call him, to go over to his house you once shared and just hold him, let him sob and let it all out to you. But of course, that's not your place to be there for him anymore.
But because of your history, you were suddenly the media's prime target.
༻✦༺
You were just trying to run a simple errand, stepping out of a bakery to be faced with a ginormous crowd. A mob of paparazzi shoved cameras into your face, blinding you instantly.
"Have you seen the recent allegations against your ex boyfriend?" you kept your head down and continued walking.
"Did you ever see inappropriate behavior from him while you were together?!" one reporter screamed, shoving a furry microphone toward your mouth.
Your eyes shot up, glaring at the reporters with a deadly stare, warning them that you were clearly not interested in supporting their money hungry agenda.
"Was this the reason for your breakup?" you could feel your heart quicken with nothing but rage as the anger was building up inside you to the point you had lost complete control of all your senses.
"Did he ever touch you inappropriately?!" another voice bellowed from the crowd.
that was it.
The world stopped. A hot wave of pure, unfiltered rage crashed over the grief you had been carrying for months. How dare they? How dare they twist the beautiful, gentle love you two had shared into something grotesque for a headline?
How dare they try and use you to ruin Michaels character, they should have known by now that your loyalty is unbreakable, and that you would never let anyone disrespect someone special to you.
Before you could even think, your fist connected squarely with the reporter's jaw. Crack.
The man crumbled to the pavement, knocked completely cold. The crowd gasped, the camera shutters going into an absolute frenzy. Within minutes, the sirens wailed, and you were being cuffed by the LAPD for assault.
༻✦༺
Across town, the sanctuary of Neverland Ranch was dead silent. Michael sat in his office, the blinds drawn, overwhelmed by the chaos of his own life.
Michael’s gaze drifted down to the silver frame resting on the desk, the one piece of the past he couldn't bring himself to lock away.
It was a candid photo, slightly grainy but vibrant, captured backstage in 1983 right after the Motown 25 special. He was still wearing the iconic rhinestone jacket from his "Billie Jean" performance, though the top buttons were undone, his skin still glistening from the stage lights. He was slouched back in a dressing room chair, looking completely exhausted but radiantly happy.
You were sitting on his lap, perched sideways, caught in a moment of pure, unscripted joy. Michael had taken his trademark black fedora and placed it onto your head. It was far too large, tilting over your eyes, and the camera had caught the exact second you threw your head back in a helpless giggle, trying to balance the brim. Michael’s arm was wound tightly around your waist, his face split into a wide, breathtaking smile as he watched you laugh.
Looking at it now, the silence of the room seemed to fade, replaced by the ghost of your laughter ringing in his ears. It was a snapshot of a time before the world had grown so heavy, when they were just two young people completely wrapped up in each other, entirely untouched by the storm outside.
His eyes shifted from the desk to the wall beside it, landing on another framed photograph hanging in the quiet shadows.
This one was different. It wasn’t glamorous, it was raw, grounded in a moment of terrifying vulnerability. It had been taken in 1984, inside the sterile white walls of the hospital room where he had been admitted after the horrific Pepsi commercial burn accident.
In the picture, he was propped up against the pillows, bandages swathing his scalp. You were leaning over the guardrail of the hospital bed, your arms wrapped around a massive, oversized Mickey Mouse plush toy that you had hauled into the ward as a surprise get-well gift. The camera had caught a quiet, tender moment: your lips pressed gently against his, the giant Mickey Mouse squeezed tightly between your chests.
Looking at the photo, the ache of those severe burns flickered in his memory. He remembered the excruciating pain that had consumed him back then, and he remembered exactly how it had vanished the very second you walked through that door. You had filled that clinical, scary room with warmth and light. You had made it better, just by being there.
That was the truth of your history. You hadn't just been there for the sold-out stadiums and the gold metal awards, you had been his anchor during the lowest, most painful chapters of his life.
A heavy ache settled in Michael's chest as his thoughts dragged him back to the crushing weight of the present day. If only you were still together. If only he hadn't let his own demons push you away. He knew with absolute certainty that if you were still by his side, you would be the one sitting next to him right now, holding his hand and shielding him from the monsters outside.
Instead, there was only empty space and a quiet house. he knows he should have taken all those photos down by now, the room was filled with them. but it was the only thing that reminded him of a life worth living.
He stared at your face in the photograph, wondered what you were thinking right now, in this exact moment, as his name was dragged through the mud on every television channel. He closed his eyes, offering a silent, fervent prayer to the universe that you didn't believe the terrible things they were saying about him. He was dying to know where your head was at, terrified of the silence between you, and aching for the only person who had ever truly known how to heal him.
The phone on his desk rang sharply. He hesitated, then picked it up.
"Michael?" Janet’s voice was breathless on the other end, laced with panic. "Michael, have you turned on the news?"
"Dunk... I can't look at the television right now," Michael sighed, his voice sounding incredibly small and tired. "You know what they're saying about me."
"No, Mike, it’s not about you. Well- t is, but it's about her. Turn on the TV. Right now."
Michael’s heart skipped a beat. With a trembling hand, he grabbed the remote and flicked on the monitor. The local news anchor was speaking over chaotic footage of a crowded sidewalk.
"former partner of the King of Pop, arrested this afternoon after a violent altercation with a reporter who questioned her regarding the allegations against Jackson..."
The screen cut to a video of you trying to push through the crowd, violent screams of the reporters invasive questions that made Michael wince at the sight. A wave of guilt flood over him, he never wanted you to be affected by this, nor be harassed and verbally attacked on the street. he was furious.
Then it cut to a shot of you being put into the back of a police cruiser, your head held high but your eyes dark, not a single tear or look of remorse. Michael couldn't help but feel a type of way at the photo of you, you looked sexy. He always liked it when you got angry and heated during your many arguments. Your hair was a little messed up and a sly smirk was pasted on your lips, a satisfied one.
Michael stood up so fast his chair rolled backward. His chest heaved as he stared at the screen. Even after everything, after the distance and the silence he had forced between you, you were still fighting for him. You were in a jail cell because of him.
"I have to go," Michael whispered, slamming the phone down.
༻✦༺
The holding cell was freezing, and the hours crawled by. You sat on the metal bench, staring at your bruised knuckles, wondering how your life had come to this.
"Hey. You're free to go. Bail's been posted," a guard announced, unlocking the heavy iron door.
You blinked, confused. You hadn't even been allowed your phone call yet. Who could have possibly known? Who had the kind of power and money to do that so quickly?
The guard led you through the back exit of the station to help you avoid the press waiting at the front. The heavy metal door clicked open, venting the cool night air into the hallway. You stepped outside into the dim alleyway, rubbing your bare arms against the chill.
A single black rolls royce was parked at the curb.
The door opened. A figure stepped out into the faint glow of the streetlamp. He wore a dark jacket, and his signature sunglasses, though the night was pitch black. He took a slow step toward you, pulling the glasses down the bridge of his nose.
Those familiar, sorrowful brown eyes met yours.
"Hi," Michael said, his voice a soft, fragile whisper in the night air.
You froze, the breath catching entirely in your throat. Of all the people in the world, the one person you never expected to see standing outside a jail cell for you was him. God you hated how good he looked, he looked absolutely wrecked, still such a beautiful sight.
The silence between you stretched, heavy and thick with years of unspoken words. Michael stood by the open door of the SUV, his hand resting on the frame, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart ache.
"get in" he said, breaking the quiet. "The press is still out front. It’s not safe out here. ill take you home"
You looked at the car, then back at him. Every instinct told you to protect your peace, to walk away from the storm that constantly surrounded him.
"I live 5 minutes away its okay you don't have to" you began to protest. But your hands were shaking, your knuckles throbbed, and you were utterly exhausted.
"just get in"
"Okay" you murmured, stepping forward. "Thank you."
༻✦༺
You sat in the passenger of the leather seat, staring out of your respective windows, the space between you feeling like an ocean. You could hear his rhythmic, nervous breathing. Neither of you said a word the entire short car ride until you arrived at the driveway of you house.
Finally, Michael shifted, turning his body toward you. He took off his sunglasses, burying his face in his hands for a brief second before looking up.
"Why did you do it?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of the question.
You turned your head to look at him.
"You didn't have to do that," Michael continued, his eyes wide and clouded with genuine confusion. "We... we aren't together anymore. You don't owe me anything. No loyalty, especially not after how I treated you. After how I shut you out. So why risk your reputation? Why did you do that?" his voice desperate for an answer.
You stared at him, a faint, bittersweet smile touching your lips. To you, the answer was so obvious it barely needed stating.
"Did you really think I would just stand there and let them say that? What the hell was I supposed to do?" You say like it's so simple.
you take a beat before talking again.
"I know who you are. I know what your heart is. Even if things ended badly between us, that doesn't change who you are to me."
A tremor passed through Michael’s shoulders. The absolute sincerity in your voice seemed to shatter the last of his defenses. The heavy armor he had worn for months against the world completely crumbled. A single tear slipped down his cheek, followed by a quiet, ragged sob. He covered his face, bowing his head as the tears came freely.
His voice thick with emotion. "I am so, so sorry... for everything. For the way I pushed you away, for making you feel like you had to carry my darkness. I was so scared, and I didn't want to drown you with me. But I shouldn't have shut you out."
You said nothing, just throwing your entire weight over to him, the space between the front seats disappearing completely as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in so tightly. He took no longer than a millisecond to hold your waist and pull you in even tighter. it was a passionate embrace, more than a hug, it was a sorry, a thank you and an I miss you all in one embrace.
After minutes of just holding each other, quiet sobs escaping every few seconds, you pull apart and rest your foreheads against one another, just looking into each others eyes for a moment, as if nothing else mattered. He lifts your hand up, examining the swollen purple bruises covering your knuckles. His fingers gently rub your knuckles as he brings them up to his mouth, placing soft kisses against each knuckle.
"I miss you," he whispered, looking into your eyes with a raw vulnerability that stole your breath away. "I want you back. I want us back."
You looked down at his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of it, but you gently shook your head.
"Michael... that wasn't why I did this," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "I didn't punch him to get you back. or to prove anything. I did it because it was the right thing to do."
A soft, sad smile touched Michael’s face, and he nodded, a look of profound reverence entering his eyes.
"I know," he said, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. "I know that. And that’s exactly why I love you. Because I know that even if the whole world turns its back on me, even if I lose absolutely everything... you would still love me just the same."
your heart almost shattered. every thing he said was true, but you had to make sure one last time you weren't making a mistake that would cost you another heartbreak you couldn't bear to relive.
"how do I know you actually love me, and you aren't just saying this because you need someone right now? how do I know when things go back to normal, and this is all over for you, that you wont leave again?" you question.
"No, no - please don't say that," he pleaded, his voice cracking as he shook his head emphatically. He took your other hand, holding them both tightly against his chest. "That’s not true. It’s not. If I wanted someone to be there for me, there's plenty out there that would fill the noise, but it's empty. I only want you next to me. im lonely for you"
a tear slid down your cheek.
"I've wanted you every single day since you walked out that door. When I look at photos of us, when I drive past places we used to go to together, when I can't sleep at night. it was always you before this nightmare even began. it just took today for me to realise you just might still have a piece of me left with you too"
The absolute purity and desperation in his voice completely shattered the last of your walls. The small space between you vanished as you crashed your lips onto his, his arms locking around your waist and pulling you entirely onto his lap as the kiss deepened into a breathless, intoxicating blur. The entire universe narrowed down to the heat of his mouth and the dizzying rush of finally being back in his arms.
When you pulled back just a fraction, his forehead rested against yours,
"They're going to try to break you," you murmured, your heart aching for him. "Don't let them do it alone."
He pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged.
"With you? They don't stand a chance"
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