◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ Michael Jackson didn’t care if you loved other artists. Or that’s what he kept telling himself, ignoring the way an odd bitter feeling crawled into his chest.
“I literally love them.” You spoke enthusiastically with your hands, unaware of the man beside you only growing more rigid by the second. Did you have to say that you loved them?
You finished speaking and noticed how Michael was looking away, his jaw tight, he flexed his hand restlessly. You expected a response from him, which never came. “Michael?” You asked, placing a hand on his upper arm.
“Hm?” He finally turned to you. You noticed that look, it was the one he had whenever you talked about any sort of man. You laughed. “Are you jealous?”
“No. ‘m not.” But his eyebrows being furrowed was all the evidence you needed against him. You leaned in pressing a kiss against his cheek. Michael let out a painful sound, “I wanna be the only artist you love though.”
“You know you’re the only one I truly love,” you moved, placing a kiss against his other cheek. “I was only over exaggerating.”
He cupped your face, his lips brushing against yours, “better be.” He whispered before kissing the corner of your mouth.
“You’re the only woman that I love.” He murmured before kissing you fully.
Just something small I wrote 😋
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