in hindsight it's kinda funny that taylor used to worry that her songwriting was directly tied to her misery and pain. this girl was thirteen years old writing about everything under the sun whether she'd experienced it or not; she wrote about feelings she imagined, experiences she perceived in others, and stories she straight up fabricated. that well of inspiration is tied to your imagination, girl, not your sadness! and i think it's really beautiful that being with travis has been a factory reset of sorts where she's once again free to write about the full human experience without hinging that creative output on her status as a tortured artist, when that was never her ethos as a writer to begin with.
Summary: You and Michael thought you'd be inseparable as kids, but the older you got, the more life drove you apart. Now you have a chance to work with him on the Bad Album as a songwriter. Will this pull you back together...or push you two apart for good?
It was a warm day in 1971 when the Jackson family moved in next door to your house in Encino.
At first, you didn’t really think much about it. You were just 10 and you saw a moving truck with a large family moving in. Your world seemed so big through your bedroom window. A boy, slightly older than you, looked lost among his siblings, with his dark eyes. He held a box in his hands with books that looked second hand and used.
It didn’t click right away why they seemed familiar until your mom turned on the TV that night and the Jackson 5 were on live.
Your mother loved music. Adored it. She had vinyls and records of every band and artist possible. She was lively and fun and loved dancing. The complete opposite of your father, who was stern and quiet and preferred a book in his hands.
Sometimes you wondered how two people who were so different could fit together so well.
He looked at you and your mother, dancing in the living room to ‘Never Can Say Goodbye.’ You caught him smiling, and he quickly ducked his head down, pretending to read.
Things were great in your family. That is…until your baby brother was born in 1972.
You were 11 years old now.
You had gone from being a single child with all the attention to being a big sister with barely any attention. Having a baby around meant your mom couldn’t play any music, it meant no longer talking to your dad about books at dinner, and it meant that you had to go outside to find something interesting to do.
There was a strange tension in your house and you wanted to escape it. And you hated being around your baby brother, who cried and fussed all the time.
That’s how you ended up in Hayvenhurst. It was by accident. You were wandering the neighbourhood, trying to find something interesting to keep your attention and somehow wandered directly into the Jacksons’ backyard. At first, you thought Katherine would send you away, but she sat you down for dinner with the family, and the rest was history.
You knew the Jacksons were famous, but sitting there at the dining table, watching them joke around and eat was different.
Joe’s seat was empty, which is probably why you were allowed to stay.
It didn’t take long until you were there every other day. Your parents complained that they never saw you anymore, but you didn’t care.
You and Michael were the closest in age, which meant you two grew closer. Naturally. Something Katherine strongly encouraged since she always wanted Michael to have friends. You played games, watched movies while eating popcorn, and lay on the grass in the yard watching the clouds. Sometimes he’d sing for you, and you’d listen, enraptured by how the sweet and shy Michael shifted to the confident and stunning Michael Jackson before your very eyes.
You learned quickly to avoid Joe.
He always looked at you with disapproval whenever you were around — which was always. Sometimes you hear him muttering how you were a ‘distraction to Michael’ and he wasn’t ‘letting any damn strays’ into his house. You hated how Michael became quiet around him and you hated it even more when the spark in his eye dimmed whenever Joe barked at him to get to rehearsal or insulted him in front of his whole family.
If anything, it just made you more protective of Michael.
He was 13 and you were 11. Didn’t matter that there was a two year gap between both of you.
You two were like two peas in a pod. Jackie ruffled your head, telling you to keep Michael from buying more pets. Jermaine used to tease Michael about having you around. Tito would just shake his head and mumble something under his breath about kids. He’d blush and deny it, but there was no doubt you made him feel normal and he loved that more than anything.
One day, you were carrying a record under your arm and a bag of M&M’s in the other hand. Bill spotted you sneaking through the fence that ran between your house and Michael’s.
Michael and his brothers had been busy touring Europe all summer.
“(Y/N.) You’re gonna get in trouble one day if you keep doing that, kid,” Bill said, holding a hand out for you.
“Like you’d ever let anything happen to me.” You rolled your eyes and took his hand. Bill hauled you up, wiping the dirt off your dress. “Is Michael here?”
Bill glances at the house. You knew the look in his eyes. Joe was here.
“Why don’t you hand those over to me?” He reaches for the candy and the record but you pulled it close to your chest.
“Uncle Bill, where’s Michael?”
He sighs. “In his room.”
“Can you take me to him? I don’t care what Joe says. I’m here to see Michael.”
Bill hesitates. He might’ve been on Joe’s payroll, but he’d do anything for Michael…even if it meant taking the heat from Joeseph. He loved that kid like he was his own and he wasn’t going to deny him the only thing in his life that made him feel like a normal kid.
“Alright, fine. Just don’t…you know…talk back to Joseph.”
“Then Joe should learn some manners,” You said.
He sighs again, wondering how he found himself in this situation. But he snuck you inside anyway. It wasn’t that hard. Joseph was in his office on the phone, his voice loud enough to rattle the windows. Bill placed his hand on your back and pushed you up the stairs, keeping guard. You didn’t waste any time. You’d been here long enough that you knew the house like the back of your hand.
It was easy to find Michael’s door.
You looked around and raised your hand.
The door swung open and there he was. Michael stood there, one hand on the door handle and the other braced against the doorframe. His eyes lit up at the sight of you.
It had been months since you two saw each other. You couldn’t even call him while he was in Europe because your mom complained about the phone bills and letters were too slow. All you could do was watch him on TV and ask Katherine when he would be coming back.
“(Y/N!)” He pulled you into a tight hug and lifted you. “I missed you!”
You yelped as he dragged you into his room and set you down. You wobbled on your feet. Since when was Michael that strong? Ugh, he even got taller over the summer.
“Were you crying?”
His smile dimmed a bit. He looked away. “No. Where did you get that idea?”
You studied him. The corners of his eyes were red and his nose was tinged slightly pink. Even his voice sounded like he had a cold. You narrowed your eyes.
“Tell me the truth or I’ll take the Beach Boys album back without you listening to it.”
It was a weak threat but it seemed to work. He sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “You got me M&M’s?”
“Duh.” You shook the bag of candy. “What happened?”
“It’s just Joseph.”
You rolled your eyes and flopped onto the bed. “Yeah but what did he do this time?”
“Just said some stuff.”
‘Stuff’ was a codeword for a lot of things. You didn’t push even though you really wanted to. It was written all over his face that he was tired.
“He’s such a meanie.”
Michael laughed at that and laid down next to you. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the ceiling. “You miss me while I was gone?”
“Ugh…it was so boring all summer.”
He giggles. “Europe was boring too.”
“Yeah, right.” You sit up. “You got to see Europe before I did. You meet the royal family. You went to Paris!”
“You can come with me next time, you know.”
“Really?!”
“Keep your voice down!” He shushes you but he doesn’t stop smiling. “I’m pretty sure Joseph wants us to go to Japan next year.”
Ah, so that’s what got him so bummed out. You knew how he hated to tour. It’s all he ever did and now that the Jackson 5 was more famous than ever, it was rehearsal after rehearsal after rehearsal. No matter how much you begged, he’d never let you attend. And you had a nagging feeling why.
“Japan?”
“Yup.”
“On the other side of the world?" He nods. "Again? You just got back!”
The idea of him touring again made you uneasy. He was your best friend. Matter in fact, your only friend. You didn’t tell anybody at school you were friends with the Michael Jackson because this was yours and only yours. Plus...nobody would believe you anyway.
Michael sighs. “Yeah.”
“That’s cool and all, but didn’t you guys just finish a tour?”
“Mhhmm.”
Your enthusiasm dims. That means you won’t get to see Michael during the summer. You had so much planned for the two of you to do.
“Such a meanie,” you mutter.
“Bet you wouldn’t say that to his face.”
“One day I will.”
“(Y/N.)”
“What?” You got up and picked the Beach Boys album. “When I’m older, I’ll look Joe straight in the eye and tell him to f—!”
“(Y/N!)” He laughs, covering your mouth with his hand. “You’re gonna get us in trouble! If my mother heard you cussing, she’d wash your mouth out with soap!”
You lick the back of his hand. He pulls his hand away, squealing. “I swear I will, Mike! Now are we gonna listen to this album or not?!” You shove the album in his face. “Well?”
He rolls his eyes and plucks it out of your hands. You can see the corner of his mouth lift. “Yeah, yeah. But those M&M’s are mine.”
“Well, they ain’t for me.”
1972 bleeds into 1973 in no time. Your littler brother is older and your parents start voicing concerns about you hanging around the Jacksons. Well…your father does. He thinks they’re a bad influence on you.
Your mother enrols you in music classes at your insistence. You choose piano and guitar, eager to master them.
Spending time with the Jacksons was beneficial in a way.
Music unlocked something inside of you. It’s all you can think about. You spend more time listening to records and paying attention to the lyrics. Your mother starts complaining that you listen to records late into the night, but you don’t care. There are only two things that make you happy: 1 is music, and 2 is Michael.
Michael is busy all year, touring in Japan and then getting ready to release his third album, Music and Me.
You’re now 12 and Michael is 14.
The changes are gradual. He grows taller, his voice changes, and his features are more defined. His smile is the same and so are his dark eyes but you notice how he seems different and more closed off. He still plays with you but most of the time you’re in his room. You read a book while he scribbles down lyrics in his notebook.
Michael Jackson is a teen pop sensation. And you’re his best friend. Simple, girl next door (Y/N.) You can’t help but wonder if this is where you’ll always be while he soars to new heights.
You look up from your book when he lets out a huff of annoyance.
“What is it, Mike?”
He rubs his forehead, putting his pencil down. “Nothing. Just can’t get this lyric right.”
“Is it for the album?”
Michael sighs. “Nah. The producers won’t let me write anything. Heck, they won’t let me do anything. They just want me in the sound booth. It’s frustrating Joseph and it's frustrating me.”
You tilt your head. “You want to write your own songs?”
Michael closes his book, and his knee starts to shake. He gets up and paces in front of you. You just watch him, waiting for him to find the right words.
Eventually, he stops.
You raise an eyebrow.
You’ve learned that it’s easier to wait and let him tell you things than to force it out of him.
“I have so many ideas in my head, (Y/N.) I can feel it. It’s all there and I want to make my own music.” He says. “Sometimes it hits me like lightning and I want to get it down right there and there. If I don’t, I’ll lose it forever. It's killing me.”
You don’t know much about the music industry. You hear snippets from Michael and your mom, but the whole picture has a lot of holes in it.
Sometimes you wonder how someone as sweet and kind as Michael can survive it.
All that pressure and scrutiny. The idea of it makes you feel uneasy.
“Why won’t they let you make music, Mike? I’ve heard you sing. I’ve seen you dance. I’m sure whatever album you make next will be amazing.”
“It will be, but it’s not my ideas or my songs. It’s the studio's idea. Everything..”
He sits down at the foot of the bed, spreading his legs out. You sigh and put your book away. You reached out and ran your fingers through his hair. It’s just something you did when he got tense or upset or sad. Michael allowed it surprisingly.
“One day, you’re gonna make an album so amazing that it’ll rock the whole world.” You smile. “Heck, I’d bet my last 20 bucks on it.”
He faintly smiles even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’d really bet your last 20 bucks on me?”
You cross your heart. “Duh.”
Miachel rolls his eyes but he doesn’t move or push your hand away. He closes his eyes. “You ever thought about going into music?”
“Who?” You scrunch your face. “Me? I don’t even know what I want for lunch. How am I supposed to know what I want to do in the future?”
“You’d do well.”
You poke his cheek. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, I mean it. You know music, you know how to write it.”
“I learned it for fun.” He gives you the side eye. You sigh through your nose. “Fine, I learned so I could understand what you and your brothers were talking about all the time. You know I hate being left out of stuff.”
“You want to be a singer?”
“Ha, no.” You get up, stretching your arms over your head. “You know I don’t have that much range.”
“Really? Then what would you do?”
You think about it. You really do. It’s the first time you’ve ever considered your future. There aren’t many options for women and even your own mother had to leave behind her job just so that she could take care of you and your brother.
But music seemed right. You could see something there even if it was faint.
“Songwriting.”
This is the moment that would change your life. You just didn’t know it at that moment.
Michael seemed shocked by that. You rolled your eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed. You were still learning how to read notes. Maybe it was silly to assume you could do it.
“It’s stupid. Forget about it,” you mutter.
“No!” Michael stood up quickly. “It ain’t silly at all. I can see it.”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “You think so, Mike? You ain’t just saying that because you’re trying to be nice.”
“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “Says the musical genius.”
He giggles and your pout loosens. “I’m serious. I’ve seen a lot of songwriters. I think you can do it. No, I know you can do it.”
For once, you don’t have a clever comeback or a sassy answer. He rarely catches you off guard like this.
You clear your throat, wondering why his words affect you so much.
“Thanks," You mutter.
He ruffles your hair. “One day, when I get to make my own songs, we’ll write one together. Just you and me.”
“Deal?”
“Deal.”
The years pass by quickly. Both of you grow up into young adults. His house becomes your second home during your tumultuous teenage years.
Your parents fight more. Your little brother sleeps in your bed when they do. Something seems broken in your home and you sneak through the fence all the time, eager to get out of the house.
Katherine doesn’t seem to mind having you around. She always hugged you and told you to take the guest room.
By 1978, you’re 18 while Michael is 20.
It’s the same year that both of your lives seem to change.
Your parents divorce and he goes off to New York.
It’s the night before he leaves when you sit in his room, watching him pack last minute. He can’t stop talking about New York and this new project he's working on. Something called The Wiz. Whatever it is, you know he’ll do amazing. He’s like a cat; he’ll always land on his feet.
You hug your knees to your chest, watching as he sorts through his jackets.
You haven’t told him that you’re moving to Europe. Hell, you don’t believe it. You always wanted to see Europe but not like this. Your mother decided to stay here with your little brother while you and your father prepared to move to Europe.
The whole world is upside down.
The divorce doesn’t hurt as much as this. This is the last summer you’ll spend with him. Then you’ll never see him again.
And it breaks your heart knowing that you’ll be losing your best friend.
It’s strange to watch Michael light up the room when you feel like lying on the bed and never getting back up again.
“Which one?” He holds up two shirts. Both of them are white. “La Toya said we can go clubbing.”
“Both are nice.”
“Cmon, (Y/N.)” He shakes one of the shirts, making a button pop off.
For some reason, that turns on the water works. A tear makes its way down your cheek. Before you know it, you cover your face and start to cry uncontrollably.
He drops the shirts and pulls you into a hug. You hug him back, burying your face in his shoulder. He smells familiar, like home and it hits you all at once how you’ll have a whole ocean between the both of you.
His hand cups the back of your head. You know he’s worried. You don’t cry. It’s not your style. But here you are, sobbing like a baby.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” He rubs your back, trying to calm you down. “C’mon. You gonna miss me that much? It’s only New York. I’ll fly you out, and we can go to Studio 54 together.”
You pull away and shake your head. You scrub your cheeks with the sleeves of your hoodie. It takes you a minute before you can talk again.
"It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
“Mike, I’m moving to Europe.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Well, you know how my parents got divorced. Mom's staying here with my brother. Dad wants me in Europe.” You whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you…I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t…”
You trail off as a new wave of tears hits you.
This is one of the worst parts of growing up. Leaving the people you love the most in the world behind. In other words, it sucks. Hard.
He just holds you through it all. The sun starts to dip when you finally stop crying. Your hair is a mess and your eyes are puffy. His eyes are tinged red, too.
He’s still pretty, which is unfair.
“You can still call me, right?” He asks, a hint of hope in his voice. Michael has his arm around you. “I’ll give you my phone number for my apartment in New York. You can call me anytime you want.”
“Even if it’s super late?”
“My line is always open.”
“Even when you're rehearsing?”
He shrugs. “No problem. I can do better tomorrow.”
That’s a lie and you both know it but don’t call him out. His work ethic is next to nobody else’s.
“Can I write to you too?” You ask.
He smiles, his eyes lighting up at the thought. “I’d love that more than anything.. It'll be our thing.”
That soothes your heart a little bit.
He holds your hand as he walks you to the fence. You take a good look around the yard and the house. A good chunk of your childhood was here and you’ll never see it again.
Both of you stop near the gap in the fence.
He pulls you into a hug one last time. He’s taller now and his arms have more strength. He uses every bit of it to keep you close. He presses a kiss to your head.
Your eyes mist over.
You pull away, already missing him.
“You gonna miss me?” You ask, your tone is teasing but you’re just trying to prolong the inevitable.
He looks at you and you mentally take a picture of him. “Duh.”
Michael leaves for New York the next day with La Toya. You leave for Europe with your father next week, making sure to kiss your mother goodbye and hug Katherine.
Katherine tells her how much she’ll miss you, which makes you cry all over again.
Europe is an adjustment. Everything is different, even the music. At least the music was good.
It took you a whole month to muster enough courage to call Michael in New York.
He didn’t pick up.
You tried the next day.
The line was busy.
He’s famous and probably has a million things to do. You brush it off.
You decide to call the next evening.
Someone picked up, saying that Michael was busy. A sweet, feminine voice that wasn’t La Toya. Flustered, you left a message and said goodbye.
You called almost every other day.
His line was busy. Or sometimes nobody picked up at all. And if someone did pick up, it was to say that Mr Jackson was incredibly busy and he’d call back. He never did.
You even tried to call Hayvenhurst. Joe picked up once, heard your voice, told you Michael was busy and promptly ended the call. Katherine picked up and assured you that Michael was just busy and he’d call you back and tried to ask you how you were. You kept a brave face and told her that you missed her.
The letters ended up the same.
Unanswered.
By 1979, you gave up hope. A whole summer of trying and trying and trying got you nowhere. Not a single call back. Not even a letter.
You even tried to buy a plane ticket but your father stopped you.
He didn’t want you to go to New York, no matter how much you pleaded. He stayed firm even when you screamed you hated him. He held you when you broke down crying and begging, telling you it was for the best.
“You’ll only cause trouble for yourself if you go, (Y/N.)” That was all your father said.
You were already in university studying music.
Your father hated that you decided to take songwriting seriously but there wasn’t much he could do to stop you.
‘Off The Wall’ came out that summer and suddenly you heard his voice for the first time in a year.
Michael was everywhere.
He’d finally done it. He made it happen. A large part of you was proud. A small part of you resented that you couldn’t be there with him.
You were able to buy a record somehow and someway. By all means, you should hate him but you just couldn’t. That evening, you sat by your window and listened to his voice. You could almost feel him reaching out to you. But didn’t know if you wanted to reach back.
A tear falls down your cheek as you listen to him sing 'She’s Out Of My Life.'
And I don't know whether to laugh or cry/ I don't know whether to live or die/ And it cuts like a knife/ She's out of my life/
You always knew that a guy would break your heart but you never expected it to be Michael.
A/N: Hope you liked that. This is my first time writing fanfic, by the way, so I hope I did well. This one turned out a little too angsty. I did a ton of research to get the dates right. Part two will take place during the Thriller / Victory Tour Era. Enjoy!
