Pairing: Michael Jackson x make-upartist! reader
Summary: Michael sets you up with something huge which turns into your worst nightmare.
SFW: ice cream date in winter, slowly catching feelings, tw: domestic abuse/ abusive father, Bill is like a father figure to reader, bad writing imo
Note: Wanted to post this on the 25th for obvious reasons but couldn't and even more on the 26th since that was my bday. I'm dying over here it's 40 degrees and I've been trying my best to get this done 😭 btw you can clearly see that I care about this series more than my RE ones since I've never really gotten past part 2 of any of them
Taglist: @appleheadannie @7viiseven @1nth3cl0set @unknwnbrii @darkgreengrl
Behind the scenes masterlist
The whole morning everyone has been commanding his every move, exception for his mom and pets, which he sees more as friends than animals he's taken under his wing. After LaToya had annoyed him into oblivion with that awful voice of hers he had isolated himself into the studio, locking it from the inside so someone like Joseph couldn't test his patience.
Just yesterday he had gotten off the phone with you, talking about the most random things that came to mind. It truly opened his eyes about how you weren't so different after all. Micheal grew out of the poor boy from Gary he used to be. Thanks to his father, which he hates to think about, he's living in this huge mansion. Lonely, but well off. You on the other end were still stuck in under average living conditions, not poverty but in an apartment with mold growing from the ceiling. From what he understood your parents were nearly the same as his. A mother who used to be a woman with many dreams, ripped away to carry a man's child who grew to be a tyrant.
Even now your father was sceptical of your career choice, which wasn't as disliked as your previous wish to become a model like your mother, but still heavily opposed. You had told him how horrible he can be, not abusive as Joseph had been to the whole Jackson family but still terrible enough to have a small dislike.
“He's been coming home drunk almost everyday for the past year. And I thought he'd gone sober….”
When Michael heard that his first priority was to ask if you were okay with how things were. There was nothing else he wanted than for you to move out of there, maybe bring your mom. But Joseph was still the person to decide that and with how your first meeting with him went though it wouldn't happen.. ever.
Now sitting in his empty studio, staring at the chair you had occupied not even three days ago, he's really missing you.
Maybe calling you would help. What if he's annoying you with that? Maybe you didn't want anything to do with him after seeing what his father was like?
You wouldn't do that. He knew you were kinder than anyone he's ever met, pure and not a back stabber than some. He has to protect you.
Michael finds himself sitting on the desk near the soundboard where the landline for his usually strictly professional calls was. His fingers were hovering over the dials while the phone itself was pressed against his ear.
An invisible lightbulb forms over his head.
If he couldn't help you out personally, why not give you a little push?
Your hand carefully works with the brush as you apply more and more powder to your client's face. Today has been one busy day. First off was two clients, one of which you had to drive the bus to since she lives at the other end of the city while the other, who was sitting in front of your vanity, has been rather picky the hour she's been here. What adds to the feeling was Sarah, who's been pestering you nonstop about your time with Michael, calling you every day to ask about him.
He's been such a sweetheart, very concerned about you ever since you told him about how your father was even though his was a million times worse. How did you deserve such a selfless man as a friend, someone who was unreachable for many?
You brush your fingertip over Misty's (what you learned to be your client's name) cheekbone, trying to spread a stubborn spot of powder. Slowly the look was coming together. With a heavy sigh you knock off the residue off of the brush, glancing up to the clock which was hanging over the vanity.
About two more hours until you expect your father to come back home. Hopefully he wouldn't return earlier. He HATED having strangers in the apartment, something you had to learn the hard way. The first time was absolute hell, screaming from his part and desperate explaining from yours. Never again.
The shrill beeping of your trimline jerks you back in your seat, quickly rolling with your pastel-blue office chair in direction of your nightstand. With a click you pick up the receiver, holding it to your ear. With your customer voice you answer the call.
“Michael?” You whisper his name, hoping Misty wouldn't hear. Still to this day you hadn't told a soul, besides Sarah and your parents, about your friendship with the King of Pop.
“I've been calling around and have huge news for you.”
"Calling around? Wher- Wha-?” You shift the receiver to your other ear, the makeup brush laying abandoned on your bed.
“Y/N? Do you have a more pinkish blush?” Your focus turns to Misty, who was already starting to annoy you again.
You turn back to her, humming with a smile while nodding, before focusing on the call again with a visible frown. Michael says something you didn't quite catch.
Just as he's about to start again you cut in between his words. “Mike..Michael.. Listen.. I'm a little busy.. uhm.. I'll call you back, okay?”
But he doesn't stop, your mouth creases at how you had to not only listen to him but also an impatient Misty. Before you hang up you suddenly hear something about modelling, making any thoughts of ending the call vanish in an instant.
“Yeah, they want to meet you. Tomorrow at six.”
“What?! Michael, what did you–”
You facepalm, groaning audibly. “Michael, you can't just … You know what? I'll call you back.”
Without giving him a chance to speak you just hang up, letting his last words sink in. You pinch your nose bridge, a visible frown tugging at your eyebrows.
Misty's voice calling your name makes you look up at her. "What's wrong?” Her voice for once was soft, concerned for you.
"Work.” Your customer service smile returns, rolling back to her to continue her make up. The brush gets coated in another layer of powder to dab over her contours. "Someone who acted before asking.”
Misty chuckles, eyes closed to let you work. "Oh, I know that feeling. Is it a boy?”
Her question reddens your cheeks, answering it already on its own. Your lips won't stop tugging up, fingers trembling as they brush away her hair. "Yeah... he's sweet, but pretty stubborn.”
Misty's eyes open as you turn back again to look through your utensils. " I'm glad you found someone. You're young, but should think about who you'll spend the rest of your life with. you know when I met my husband…”
There she goes again. You don't even listen, shaking your head with an amused huff while carding your hands through your vanity's cabinet. One thing does stick with you.
Think about who you'll spend the rest of your life with.
After Misty had left and you had tidied up a little you flop onto your bed, tired of everything. From the sound of the door slamming shut and your mom's voice growing irritated, it was clear your dad had arrived after his shift. Ever since he had gotten his new job, one your mom had forced onto him after one heated argument, he's gotten a little calmer and less irritated.
That didn't mean he wouldn't argue about the dumbest stuff.
You try to drown out the sounds you've grown up with, turning in your bed to look at the trimline. Maybe calling Michael would help. You need to talk to him anyway. Did he really call around without asking you first? Your dad was gonna kill you. So you just lay there, eyeing the phone with that frown that was nearly burned between your brows. With a heavy huff you balance your weight on your left side to grab the small device from your nightstand before flopping back down. With the notebook that you always kept in the cabinet you quickly dialed Michael's number.
The soft hum is all you hear for about a minute until a click of the call being answered turns into that quiet voice you love.
Your words flip a switch inside Michael, whose voice turns into the embodiment of joy.
“Michael, we need to talk.”
“Oh, you need the infos, right? I can–”
The other end grows silent as the young man thinks about your words. You were the closest thing to a friend he had, minus the ones that were more like work friends than anything. Technically you were also a coworker, but after the time you had spent in his studio and on the phone.. Unforgettable.
“I'm sorry.. I know I should've asked you first, but–”
“You..You're not?” He lets out an overjoyed sigh of relief.
“Well.. Maybe a little, but not enraged or anything.” You tangle your fingers into the trim line's cable, staring at the ceiling like it was the night sky. “Why don't we meet for.. I dunno.. Ice cream to talk about who's meeting who?”
You giggle and turn to your side. “Of course now. If they want to see me tomorrow I can't meet with you another day.”
All you hear is him also letting out an amused huff before you both plan where to go and when to meet, ending the call on a good note rather than a bad one. You just couldn't be mad at him. All he did was try to help and maybe this would be a good thing.
What he also said was that he'd be where he last dropped you off after your little KFC date. It was about five minutes away from home so you got up pretty fast after the call. Fortunately you didn't think too hard of what to wear, having become comfortable enough around Michael to just choose the most basic things out of your wardrobe.
A blue turtle neck wrapped into your favorite overalls covered by the first winter jacket out of your closet. It was the end of November after all. Not too cold, but chilly enough to make you choose something thick.
With only your purse in hand you sneak out of your room to get to the front door where your shoes were.
“Where are you going, Missy?”
The most panicked smile appears on your face, too scared to turn around to meet who you already knew was your dad. Your shoulders slump, something you've connected to the feeling of defeat your whole life. Meeting his eyes had always been the scariest part of living with him, the control he had set up over the years scarier than any monster that hid in the darkness.
They reminded you of an endless pit of despair, rage always present in his pupils no matter how much you tried to please him. Right now it was nothing different.
Your whole body starts to itch at the way it's sweating, gulping down the saliva starting to build up. “Just meeting a friend."
“That Sarah girl? You know what I think of her.”
“N-No.. Not Sarah. Just.. a work friend.”
Your dad frowns, his body posture tensing in a way to make him look taller and bigger. You feel like a child again, begging him to quit drinking which always ended up with you facing his wrath, stuck in time out which you’d spend in your parents closet,locked from the outside. Questionable parenting, but that was standard in this day and age.
“Yeah, right. You gonna tell me Michael Jackson wants to hang with you? Hah.”
The sarcasm taints his voice, even if it was the truth.
“Brad, let her go. She's been helping me out all day.” Your mother appears behind him, smiling up at her husband in a pleasing way, trying to keep him from crashing out. Poor woman's been doing it for the past thirty years.
Fortunately he only huffs, returning to his beloved TV where he's already emptied three beer bottles. Your mother's smile turns genuine the moment she's alone with you, pulling you into her arms for a short hug. “Be careful.”
You smile back, nodding. “I will.”
Finally you leave that hellhole behind, strutting down the steps of the complex until you are face to face with the traffic. Just a block away from where you'd meet up with Michael. People from every social class walk past you, even the richest of the rich that probably lost the path they were supposed to go. Nice meal for the thieves that roam this part of town.
Out of the blue you hear someone calling your name, making you turn to the sight of Bill, Michael's bodyguard, waving for you from the driver seat. With a wide smile and your own hand waving his way you get into the back seat, where an open door was already waiting for you. It wasn't the fancy car from the first time, still a very expensive model but slightly worn. Inside Michael was already scooting away so you could sit beside him, dimples visible with how wide his grin was.
Both of you exchange quiet hi's, sitting in silence. Your throat was already closing up, hands sweaty. On the phone you both were so outgoing, joking about life and its unfairness. The silence doesn't take as long to dissipate as the first time. Rustling beside you makes you turn your head where Michael was digging through a bag before revealing a small container of ice cream.
"Since you liked the cookies last time I got you the cookie dough flavor.” He twists the small container in his hand, picking at the sides out of nervousness. "I'm not a huge chocolate fan so…”
It was difficult to watch him stumble over his words like that, all excited to show you the ice cream.
"But are you sure you want to eat it while it's so cold out?”
You only smile, taking the container and the spoon he had held out to dig in. " Well.I'm not here for the ice cream.”
Michael returns a faint smile before he's pulling out an orange popsicle. Even while frozen he's still choosing his beloved orange juice.
While Bill drives through the streets, some random song blasting through the car. Usually you were the first to scream out the lyrics, but something kept you from singing your heart out. The ice cream somehow tasted better during this time of the year, cuddled in the car next to him.
Bill eventually parks near a highway, getting out for a smoke to give you both some space.
"Who'd you call?” Michael stops licking at his popsicle, not fully meeting your face as you asked what he dreaded to hear. At first he thought about not meeting with you, but that would've been unfair to you. He likes you, hell more than any woman he's ever liked. Even only as a friend, you understood him the best. Just watching you devour the ice cream he had gotten you made him happy.
“Michael?” He didn't even notice he's been staring longer than appropriate.
“Oh.. uhm.. I just had connections here and there.”
“Uhm..” He mumbles something incoherent.
“I.. uhm.. I might've asked around Wilhelmina?”
You choke on your ice cream, coughing it up like a fish bone was stuck in your throat. Michael pats at your back, trying not to laugh at your misery. With an abrupt snap of your head your wide eyes were burning holes through him. “WHAT?! Wilhelmina?! B-But.. that's.. like the–”
“Biggest agency at the moment? Yeah..”
The ice cream container slips out of your fingers, disappearing somewhere between your feet. Your hands cover your face, shaking in disbelief at what Michael had done. Maybe telling him about your dreams wasn't such a good idea after all. His soft voice calls your name, hand
rubbing over your upper back and shoulder blades. You just wanted to melt into his touch, but hesitate since you both just met about two weeks ago.
"I'm not ready…” You shake your head, heart thumping heavily against your chest. This was crazy. This couldn't be real. “I don't even know how to perfect a catwalk! I mean.. I did train, b-but–”
The firmness in his voice makes you look up at Michael, who was looking the most serious he's ever looked. It was almost.. comforting.
“You want this. I see it in your eyes.” His fingers trace up to where your neck meets your shoulder, rubbing over the skin with his warm touch. “You're amazing. Beautiful. You'd fit way more into the make-up chair than next to it.”
His touching words make you look up with teary eyes. How poetic. No wonder that he was so famous for these deep words.
“I-I do, but.. my father–”
Something switches in Michael's expression, vulnerable and concerned for you. Almost as if he understood your worries. And why wouldn't he? Those thoughts plagued his mind since he could think. It wasn't even hard to pull you into his arms, seeing himself inside you in this very moment.
Your words turn into sniffles as his arms tighten around you, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your head while his lower face was buried in your shoulder. It felt nice. It feels nice. The way his nails scratch your scalp gentle enough to not leave a mark, whispering reassuring words into your ear.
“It's okay.. Let it out.”
The softness of his voice makes you do just that. Burst into tears. Quiet cries turn into sobbing, clinging to him like your life depends on it.
After a few minutes of him just holding you he retracts from you, turning to dig through his bag again. All you do is wipe the tears that were trailing down your cheeks, watching him curiously.
He pulls out something white, unwrapping it so it was clear in front of you.
A dress. A flowy white dress. It looks straight out of one of these Christian movies, all angel-like.
“Janet and LaToya picked it out for the audition.”
Your fingers trace the fabric, awestruck at how nice it felt. He had thought about you. Michael had asked for his sister's help for something that shouldn't even be his concern.
"Like it? Michael… I love it!”
Instead of adoring the dress any longer you jump into his arms for another hug. The dress falls onto your lap, squeezed between your bodies as you crush him in your embrace. Not that he complained. He loves how warm you were and how you smelt of his favorite fruit. Maybe.. He just loves you? No.. He just met you! That can't be..
Even after you had left his arms he still just sat there, brain mushed from how warm his body had become. You had sat back on your corner from the back seat, trying to slurp up the melted ice cream that you had just fished out from between the leg room.
After a few more minutes Bill had returned, starting the car and asking Michael where to go next. He didn't want your time together to end just yet. So Bill just drove and drove and drove.. giving you both enough time to chat and joke about the stupidest stuff.
“So where's the audition?”
You had your legs pressed to your chest, the time making both of you more comfortable around the other. The drive was already an hour long, Bill having stopped at KFC on Michael’s request, the young man devouring the crispy chicken tenders like he needed oxygen. Now the car was driving slow enough not to throw you around like dice.
With a full mouth, muffling his words, he replies: “Hayvenhurst.”
Michael nods, swallowing the last bits of the meat. “You would've had to meet them in Los Angeles. Three hour drive.”
You nod in understanding. Only the thoughts of how your dad would react flood through your head. How were you gonna tell him? With how your mother seemingly quit right after marrying him it wasn't gonna be easy. A heavy weight places itself onto your shoulder, warm and almost comforting. Michael's hand.
"Hey…” He softly calls your name. "You still thinkin' about your dad?“
"Yeah... I guess I don't know how to tell him…“
You nibble on your lower lip, choosing between the dilemma you're currently in. Either tell him and risk digging your own grave or do the audition while keeping it a secret for a while longer. The second choice sounds way more appealing and safe. You'd tell him, just not now.
With a nervous yet determined smile you nod, hoping for the best outcome. At that Michael pulls out a card from one of his pockets, wiping his greasy fingers on his pants beforehand --which probably cost more than your entire makeup collection. He hands it to you.
"Tomorrow at six. We'll pick you up at the usual spot, isn't that right Bill?”
The older man only nods with a visible smile.
"Thank you. You don't know what all of this means to me.”
Michael shakes his head. " It's nothing. We gotta stick together.”
The ride ends sooner than later, stopping in front of the bookshop at the usual part of the street. You stuff the dress into a bag, hoping it wouldn't pull too much attention your way. Bill, ever the gentleman, opens the car door for you and motions for you to slip out. Just before you exit, Michael stops you with a firm yet gentle touch to your shoulder. With a smile from both of you, you give him a side hug. “I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you again.”
Michael watches you leave, cheeks burning and lips tugging up. He already misses you, the ice cream container reminding him of the fun time you had spent together. Tomorrow was gonna be your big day and he wasn't gonna miss it.
Meanwhile you skipped home happily, the card Michael had given you tucked into one of your pockets. The joy fades a little the moment your key turns the lock of the apartment, the permanently running TV louder than anything, your father laughing at something (probably his favorite football team). He hadn't even noticed you scurry off into your room. Nice.
With a relieved and joyful sigh you fall into your bed, shoes abandoned near your door. Tomorrow would change your life forever, hopefully.
The morning starts at nine, fussing on and on about how to do your makeup for the audition. Michael had also called you to inform you of when he'd pick you up, about an hour before the casting.
You were so excited. Spending most of your time in your room to get ready. Fortunately your dad wasn't home and wouldn't be until five, exactly when Michael would pick you up.
At four you were already in the white dress, matching heels in a light shade of orange you had borrowed from your mom.
At 4:45 you were ready to leave, drenched in your favorite perfume.
At 4:50 you were leaving your room when a figure you hadn't expected steps in front of you, eyes flaming with rage.
“Where you goin' now, Missy?” His voice booms through the small apartment, shaking you to your core. “Hm?”
A sharp sting wraps around your upper arm, pulling you back into your bedroom. Your father basically throws you onto your bed, giving you little time to react.
“You ain't goin' anywhere, sweet heart.” Your breath quickens as he pulls out something small. The card. You swallow a huge lump, gazing over to your purse to think back on your steps. On the way to your bedroom you must've clearly dropped it. “That sissy brainwashed you real good, didn't he? Wilhelmina my ass, hah.”
Your whole body was frozen in place, only catching onto half of what he was saying. He was strangely calm somehow. It was scary. “I'm sorry.. I-I just..”
“I just want to model. Like mom.”
He eerily stands there, gazing down at you like he always did. As if you were the interior one, pathetic and useless. These looks only meant one thing.
“Want? You ain't want nothin’ like that.”
Your father's eyes widen at the firmness in your words. “What you say?”
The determined feeling in you quickly vanishes just as fast as it came. “N-Nothing..”
A loud and scary laugh emits from his chest, his movements fast as he goes for your nightstand that still has the trim line on it. He reaches for it and you immediately try to grab the small machine, knowing he'd break it so you couldn't contact Michael again, which he doesn't. He rushes out of your room, you not so far behind. The door slams shut in your face, your crumbling form scratching and knocking at the door while pleading with tears.
“N-No! Please, no! Open the door!”
Outside your just as pleading mother was trying to get your father to see reason, but to no avail. This was your doing. If only you hadn't been stupid enough to lose that fucking card you wouldn't be in this situation.
Your hammering ends after a while, resorting to sulking with your back leaning against your bed. It was already past 5 and Michael was probably already waiting. How could you ever believe things would change around here? You'd always be under your father's foot, stepped on like a cockroach.
Your parents' arguing fades into the background, muffled by the thoughts in your head. A voice sounding different than your own narrator one in your head. Manlike. Wait.. The focus returns back to the presence and when listening you could clearly make out a man's voice calling for you. You shuffle to your feet, running to your window to peek out and not see anything. So you do what was the smartest thing in the moment and slide it up so you could lean out.
Right across the street you recognize Bill, who was talking to an older lady.
“Bill! Hey, Bill!” His name just slips out without thinking about how you'd probably alert your father. You wave and wave, catching his attention almost immediately. He rushes over the street, cats honking at him.
Your mother's voice calls for you from outside your room, panicked. The key falls into the lock and you panic just as much, one leg already out the window. People gasp, most walking by unfazed. This neighborhood already saw worse things than some girl climbing out her bedroom window.
Unfortunately your father is faster than you, pulling you back inside by your waist and pushing you into your mother – who was screaming at him AND you. who was begging both of you to stop. The man shuts your window before storming back to scream at you. Just as he's about to strike you, your mother steps in his way,a safe hand in front of you. "Brad, no.”
He huffs, eyes burning with fury. The muscles in his jaw tighten the more his anger grows, building himself up to scare you both. But your mother doesn't waver, protecting her daughter just as any real mother would.
“What you say?” He steps dangerously close.
His hand strikes your mother straight in the face, who harshly hits the floor. You let out a startled cry. “Mom!”
But he doesn't let you check her well-being, his hand fisting in your hair to drag you out of your room. Your own fingers come up to hold at his tight hold, trying to keep him from ripping your scalp from your skull. The apartment is filled with your pained cries and your mother's pleading.
You end up being thrown into the one place you dreaded most. Your father locks the closet door, going on and on about how you have disobeyed him horribly. Outside you listen to how your mother gets beaten, making you feel helpless and scared.
You feel like the little girl again, who would get put in here for anything she did. But now it was bringing back even worse memories. Your mother's cries remind you of your younger years, locked away into either your room or this small space, listening to them fight. Every night when your father was either out to cool off or asleep you watched your mother cry sitting at the dining table, a blue eye adorning her exhausted features.
Now it was the exact same, but worse.
The screaming doesn't stop, your hands already finding their ways to cover your ears. An inevitable breakdown turns to you sniffling and your heart aching in the worst way possible. Memories fly past you, the screeching mixing with your father's cocky words.
To drown them out you also start to scream, as if something was clawing itself up your throat.
Only two people, who were the only ones to bring you comfort, come to mind. Michael and Sarah. Especially Michael. His kind eyes and smile burning bright on every corner of your brain.
Now you are gonna disappoint him. All the work he's put into your future, something that wasn't even his concern, and what do you do? Destroy everything as usual. You don't deserve him.
Not that you had any choice. Your father was always one step ahead, no matter how drunk or angry.
This was the end. Nothing ever truly changes. Even if Bill would find you, your father was unstoppable. You always hoped you wouldn't be back here, trapped in a simple closet like that little girl that used to be you.
Soon you don't even realize that you're still screaming, the sound of your shrill voice trying to drown out your mother's misery.
Something pulls at your shoulders, making you throw a good few punches in the direction. Now it was your turn. You'd die and that at the hand of someone you once looked up to. His hands snake to your face, pulling it up to his direction.
Your eyes burn red, the light of the outside making them ache even more, pupils taking a few seconds longer to focus.
The exact opposite. Kind greenish eyes stare back at you, worried and scared. His hands are soft and warm, cradling you like the picture perfect father.
His lips tug up as you realize who was in front of you, making him also concerned as to what that monster could've done to you to make you act like this. He pulls you into his arms to let you soothe yourself, a hand carding through your hair.
Even as you clearly hear commotion in the background of police officers storming your home, or the bits and pieces of what it used to be.
All that was unimportant.
In Bill's arms you for once felt safe. Safe and secure. He helps you up and leads you out of the room, into the kitchen where your mother was once again slumping over the table. Not only one, but two blue eyes with matching bruises all over her face. She was crying, even more than ever. Childhood memories unlock immediately.
But what stood out to you the most was your father, unconsciously resting against one of the walls –cuffed. The left side of his face was swollen, lower lip bruised.
“He came at me.” Bill explains to one of the officers, a little louder to make sure you heard too. His hands rub soothingly over your shoulders.
It isn't long until your mom notices you, jumping up to wrap you in a tight embrace – which you flinch from at the state of her face. “Oh, sweetheart!” She was crying, brushing back the hair from your face.
While both her and Bill talk to the officers you couldn't help counting the minutes over the six. You had missed the most important moment in your life because you were misfortune enough to be born to that monster that was already escorted out by law enforcement.
Soon it was just the older man and you left, your mother hesitant when ordered by rescue services to accompany them. Now it was your turn to slump over the dining table, head resting in your hands.
“I'm sure Michael can rearrange everything.”
“No..” You shake your head. “No. That's not fair.”
It really wasn't. Michael set all of this up for you to become successful, something you wanted but on your own accord. You hadn't asked him to, yet it felt like you had asked too much.
Bill doesn't argue, hand moving over your shoulder blades enough to make you understand that you weren't alone. Sometimes it was best to just.. not say anything.
You cry into your hands, the dry mascara dissolving with every tear. If you had known this would happen you would've used your waterproof makeup.
You don't even know how much time passes, but you do end up sitting all alone at the table. Bill hadn't left, not that you had heard any door open or close. Soon your fingers grow numb after fisting your hair for about five minutes.
“Y/N.” A soft voice calls you, which you already know who it belongs to.
You gaze up, not enough to meet Michael's eyes, once again at the verge of tears. He's at your side in seconds, sitting beside you at the small dining table.
“You made it..” The shakiness in your voice matches that of your fingers, which try to soothe themselves by playing with each other.
“Of course I did.” His hand comes up to your shoulder.
A small sob escapes you. “M-Michael.. I-I..”
“Hey..” Before you know it he's wrapped himself around you, hand at the back of your head. “It's not your fault. Nothing of this is.”
Your face scrunches up and you can't help crying all over again.
“It's over.” He clarifies. “He can't hurt you now.”
All you manage is a small nod and a rather painful gulp. With your father gone for the time being you did feel a lot more relieved, but what he had ruined for you was worse than anything.
“I called the agent,” he hesitantly says. “Tomorrow at nine in the morning she's gonna come ‘round again.”
The way he says it, as if all of this was something normal, something that should always be the way it is.. It angers you. Michael is supposed to be your friend and not your manager, but he just couldn't stop acting the way he was acting.
And he does, that hopeful smile vanishing off of his face just as fast as it appeared. Your reaction wasn't at all what he had expected. Something this huge should at least get a tearful smile out of you, so why were you acting like this?
“I-I know you mean well..” Pause. “..but some things are just meant.. to not happen.”
Your downcast expression tugs something at his heartstrings. He frowns, pondering over what else to say to make you reconsider. Till now you were like a ray of sunshine in his life so seeing you so upset made him clueless on how to cheer you up.
“You're beautiful.” He says in a convincing tone. “And I'm tired of you pretending you're not.”
You stare back at him with wide and teary eyes, his words striking something warm inside of you. His hand snakes up to yours, which was still resting on the wooden table. “So stop fighting and just accept a little boost from me.”
You stare into his eyes, which held longing beyond just being acquainted and you weren't crazy enough to not feel the same. With a lot of will power and convincing yourself you turn your hand so you could intertwine your fingers with his.
Michael grins, raising your connected hands to show the deal you've made.
“You should get some rest.” He swipes a thumb over your knuckles. “I will pick you up at eight. Right here not a block away.”
You chuckle, nodding your head at his words. One thing did have you curious though. “Alright. Now.. how the hell did you get through the streets without being recognized.”
“Dont question my disguises.” He smirks, rubbing over his chin with two fingers. “I make one hell of a grandpa. You saw how I looked like as a werewolf.”
The room is filled with laughter as time passes, which turns into goodbyes after about an hour of just talking. Even Bill, who had till now been standing absentminded in the back. After assuring Michael that you'd call him over the landline he was gone.
Today was one hell of a day and you were glad to finally be in bed again, the background noise for once not filled with arguing or crying. All you wanted now was to sleep and forget whatever today was.
“You should tell her, you know.”
Michael had been a smiling mess ever since leaving your home and Bill – the observing one as ever – had noticed way before that.
“I mean.. The way you looked at her back at her place."
Michael slumps into himself, trying his best to not break a grin again. “W-Well.. She's my friend.”
He nods. “Yeah. We've only known each other for like.. two weeks?”
Bill chuckles, keeping a look on Michael through the rear view mirror. That boy had been under his watch for about fifteen years so seeing him so smitten made him feel almost proud. Not only that, but both him and you felt like his own children to him ever since rescuing you earlier. Seeing the state his Michael's and your home life made him feel almost obligated to watch over you.
“Just don't keep her too long in the dark.” His hands grip the wheel tighter. “That girl's been through enough already as is.”
Michael doesn't argue and just keeps quiet. Maybe you were more than a friend after all, but that was something for another day.
