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Manhattan, 1979
It's a beautiful day, high 80's, and the breeze is blowing just right. That's why all the Jackson boys are outside, playing basketball in their driveway. Well, except for Michael. Basketball was never his thing. He was more interested in board games, toys, and watching Charlie Chaplin with his mother. Childish things, though Michael was 20 now.
His younger years had been stripped away by Joseph, and he was desperate to try and live out the childhood he never had. So, most days he'd stay in his room, alone, building some new Lego set, playing with his action figures, or playing twister. Today though, he felt hopeful that his brothers would join him. So he mustered all his courage, clutched the box in his arms, and walked outside to the driveway.
He felt his heart thumping rapidly against his chest as he asked the question; "Guys, wanna play twister with me?" He forced a smile, though he was nauseous with anticipation. Jackie laughed, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Twisters for kids, we're playing basketball" he said, continuing their game. "Yeah, we're busy!" Marlon added.
Michael felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and shredded to pieces. His eyes grew glossy, welling with tears he refused to shed. Not over his stupid brothers. He barely noticed the loud "hey!" from across the street over his self deprecating thoughts. He glances across the road, spotting you, just outside your front doorstep. You're waving your hands frantically to get his attention. "Is that twister?" You ask curiously.
Michael nods, squinting to make out your face. He'd seen you before, after all, you are neighbors. But you'd never spoken. You must be around the same age as him, your young delicate features giving it away. "Yeah," he yells back, holding the box tighter. "You.. do you wanna play?" He asks, preparing himself for another brutal rejection. "Can I come over?" You reply with excitement. Michael begins to smile, feeling a sudden rush of excitement and hopefulness.
He waves you over, and yells "Yes! Come over!" You rush across the street, and grab his wrist. "C'mon, let's go!" You seem to lead him into his own house, and Michael directs you to his room. Your curly hair bounces as you skip across the floors, soft and voluminous. Michael laughs, and you shush him playfully. "Shhh, they might wanna join if they hear us having too much fun!" Once the two of you reach his room, he dumps the twister mat onto the floor.
You begin your game, and within 15 minutes, the two of you are tangled up together. You seem to be basically in a backbend, while Michaels hand and one foot are on spots beneath you. You're laughing hysterically, trying your hardest to hold your position, but eventually you topple over onto him, and the two of you are a giggling mess. "Owch!" He says through a laugh, and you apologize profusely through your own hysterics.
You get off of him, and sit criss-cross on the mat. Michael does the same. "This is the most fun I've had in, well... weeks," he admits. You smile, your cheeks rosy from all the excitement. You notice his curls are a bit out of whack, and you gently reach forward to arrange them. It's a soft, quiet moment, a stark contrast to the excitement you just had. Michael's laughter dies down into a small smile, and his eyes catch onto yours. The sun beams through his window, casting a ray of warm golden sunshine across your face. Suddenly, his cheeks feel flushed, though this time it's from the proximity, not the laughter. His chest feels weird, a mixture of sudden shyness and something else he can't quite put his finger on.
You stand up, dusting off your bell bottom jeans. "I gotta go home for dinner now, but maybe tomorrow you could come over?" You smile down at him, extending a hand to help him up. He takes it gently, and allows you to lift him up. "Yeah, I'd.. I'd love that," he replies softly. "Just.. don't tell my brothers. I'd never hear the end of it." You grin, squeezing his hand before letting it go. "Deal." You lightly jog to his door, but turn around suddenly, your hand on the doorframe. "I'm ____ by the way," you add, waiting for his name. "Michael," he replies warmly. He seems to enjoy the fact that you, surprisingly, don't know who he is or what he does. It feels.. refreshing, to have someone judge him for him and not his reputation.
You smile, and turn to leave.
The next day, Michael knocks on your door, and you open it with a surprising quickness. "Come in!" You say with a smile, stepping aside for him to enter. You shut the door, and take his wrist to guide him to your room, but someone steps in your way. Michael's heart quickens as he takes in the woman before him, practically a clone of you, but taller and older. "Mama, this is Michael." The woman smiles, and extends her hand for Michael to shake it. He obliges shyly. "H-hello," he stutters. "Hello Michael, it's nice to meet you." You side-eye Michael, noting his nervousness, and you tug at his wrist. "Cmon, let's go upstairs," you say as you pull him along. "He's cute," your mother says with a chuckle, and you blush. "Mama!" You warn, running up the stairs as Michael attempts to keep your pace.
When you arrive at your room, Michael has to stop for a moment to take it all in. There seems to be pink everywhere. The walls, the carpet, the canopy on your bed, and the teddy bears and ballerina decor scattered across the room. It seems fit for a princess. He swallows nervously, fidgeting with his hands. "Your mom, she's nice.." he says quietly. You roll your eyes. "She's a handful." You step over to your bed, and sit down on the edge, patting the spot beside you. Michael follows suit, sitting down beside you. "So," you start, swinging your feet. "What did you wanna do?" You ask with a smile.
Michael watches the cute mannerism, his eyes on your feet before flicking back up to your face. "Well, I thought maybe.. we could just.. talk?" He says shyly, feeling stupid for suggesting that. The feeling fades away once you respond. "That would be nice, to get to know you better," you say thoughtfully. You swing your legs up onto the bed and sit cross legged.
Michael seems to calm, your warm and inviting demeanor relaxing him. "So, what's your favorite color?" You begin. Michael's head tilts in thought, and he hums before replying "gold, it's shiny.. like stars, or stage lights, y'know?" He blushes, realizing how sentimental he sounds. "B-but red is cool too," he quickly adds. You beam. "Gold.. I like that." Your eyes wander off thoughtfully, and you answer his question with a simple "pink." Michael has to stifle a small giggle, because well, it's obvious. Your room is covered in it. "Favorite song?" You ask next, leaning back and propping yourself up on your hands.
Michael hums. "It's hard to choose," he says, racking his brain for the best answer. "Ladies night," he finally replies. "I like that one," you add, playing the song in your head. "I love the bass, and the rhythm.. it's funky," he begins to ramble on about the song, about the lyrics, the instruments, the feeling it gives him. He stops suddenly, realizing how long he'd talked about it. He felt embarrassed, and went to apologize until he noticed the look on your face. You looked.. like you actually cared what he has to say, a small, attentive smile on your face.
He feels his cheeks warm, and for a moment, he can't tear his eyes from you. He's got that feeling again, the one in his chest that feels tight and fuzzy and unexplainable. "You.. have really pretty eyes," he says without thinking. "Really?" You reply shyly, twirling a piece of your hair. "Thank you." Michael doesn't trust himself to say anything else, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth. The moment is silent, the air charged with unspoken tension, and he tries to sound casual when he speaks again. "Y-yeah, they're really beautiful." "I love your hair," you compliment in return.
You tilt your head, taking in the sight of his tightly wound curls. "I wish mine was like that. I perm it." Michaels eyes widen at the compliment. "You think so? I don't know.. sometimes it does what it wants," he murmurs, though the twinkle in his eyes betrays how good it feels to hear you say that. "Can I ask you something serious?" He says suddenly, feeling a wave of curiousness and confidence.
You nod, your eyes narrowing in concentration at what he's about to say. "Do you believe In soulmates? Or uh, someone who's meant to be with you?" He asks cautiously, in case you have odd feelings about it. You shrug. "Sure, why not?" He seems a little shocked at your casual reply. "You think there's someone out there for everyone?" He adds. "There's gotta be," you say thoughtfully. Michael grins, enjoying the fact that you feel the same as he does. "So, do you think.. I'll find mine?" He asks nervously. "Of course, when the time is right. What about me?" Michael nods, a breathy "yeah" slipping from his lips. It's tender, almost knowing.
You smile at him, sitting back upright. "You're really cool Michael," you say softly. "I really like hanging out with you." Michaels entire face lights up at your words, his heart beating so fast he's sure you can hear it. He tries yo hide the ridiculous grin spreading across his face. "I-I like hanging out with you too," he admits, biting his lip. You both startle as your mother cracks open the door. "It's getting late, you two. How about Michael comes back tomorrow?" She says with a small smile. "Y-yeah, that sounds good," he says, smiling at you. "Bye, Michael." You wave, as he stands up and exits.
2 months later
It's about 9pm, and you're in your pajamas, brushing your hair at your vanity. You hear a gentle knock at your bedroom door, and you get up curiously to open your door. There stands Michael, in a sweater and jeans, his hands tucked in his pockets. "My mom let you in this late?" You ask, cocking your head. "I told her it was important," he says shyly, a small crooked smile gracing his lips. "I'm not bothering you, am I?" He asks as he steps inside your room. You shut your door behind him, and walk over to your bed, patting the spot beside you. "Never," you reply softly.
Michael exhales in quiet relief, joining you on the bed. He smiles gratefully. "Good," he murmurs. "I just.. wanted to see you." You smile warmly. "I'm always happy to have you," you say softly. Michael's heart skips a beat, and for a moment, he's stuck just admiring you. The moment is sweet, but a little too long, and you nervously ask "is there something on my face?" Your finger tips come up to touch your face gently, searching for the non-existent crumb or stain.
Michael snaps out of his daze, shaking his head and looking away. His face turns red, and he hopes you can't see it in the dimly lit room. "Wha- no, no sorry.." he says awkwardly. "There's nothing on your face, I was just thinking.." he admits. He feels embarrassed by how easily you captivate him, distract his mind. "Oh, okay," you say, looking off toward the corner of your room.
Michael's voice is quiet when he speaks again, hesitant and nervous. "Do you ever feel like there's something you want to say, but you're too scared to say it?" He asks, his fingers tracing the fabric of his jeans as he stares down. "Yeah, sometimes," you admit, your eyes dissociatively staring at the wall. "And then.. what do you do? When you don't know what to say?" Michael asks vulnerably.
You think, and Michael's head turns to you. There's a strip of moonlight coming from your curtains, casting a cool glow across your pretty face. Michael swallows, hard. "I let my body do what my mouth can't, if that makes sense. Y'know, like they say, actions speak louder than words." You turn to face him, your eyes connecting with his. Somehow, you always manage to say the right thing. It gives Michael the confidence boost he so desperately needed. And when he speaks, his tone is less vulnerable, less questioning, more decided. "Then let me do this," he whispers, his voice quiet over the hammering of his heart in his chest. His hand reaches out to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and then resting on your cheek.
Then, slowly, cautiously, he leans closer, his breath ghosting over your lips for a moment before he finally closes the gap between you. It's so natural, you don't even flinch- you just melt into it. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, holding him tenderly. His hand slides a little higher, tangling in your hair. The kiss is slow, inexperienced, but eager to learn. Michael hums softly against your lips, pulling away with rosy cheeks and wide pupils. "Was that.. okay?" He asks nervously. "More than okay," you reply breathily, and he notices how red your face is.
His fingers trace down the side of your face, feather-light, sending a shiver down your back. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, an inside thought that accidentally slipped out. You gently hold his wrist, keeping his touch on your face. "Do you want to.. be my boyfriend?" You ask shyly, your usual confidence and casualness turning into nervousness. "Y-yes," he manages to choke out, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "More than anything," he adds in a whisper. You grin. "Deal," you say, your fingers interlocking with his.