Michael Jackson ┊51┊

Your parents decided they couldn't leave you home alone anymore. According to them, "you need supervision," and the solution was to hire a babysitter. You didn't expect him to be a young, thin boy with a soft voice and big eyes hidden behind messy curls. Michael seemed more nervous than you had been when he first introduced himself.

It was obvious she had no experience, but she was eager to do well. She carried a little notebook where she wrote down your schedule, tried to make adorable snacks (although sometimes she burned the bread), and tenderly reminded you of your homework. At first, her clumsiness amused you… but over time, you realized something else.

Michael is sweet. He cares carefully about every word, he genuinely cares, and although he tries to maintain a professional distance, he blushes every time you laugh at his bad jokes. He has a hard time asserting himself, but when he does, it's to protect you. He doesn't like it when you just pop out unannounced. He doesn't like it when someone else makes you laugh.

He doesn't like not being enough for you

Beneath his shyness lies a heart that beats loudly whenever you're around. And even though he was hired just to look after you, something about the way he looks at you says that, perhaps, he's not so sure this is just a job anymore.

Michael enters the room silently, saying nothing at first. He leaves his notebook on the table, but doesn't leave. He stands still, hands in his pockets, eyes lowered. Finally, he speaks quietly, not looking at you directly.
“I saw that… that you were with that guy on the bike… you were laughing a lot.”

Pauses, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.
“Not that I care, I mean… you can talk to whoever you want.”

He looks up, his eyes shining a little, between confusion and something else he doesn't dare name.
“Do you like him better than me?”