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The small apartment’s kitchen ventilation was doing its absolute best, humming a low, rattling wheeze that barely did anything to clear out the smell of the beef stroganoff you’d both just finished eating. But honestly? You could not care less about anything else right now. You were far too busy trying to keep your heart from leaping straight out of your chest.
This was it.
The first official time Michael was staying over since you two had crossed that invisible line from just friends to whatever this beautiful, terrifying new thing was.
And God, the shift in the air was so heavy it felt like it was pressing right down on your shoulders. Every little movement felt magnified by a million.
Michael, however, didn't seem to have a single care in the world.
He was standing at your cramped kitchen sink, his afro catching the warm, slightly dim overhead light. He had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, soapy water splashing over the cheap plates as he gently hummed a melody under his breath—some soulful, unreleased tune he’d probably been working on in the studio earlier that week.
He looked so incredibly at peace, his long fingers working through the dishes, a soft and content smile playing on his lips.
You were sat at the small dining table just a few feet away, resting your chin in your hands, completely mesmerized by the view of his back.
He looked so safe. So domestic. And your brain was absolutely scrambling.
What are we supposed to do now? Is it weird if I just stare?
You felt like a total fraud of a partner. Here you were, a college student who could handle midterms and late-night study sessions, but the moment your sweet, inherently loud-hearted boyfriend of two weeks was in your space, you turned into a frozen, overthinking mess.
"Hey," Michael’s soft, airy voice suddenly broke through the haze of your thoughts. He didn't turn around yet, but you saw his shoulders shake with a tiny, amused chuckle. "You’re being awfully quiet over there. Everything okay?"
Your stomach did a dramatic flip. "Oh! Yeah. Yeah, totally," you blurted out, perhaps a little too quickly, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. "Just... admiring the view."
That made him turn his head, his dark eyes sparkling as a shy grin broke across his face. He shook his soapy hands over the sink, looking so genuinely pleased and giddy by your clumsy compliment that it made your chest ache with how much you wanted to just burst.
"Oh, stop it," he teased, his voice dropping into that sweet, higher register he got when he was flustered. He turned back to finish the last bowl, his humming starting right back up, louder this time.
He was so comfortable transitioning into this. And you? You were just trying to remember how to act normal with this beautiful human being in front of you.
If the kitchen had been a test of your nerves, your tiny living room was an absolute minefield.
"I'm telling you, it’s a masterpiece," Michael insisted, his voice a mix of dramatic excitement and a very obvious, slight nervousness as he carefully slid the tape into your VCR.
He’d been talking up The Exorcist all through dinner, claiming he was totally ready for it, completely forgetting the fact that you were practically immune to horror movies, while he was… well, Michael.
Highly sensitive, borderline scaredy-cat Michael.
He trotted over to the small couch, holding a giant bowl of popcorn like a shield. He plopped down right next to you—and by next to you, practically zero space left.
At first, the popcorn bowl sat right between your thighs, a tentative little barrier. But as the movie started and that eerie, iconic music began to swell through the tiny speakers, the bowl magically migrated to Michael’s lap.
Then, his shoulder was pressing into yours.
Then, during a particularly tense scene where the lights flickered on screen, his arm practically shot out on pure instinct, draping over your shoulders and pulling you tightly against his side.
You froze, sitting as rigid as a wooden board.
Your mind was screaming.
Oh my god, he’s touching me. His arm is around me. He smells like cocoa butter and vanilla and he’s right here.
You were fighting a losing battle to contain yourself, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs you were genuinely terrified he’d feel it through his shirt. You couldn't even focus on the screen; all your senses were locked onto the warmth radiating from him.
Michael misread your stiffness entirely. Another jump scare flashed across the television, and he flinched, his grip tightening around you as he buried his face slightly into the crook of your neck before peeking out.
"Don't worry," he whispered into your hair, his own voice trembling just a tiny bit as he tried to sound brave. "I’ve got you. It’s just a movie. Are you… are you okay? You’re shaking."
"I-I'm fine!" you stuttered out, your voice squeaking in a way that made you want to evaporate on the spot. "Just… yeah. Wow. Scary."
It was so much easier to let him think you were terrified of a fictional demon than to admit you were actually losing your mind because he was breathing against your skin.
But the heat was becoming too much.
Literally.
A nervous sweat was building along your collarbone, and your chest felt so tight you felt like you were going to explode from the sheer density of everything you were feeling right now.
You couldn't take it.
Desperate for air, you awkwardly wiggled, trying to subtly scoot an inch or two away from his side to catch your breath.
Michael’s arm slid off your shoulder as you moved. He didn't say anything at first, just staring at the screen, but his large eyes blinked rapidly.
A few minutes later, your brain short-circuited again when his knee brushed yours, and you instinctively shifted further down to the opposite end of the couch, your face pinched in a tight, uncomfortable expression as you fought the internal battle.
Beside you, Michael went entirely quiet, his hand freezing halfway into the popcorn bowl.
When the credits finally rolled, the heavy, suffocating silence in the room was almost worse than the movie’s soundtrack.
You couldn't take the thick tension stretching between the two of you for another second. Scrambling for any kind of excuse to move, you stood up so fast your knees nearly hit the coffee table.
“I’m just gonna... take this. Wash it," you muttered quickly, grabbing the empty popcorn container before Michael could even say a word.
You practically bolted to the kitchen sink, turning the tap on high just to let the rushing water drown out the loud thumping of your own heart. Your hands were shaking slightly under the warm spray.
Why did I do that? I made it so obvious. He probably thinks I'm totally crazy.
A soft, hesitant rustle of fabric behind you made you freeze, the bowl slipping back into the soapy water with a tiny clink.
You didn't even have to look to know he was there. Michael stepped into the small kitchen space, standing right beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his hands tucked nervously into the pockets of his corduroy trousers. He looked smaller somehow, all that confident, playful energy completely drained out of him.
"Hey," he said, his voice dropping into a tiny, fragile whisper that completely broke your heart. "Did... did I do something wrong?"
You stiffened up, your chest squeezing. "What? No! Michael, no, of course not—"
"You can tell me," he interrupted softly, looking down at his shoes.
His broad shoulders slouched, and he looked so entirely vulnerable standing in your dingy little kitchen that you wanted to scream at yourself. When you didn't answer right away—your brain totally scrambling to find the right words to fix this—Michael took your silence the wrong way. A small, sad sigh left his lips.
"I knew it."
"Knew what?" you asked, completely panicked now, shutting off the faucet so you could look at him fully.
"I’ve just... I've been really worried," Michael confessed, finally looking up to meet your eyes. There was a raw, heartbreaking insecurity swirling in those dark depths.
He brought one hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Ever since we started dating two weeks ago, you’ve been acting so distant. And tonight, every time I try to get close to you, or hold your hand, or... put my arm around you, you just pull away like you don't want me there."
Your mouth fell open, a heavy knot of guilt settling deep in your gut.
"I was the one who pursued you," he continued, his voice cracking just a tiny bit as he laid his heart completely bare. "I was the one who wanted to change things from just being friends. And this whole week, I’ve been trying so hard to be charming, and funny, and perfect, because... I thought maybe I just needed to win you over. But now I’m starting to think that... maybe you don't really like me all that much. Like maybe I rushed you into this, and you’re just forcing yourself to be with me."
Hearing the raw, unfiltered insecurity bleeding out of his voice shattered whatever wall you had been trying so hard to keep up.
"Oh, Michael... no. No, no, no," you gasped, your voice cracking completely.
Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing his long, slender fingers tightly between yours. Your palms were still a little damp from the dishwater, while his was warm. "Michael, look at me. Please."
He hesitantly lifted his gaze, his dark eyes wide and completely vulnerable, searching yours for a lie.
"You didn't rush me into anything," you poured out, the words tumbling out of you like an open floodgate. "And I don't... I don't just like you. Michael, I care about you so much it literally scares me. I’m not pulling away because I don't want you near me. I'm pulling away because my heart is beating so fast I’m terrified you'll hear it. I'm bursting inside, Michael. I want to be close to you all the time, but this is my very first relationship, and you’re... you’re you, and you’re so effortlessly loving, and I just... I didn't want to overwhelm you. I thought if I let out how much I really feel, it would be too much, too soon, and I'd intimidate you."
Michael blinked rapidly, a look of utter bewilderment crossing his features. Then, slowly, the tension in his broad shoulders began to melt away. A tiny, soft sound escaped his throat—that signature, high-pitched chuckle of his.
"Overwhelm me?" he repeated, a genuine, beautiful smile starting to curve his lips. He shook his head, his hair bouncing slightly with the movement.
"Oh, you are so silly. You could never overwhelm me with that." He stepped a little closer, his hand turning to properly clasp yours. "In fact... I already know exactly how affectionate you can get."
You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Michael’s smile turned incredibly cheeky, his eyes dancing with pure mischief. "Do you remember last month, when I drove you home from the dentist after you got your wisdom teeth taken out?"
A cold sweat suddenly broke out down your spine. "Yeah...?"
"You were so completely looped out on that heavy anesthesia," Michael giggled, covering his mouth with his free hand, though his eyes stayed locked on yours. "You spent the entire thirty-minute drive home crying. Full, heavy tears, just gushing about how 'beautiful' my hands were. You kept grabbing my fingers, rubbing them against your cheek, and telling me I was the most adorable, precious soul in the entire universe and that you just wanted to protect me forever. You wouldn't let go of me for an hour after we got to your apartment!"
Your jaw dropped.
The memory—blurry, chaotic, and utterly mortifying—slammed into your brain. Your face instantly burned a violent, deep red.
"Oh my god," you gasped, your voice a tiny squeak of pure horror.
You felt so incredibly embarrassed you literally collapsed right there, sinking down until your knees hit the kitchen floor, hiding your face in your hands. "Oh my god, no. Let the ground swallow me whole. Please. I want to disappear."
Michael burst out laughing—a loud, melodic, breathless sound that echoed beautifully around your tiny kitchen. He immediately dropped down with you, kneeling right on the floor, gently pulling your wrists away so he could see your red face.
"Don't hide!" he teased, his face completely glowing. "I loved it. I really did! It made me so happy because I realized how deeply you treasure the people you care about. I knew right then that you had all this love inside you. So when we started dating and you got all quiet, I was just confused."
Looking at his joyful, glowing face, the last bit of your anxiety completely evaporated. You let out a breathless, embarrassed laugh of your own, leaning forward slightly.
"Okay, fine," you murmured, your voice dropping into a shy, honest confession. "Since the cat's out of the bag... do you want to know what I've actually been thinking this whole night?"
Michael nodded eagerly, his eyes sparkling. "Tell me."
"All this time, while we were sitting on that couch," you whispered, looking at his soft skin, "all I’ve really wanted to do is just squish your cheeks. And hug you so tightly you can't breathe."
You swallowed hard, your heart doing a dramatic flip as you muttered the last bit, "And... I really, really just want to pepper your entire face with kisses."
Michael froze.
A breathless, soft "Oh" left his lips, and a massive, helpless grin broke across his face. He looked so incredibly giddy, his cheeks flushing a beautiful, warm color.
"You... you would not hear a single objection from me," he stammered out absent-mindedly.
The moment the words left his mouth, he realized how eager he sounded, and it was his turn to get completely shy. He let go of your hands, standing up abruptly and turning his body away a bit, hiding his face in his shoulder as he tried—and failed—to contain his massive grin.
Seeing him so flustered gave you a sudden burst of bravery.
You stood up, and crept closer to him. You wrapped your arms loosely around his waist from behind, leaning up on your tiptoes to reach the side of his face. You intended to just give him a sweet, reassuring kiss on the cheek—but right as you leaned in, Michael suddenly turned his head back around to look at you.
Your lips didn't land on his cheek.
Instead, they pressed firmly against the very corner of his mouth, just millimeters away from a full kiss.
Both of your eyes flew wide open. You were so close you could feel the sudden catch in his breath, the heat radiating off his skin, the absolute stillness of the universe in your tiny apartment.
Panicking slightly at the sheer intensity of it, you instinctively took a clumsy step back to give him space.
But Michael didn't let you get far.
With a breathless laugh, he lunged forward and attacked you with a massive, tight bear hug. His long arms wrapped securely around your waist, and on pure, joyful instinct, he lifted you right off the floor, spinning the two of you around in a circle in the middle of the cramped kitchen. You let out a surprised yelp, your hands automatically clamping onto his shoulders as the room blurred.
When he finally slowed down, he didn't put you down all the way. He kept you suspended against his chest, his dark eyes locked onto yours, completely filled with adoration and a youthful, starry-eyed warmth.
Slowly, the space between you vanished, and he leaned in to press his lips fully against yours—a sweet, lingering, clumsy first kiss that tasted faintly of popcorn and felt entirely like home.
When he finally pulled back, his breath fanning over your face, he kept his forehead rested against yours.
A cheeky, incredibly playful smirk tugged at his lips.
"So..." Michael whispered, his voice dripping with pure, teasing affection. "About that last thing you said... the face-kisses? Can I get a request for that right now?"
You didn't even give him a second to change his mind.
With a soft laugh bubbling over your lips, you leaned right back into his space, your hands coming up to gently squish his warm, soft cheeks just like you’d wanted to all night.
Michael completely melted under your touch, his eyes crinkling into beautiful crescents as you started peppering his face with tiny, sweet, giggly kisses. You caught his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his jawline—every single inch of his skin—until his melodic, high-pitched laughter was echoing off the kitchen walls all over again, his hands coming up to helplessly hide his flustered face.
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By the time the tiny apartment finally went completely dark, the suffocating anxiety that had been weighing down your shoulders all evening was entirely gone. In its place was a warmth that felt so heavy and sweet it made your chest ache in the best way possible.
Wrapped up together under the heavy, slightly mismatched quilts of your small bed, the domesticity of it all finally felt safe.
Michael was a total space-hog, his long limbs tangled completely with yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. His large hand was splayed securely over your waist, his long fingers idly tracing lazy, soothing patterns against your shirt as your breathing synchronized into the quiet of the night.
You shifted slightly, burying your face a little deeper into the crook of his neck. He smelled so intensely like cocoa butter and vanilla, a combination that you knew would permanently ruin you for anyone else.
"Michael?" you whispered.
"Hmm?" his voice was lazy and thick with sleep, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction on pure instinct, pulling you impossibly closer against his chest.
"I have another confession.”
He hummed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated straight through your own ribs. "Tell me."
"I liked you way before you liked me," you admitted softly, the secret finally slipping out into the open air after being locked away for so long. "It wasn't just weeks nor months ago for me. My feelings for you has just been growing and growing over the years... so you better be prepared."
For a second, the room went completely still. Then, you felt the exact moment a wide, breathless smile broke across his face in the dark. A soft, lazy chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he buried his face into your hair, nuzzling you close.
"Is that a threat or a promise?” He pressed one last, lingering kiss to the top of your head.
"Because either way... I like it. I love it, even. You're stuck with me now."