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ONE - when you can't hear
Booster's not sure exactly when he fell in love with you. It might have been months after you first met, with time spent on the League together naturally letting his feelings grow with every interaction, until one day he woke up to the realisation. Or maybe it was when you consistently laughed at his jokes but never at him.
But if he's allowing himself to be truthful, Michael thinks he was doomed from the moment you first smiled at him, not that he'd recognised it at the time. Even if, in hindsight, it was embarrassingly obvious how desperately he clamoured for your attention.
Now, though, he wonders how he could have been so blind as not to notice until you'd almost been taken from him. Ted was still shaken, eyes wide and haunted as he recalled how you'd saved his life at the cost of ending up in a hospital bed fighting for your life.
He hadn't left your bedside since, a loyal guardian watching over you, hand curled around yours. It's not until Ted leaves the room that Michael finally lets himself break a little, falling forward and resting his forehead against yours.
"You have to wake up, please." He begged. "I have—I love you." The words are a soft exhale, a final admittance to the universe that he's likely only able to utter because you can't hear it. Either way, he'd be kidding himself if he held it back any longer.
TWO - when you're at your lowest
Luckily for Michael's heart, you recover quickly. Perhaps a tad too quickly for his liking because instead of tending to you at your bedside like the loyal future partner he'd hoped to portray himself as, you're back on your feet and plotting Maxwell Lord's downfall with ruthless efficiency.
Even after the man's dead, you continue to run yourself into the ground, and it takes shamefully long for him to intervene. Michael thinks he'll hate himself for that a little until the day he dies because when he finally does try to confront you, you collapse into his arms shockingly easily.
You'd put up a token protest, of course, and he couldn't even remember everything you, or he had said over the roaring of blood in his ears when he took in the dark circles under your red-rimmed eyes, the falseness of your strained smile and the trembling of your hands.
"Please." It was all he could recall from that moment, seeing the way your face crumpled at his single-word plea. "Please, I can't keep watching you hurt yourself like this."
"Why?" You tried to lash out. "Why care if I push myself? It's not like it affects—"
"Because I love you!" He exclaimed, closing the distance, cupping your face in his hands to force you to look at him, insecurities forgotten for the moment, overwhelmed by the weeks of watching you spiral. "Because I can't stand to see you wasting away like this. So many people love you; please, just let me help."
It occurred to him later that Michael had never seen you cry until then, clinging to him as your knees collapsed, using him as your only crutch to stay upright, and he thinks that if Wonder Woman hadn't already done it, he'd have killed Max without blinking.
THREE - 1-month anniversary
He was determined to make everything perfect for you; he wouldn't settle for anything less than the best. Skeets managed to talk him down from abusing the time sphere so you could witness a series of your favourite historical events; not that he necessarily saw the appeal, but you loved history, and Michael loved you, so it made sense to him. He'd already decorated your home with everything from Mesopotamian pottery to 5000-year-old Chinese silk.
But in hindsight, Skeets had been correct (he'd save that for your 6-month anniversary) because seeing your face light up at the sight of something as simple as a nice candlelit dinner in your apartment after a long day at work was a greater sight than anything else the universe could offer.
"Oh, Mikey, what's all this?" You dropped your bag on the floor, kicking off your shoes as you met him halfway, hands caressing his still apron-covered hips as you kissed him softly.
"I love you." He blurts it out, cheeks flaming at his inelegance. "Wait, that's not what I meant—Wait! No! I do love you—I mean—"
You laugh, and Michael deflates. "Oh, I'm messing this whole thing up."
"Mikey. Take a breath." You hum, looping your arms around his neck. "Pretend I just walked in if you like, start over."
He sighs, "I had a whole speech planned, but then you walked in looking as stunning as ever—" You scoff, and his frown deepens; you know he hates when you're self-disparaging, even jokingly. But you grin, mouthing "sorry" before kissing his cheek and motioning for him to continue. "I had a whole speech planned, had a whole night planned, but I can't seem to remember it all."
"Aw, do I make you nervous?"
He pouts at your teasing, cheeks flaming even hotter when you kiss him again with a loud mwah sound. "You know you do, honey. Here I am trying to do something nice for our one-month anniversary, and you're teasing me!"
You still, before tears gather in the corners of your eyes and Michael panics, wondering how he's possibly fucked things up so badly to make you cry, until you're pulling him into a crushing hug. "It's perfect. Thank you, Mikey."
"Of course." He flusters. "Only the best for you."
FOUR - mornings
He still thinks he's dreaming, waking up with you in his bed, dressed in pyjamas he bought for you, nose scrunched up adorably as sunlight starts to filter through the curtains and into your eyes.
You snuggle closer into his chest, letting out a soft and drawn-out "nooooooo" when he tries to get up. His heart swells, chest puffing in pride at the thought that you don't want to part from him.
Cracking an eye open, you scowl up at him sleepily, like he's to blame for the sun starting its ascent into the sky.
"G'morning, baby. Sleep well?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You nod, turning to hide your face in his chest with a deep huff, wrapping your arms and legs around him like an octopus before rolling until you're lying directly on top of him.
"M'not done. Neither are you."
"Is that so?" His cheeks hurt from smiling so widely as you nod again, sleepy but somehow still imperious.
"You're lucky I love you." He jokes softly, already running a hand up and down your back in a way he knows will have you snoring in minutes.
"I really am." You murmur, and Michael feels his heart stop, a lump forming in his throat as suddenly he's trying not to cry.
You've already fallen asleep when he finally manages to muster a reply, but it's probably for the best; he didn't want to get into an argument with you, not so soon after he'd somehow swindled you into putting his ring on your finger. "Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows I'm the lucky one here."
FIVE - at your wedding
The second Michael sees you in your wedding finery, beaming smile on your face, his vision instantly blurs. Behind him, Ted coughs and tells him to "pull it together, man," but it's too late; tears stream down his face in earnest for all his friends and nearly the entire hero community to see.
"Hi." You mouth to him, standing across from him with a blinding smile that has him falling in love all over again.
"Hi." He whispers back, voice a little strangled, wiping suddenly sweaty hands on his pants before he grabs yours.
"You look so handsome." You murmur as the officiant addresses the audience- or that's what Michael thinks he's doing. With all his focus on you, he truly has no idea what's happening around you.
"You look—" Suddenly, no word in the English vocabulary could possibly do you justice, and eventually, he just has to settle on "Perfect."
If seeing you was enough to make him cry, then hearing your vows threatens to reduce him to a sobbing puddle on the floor. At one point, Ted had to step in, clapping a supportive hand on his shoulder when it looked like Michael was about to collapse at your feet.
To everyone's surprise, his vows end up being relatively tame. There's none of the braggadocious persona they all expect from him, even though he's standing across from you as Michael, not Booster Gold, because that was who you loved most.
They're short, and his words feel paltry compared to yours, but you've always been better at speaking than him. He had a tendency to put his foot in his mouth even on the best of days, you said you found it charming, but Michael spent days memorising his vows because he was not going to fuck this up. Except you're squeezing his hands in yours, all shiny eyes and jittery excitement, and his perfectly lined-up words fly out the window, much to Skeet's distress. "I love you so much that sometimes I think it's what I was made for."
Your breath hitches, your eyes widen, and you think you hear even Ted let out a surprised noise, but Michael pays him no mind. Doesn't notice the shocked reactions of anybody who's not you, and the words just pour out even when your smile dims a little. "I know I'm not what most people consider a catch. Honestly, I'm sure 90% of the people here are wondering what the hell kind of magic I've used to land myself someone so far out of my league, and I'll admit I sometimes feel the same. But knowing your love is the greatest gift I have ever received, and with this ring—" His voice cracks, but Michael forces himself to continue speaking, "I hope that I can—can finally prove that loving you is the greatest thing I'll ever do."
He's sure he looks a mess, and any pictures of this moment will be absolutely hideous, but for once, he doesn't care because you're just as bad as he is, and it’s at that moment that Michael finally allows himself to believe that you might just love him as much as he loves you.
(Only might because Michael thinks it would be impossible for anyone to love anything as much as he loves you.)
+ ONE
Every time Michael thinks he can't fall even deeper in love with you, you have to go and prove him wrong. From accepting his admittedly disastrous proposal that he tried to black out of his memory despite how much you loved bringing it up, to actually marrying him.
He thought his heart couldn't possibly grow to hold even more adoration than it already impossibly did, but then he'd come home one day to a positive pregnancy test in your hand and tears in your eyes, and Michael found himself redefining the word love even further.
Michael loves you more than anything in the known multiverse, and he loves his son just as much. His son. The thought is still earth-shattering, even months after the initial news and a few months after you gave him the second-greatest gift in existence after your love: your son; he still sometimes struggles to believe it's real.
As if reading his thoughts, you gently bump your hip against his and press a kiss to the back of his hand that doesn't have an armful of chubby baby.
"Careful!" His breath hitches. "I could've—"
"You're not going to drop him, Mikey." You laugh before adding. "And if you did, then I'm sure Superman would catch him; I'm pretty sure Clark's got a permanent ear on him now."
"That doesn't make me feel better." He frowns, old insecurities of you leaving him for the better, shinier, non-baby-dropping model rearing their ugly head.
"I'm sorry, honey." You smile, spinning to pull him into a loose hug, your son squirming a little at suddenly being slightly squished between two people. "Was only joking, you know I only love you—"
Too busy relishing the way his favourite words for you to say sound, Michael doesn't notice the widening of your eyes, nor does he register that you've suddenly pushed him out of the way until it's far too late.
Your blood splatters across the pavement before he can even turn. He only barely catches you as you collapse, your son screaming in earnest now, but Michael barely hears it. He doesn't even register someone taking the baby out of his arms, something he's sure you'd scream at him for had you not been choking on your own blood.
Only hours later, when a strangely morose Rip details what happened—how you'd saved him from a targeted attack—does Michael even acknowledge it.
But in that moment, panicked and confused and feeling like he's dying alongside you, you're all he can see. "Mikey." You rasp, clutching him with what little strength you had left in your body, "You're okay? You're both okay?"
He wants to scream at you. How dare you ask him that? How could he possibly be okay? But the words don't come. Nothing does, not until after you smile at him and choke out one final, "I love you," does he manage to move. But by then it's far too late, because you're gone, and you've taken all the good in him with you.