Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Twenty-Two - Really And Honestly

Chapter twenty-two – Really And Honestly

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Which one of us will speak first? Will it be me or him? If it has to be me, then what do I even say? If it's him, how will I respond to whatever he says?

Stop, Citria; you're panicking about nothing. You heard Michael – just go with the flow.

Before I can speak, Michael takes the opportunity.

"Um ... sorry," he apologises quietly.

"For what?" My eyebrows furrow in confusion, finding his shyness cute.

"Just ... that." He touches his fingers upon his nose – he's nervous.

My heart is racing from the adrenaline rush I've got after the kiss Michael and I just shared. I mean, I thought we were friends ... I never imagined that this would happen. It's been years since I've kissed anyone – now my best friend has just broken that. Does he have feelings for me? Perhaps the kiss was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, more than anything. I'm not sure ...

My mouth opens to speak, but all that comes out is an exasperated-sounding breath. Why can't I speak to him now? Why won't my mouth let me talk? I need to talk about this with him.

"Uh ... y-you can forget that happened, if you want." Michael's voice suddenly breaks the silence between us. He averts his eyes downwards, visibly bashful, "I ... wouldn't blame you if you did."

"I-I can't really forget something like that, Michael." My voice finally manages to come back properly, "But why would I want to forget it? I mean ... " Unable to find any other words, I close my mouth to indicate that I've finished speaking.

"Well, I started that. I wasn't sure on whether or not you played along, or if you really ... liked it." His eyes move upwards to look at my face, but only for a second before embarrassment shows clearly on his own face, forcing his eyes back down towards the floor, "And I'm sorry ... if you ... didn't."

"I—No, Michael ... don't apologise. I'm just wondering about whether—" I cut myself off, not wanting to speak such a ridiculous thought out loud, "Um ... "

"Whether what?" Curiosity forces his eyes to meet mine once again, indicating that he genuinely wants me to tell him what I was thinking, "Tell me, Citria."

My head shakes frantically, "No, nothing ... nothing at all." Although this is a clear lie, I try my hardest to make it appear to be the truth. My head turns to see the clay pot; it's really lost its shape since our kiss.

"So you're saying that I can pluck up enough courage to kiss you, but you can't even tell me what you're thinking?" His voice sounds hurt, now ... and that makes me feel guilty for wanting to hold my questions back.

"Did you want to kiss me, Michael?" I find myself inquiring, "Or was it just a heat-of-the-moment thing?"

Initially, he looks a little surprised at my question, but then clears his throat a little, "I wanted to, Cit. I wouldn't have done it, else ... would I?" Shyness seems to be invading his senses now, which I do find cute – but this is somewhat serious, right now. "Why? Did you not like it?"

"Oh, no, no, it's not that, Michael." My breath catches in my throat a little, "I just ... I thought you only liked me as a friend – a best friend. I didn't think you would ever like me as a—" Being unable to find the right words again, I stop talking once more.

"As a crush?" Michael suggests, earning a nod from me, "Honestly? I didn't think I would ever like you that way, either, Cit. But ... over the past few weeks, you've constantly been there for me, and made sure I'm okay, and supported me through everything, no matter what I've done to you, and—" He pauses for a moment, almost looking ashamed of how he feels, "And I guess I've just ... grown to love that."