This is a requested sequel to "Look At Me". Thank you all for the support on my writing! You've all been unbelievably sweet! Lots of love and kisses! xx. ✨
~~~~
"How long has he been here?"
"Since last night."
"Has she woken up yet?"
"No, she passed out due to loss of blood. She hasn't woken since."
When you opened your eyes, you were immediately blinded by the extremely white room. Your vision was still blurred, but you could make out the body sitting next to you in a chair. Michael's black curls were not pulled back in his usual bun or ponytail. Most of his hair hung loosely over his face, covering his eyes and part of his nose. Looking him over, you noticed he was wearing the exact same thing he was wearing the last time you saw him. The only thing that seemed to be different was his shirt, which was simply a white t-shirt that he wore as an undershirt under all of his clothes. With that, he still had his same black slacks, white socks, and black loafers.
"In my opinion, Mike is in worse shape. He's been real hard on himself, saying this was all his fault," the voice continued.
You immediately recognized it as Bill's voice.
Michael was blaming himself? You thought to yourself.
Of course he is, you concluded, It was probably the first thing he did. God, I wish he wasn't so hard on himself. But, it's in his personality to blame himself before me.
"Not . . . your fault," you mumbled, trying to reach out to Michael's sleeping figure.
"Mrs. Jackson, you're awake!" A voice you didn't recognize said.
"Mhm . . ."
A nurse hurried to your side and kneeled by the bed.
"How are you feeling? Any migraines? Do you feel any pain anywhere?"
"My . . . head hurts," you answered.
"Alright, we have some pain medication for you to take for that. Would you like to take it now?"
You shrugged and agreed.
While the nurse went to fetch the medication, Bill came to your side and kneeled.
"Hey there, Y/N. How you doin'? Man, you gave us a scare."
You tried to think back to the day before. Only small parts came back to your mind.
"I remember listening to Debarge and Prince, cleaning the house, and calling Michael. How did I end up . . ."
"Oh man, you don't remember the earthquake? Heard it was a 6.1! You got knocked out by a pot that fell from that rack you so carelessly stood under. Some silverware or glasses or something fell from the counter and cut your leg, too. Man, we came to the house and you were just waking up, but you'd lost a lot of blood. Mike tried to keep you conscious, but you passed out before five minutes went by. The kid was worried out of his mind. This is the first time I've seen him sleeping."
Bill glanced over at Michael and you turned to him. You were happy to see that he was finally getting sleep. You could already picture him pacing the room, tugging on his hair, fidgeting infinitely.
"He blames himself," Bill continued.
"Of course he does. It isn't his fault though."
"I know it isn't. It's him that you have to convince."
You sighed. "I know."
"Well, I'm gonna run and get some fresh clothes for you two. Hopefully he continues to get some much needed rest," Bill said while standing up.
"Alright," you smiled weakly at him.
Just as Bill was exiting, the nurse came in with your medicine. You quickly took it and relaxed, waiting for it to kick in. As you began to doze off again, the body next to you stirred. You jolted back up.
"Mm . . . Y/N. . ."
"Michael, it's okay, I'm okay."
He sat up and swiped his hair from his face.
"Y/N, oh thank God."
You couldn't help smiling at the man you loved.
"God, this is all my fau--"
"No, Michael, don't you start. This is no one's fault. If anything, I should have been paying attention to any warnings that were on the news. Yet, I was too busy . . . cleaning."
You decided against mentioning your personal concert to a song by his biggest rival.
"But still, we'd just talked about me being home earlier on the phone."
"You cannot control nature, Michael. You may have control over many things in this world, like the hormones of teenage girls or the production of an album. Yet, God knows you could not have done anything to prevent this. So, don't blame yourself. You were still there. You came for me and prevented me from hurting myself anymore than I already had. You were still there."
He sighed. You scooted over and grabbed his face with your hands.
"And I love you for that," you finished.
He put his large hands over your small ones and brought them to his lips.
"I'm just so thankful that you're alright."
"So am I," you smiled.
He finally gave you a smile in return.
"Now get in here with me," you scooted over and patted the bed.
He smiled and climbed into the hospital bed, carefully wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You leaned into his shoulder. For a few minutes, the two of you stayed like that, enjoying each other's company. Finally, you couldn't keep it to yourself anymore.
"You need a shower."
Michael laughed loudly.
"I know. When we get back home, we can take one together."
You smiled at this, getting butterflies.
"Sounds good to me."
There was a knock on the door and the doctor came in. He greeted you both and asked how you were feeling. You were happy to see that he was straightforward when discussing your injuries. Luckily, none of them were severe enough for you to have to stay another night.
"I'd definitely say your leg would be the only thing giving you problems for a few weeks, but that's only because the wounds must heal. You don't have a concussion, so your head will heal fairly quickly. You should be good to leave today."
You sighed in relief and squeezed Michael's hand. He looked at you, relief evident on his face.
~~~~
"So, how did you find out the quake was centered at the house?" You asked as Michael helped you undress.
The two of you were in his dimly lit bathroom, preparing to take a much-desired shower. Michael insisted on helping you do anything and you knew you wouldn't win an argument against it, so you complied. Of course, you wouldn't admit that you slightly enjoyed him babying you.
"Bill heard it on the radio. Boy, I don't know what I would've done if I didn't get here soon enough. You could've bled to death."
"Okay," you covered his mouth with your hand, "enough with the heavy. You got here, you saved me, I'm alright. Be thankful and quit thinking about what could've happened."
He smiled into your hand and licked it.
"Ew, Michael!" You exclaimed, jerking your hand from his mouth.
"Are you going to be alright standing on that leg?" He asked, looking concerned while glancing down at your leg.
"I can walk, can't I?"
"You have crutches. Besides, I don't want you slipping in the shower."
"You wouldn't let that happen."
He thought about it for a second and nodded.
"You're right, I wouldn't."
You giggled as he bent over the drain and turned on the water.
"Alright," he said and reached out to you.
"Thank you," you mumbled as he helped you into the shower. He followed behind you.
The two of you stood underneath the shower head. You gawked at him as the water hit his skin. Michael looked you over and licked his lips. He pulled you closer to him and kissed you passionately. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you pulled your bodies impossibly closer. He rested his hands on your hips.
"I love you . . . so much," you mumbled into the kiss.
"I . . . love you more."
"I love . . . you most."
"I love you most . . . of all."