MJ IMAGINES (World with Applehead)

Bad day

It was almost midnight by the time you arrived home from work. The day had drained everything out of you—running errands around the office, presenting your report, and to top it all off, getting scolded by your boss over something so small it still irritated you. All you wanted now was comfort.

Michael.

You already assumed he was home. Lately, he had been just as busy as you. Maybe even more with his music. Still, you found yourself craving him... his voice, his warmth, his arms around you.

You headed upstairs and pushed open the door to your shared bedroom. Empty. Your eyes flickered to the clock.

12:00 A.M. "Is he still at the studio?" you murmured to yourself, slipping off your coat.

You let out a quiet sigh and decided to freshen up first. A quick bath helped ease some of the tension in your body.

Afterward, you changed into your pajamas and stood in front of the mirror, brushing your hair slowly, letting the silence settle.
Then, there was a faint sound downstairs.
You paused. It wasn't random, it was familiar.

Michael's studio.

You made your way down, your steps quieter now, and gently pushed the door open. There he was.

Seated in his chair, hunched slightly forward, a pen in one hand and paper in the other. Completely immersed. A soft smile instantly spread across your face.
Without thinking, you rushed toward him and wrapped your arms around him from behind.

"Michael!"

He jolted. "Y/N—you scared the hell out of me!" he said, turning his head toward you, startled.

You giggled softly, loosening your hold. "I'm sorry."

But he didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to his paper. Your smile faded just a little. You glanced over his shoulder, well lyrics of course.

You moved to the couch, sitting quietly, watching him work. His expression was serious, brows slightly furrowed, completely locked into his own world.

"Michael?" you called gently. No response.

"Michael..." you tried again, a little softer this time.

"What?" he replied, his tone flat. Cold.

You hesitated. "Are you almost done?"
A small pause.

"No, Y/N. I'm not even halfway," he said, not even looking at you.

"Oh... okay." Your voice came out quieter than you intended. So you waited. Minutes turned into an hour. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pen and your occasional yawns. Your body was begging for rest, but your heart kept you there.

You just wanted him. "Michael... can we cuddle?" you asked softly, almost like you were afraid of the answer.

He didn't respond. Didn't even look at you.
Something in your chest tightened. You stood up and walked over to him, gently taking the pen from his hand.

"Hey—"

"What's wrong with you?!" he snapped, immediately placing the paper down.

Your breath caught. "I just wanted to—"

"If you don't have anything important to say, then just be quiet and stop being so clingy!" he shouted, snatching the pen back.

Silence. Your heart dropped. The words hit harder than you expected. Five years. Five years together and he had never raised his voice at you like that.

Your eyes burned as tears welled up.
"Oh... I'm sorry..." your voice cracked.

You didn't wait for anything else. You turned and walked out, your vision blurred, your chest aching as you made your way upstairs. The door closed softly behind you, but the weight of it felt heavy.

Downstairs, Michael let out a long, frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

Two hours later, he finally stopped. The silence in the studio felt different now. Too quiet, too heavy.

He stared at the unfinished lyrics in front of him—but his mind wasn't there anymore.
"...Did I hurt her?" he whispered to himself.

The answer came quicker than he wanted.
Yes. He stood up immediately and made his way upstairs. The bedroom door creaked softly as he opened it. You were on the bed, your face buried into a pillow... your shoulders trembling.

You were crying. His chest tightened.
"Damn... what did I do..." he muttered under his breath.

He slipped under the covers behind you, hesitating for a second before reaching out.

"Sweetheart..." he whispered gently, his voice completely different now, soft and careful. "I'm sorry."

That was all it took. Your sobs grew heavier. He moved closer, gently pulling you into his arms, turning you so you faced him. You tried to look away, embarrassed. your eyes red, your cheeks wetbut he wouldn't let you hide.

Then, a tear fell from his own eyes. You froze. "I'm sorry for shouting at you, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice breaking.

"Please... forgive me." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there.

"Did you have a bad day?" he asked, his thumb brushing your hand gently.

You nodded, your voice shaky as you told him everything. The stress, your boss, how exhausting it all was.

And how much you just needed him. "I'm sorry for disturbing you earlier..." you whispered.

He shook his head immediately. "No, baby. No... that wasn't your fault." He exhaled deeply. "I should've listened to you. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

He lifted your chin slightly so you'd look at him. "You can come to me anytime, okay? No matter what I'm doing."

Your lips trembled into a small smile. He leaned down, kissing you softly, slow and apologetic, full of everything he couldn't put into words.

Then he rested his forehead against yours.
"Come here..." he murmured, pulling you closer. "Do you still wanna cuddle?"

You let out a quiet breath, finally relaxing into him. "More than anything."

You curled into his chest, your arm draped over him as his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you like he didn't want to let go again.

His fingers traced slow, comforting patterns along your back. "I got you," he whispered.

And this time, you believed it. The exhaustion, the tension, the hurt, it all slowly melted away in his warmth. And in each other's arms, you both drifted off to sleep... a little softer, a little closer, and a little more careful with each other than before.