𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚃𝚘 𝙼𝚎

♡
1993
Los Angeles
Word Count:6.8k

It had been two years since you and Michael had broken up. The split was inevitable after a heated argument about him being out with Madonna escalated into nightly clashes, turning the relationship toxic. One day, without a word, you packed your bags and left, cutting off all contact with Michael. Since then, he had been relentlessly trying to win you back. He even went so far as to track down your address and send you letters, pleading for another chance. Despite his efforts, you never wrote back, your heart too wounded to confess your lingering feelings.

Deep down, you still loved him, but your pride and stubbornness held you back. Michael, on the other hand, was desperate. He knew that no one could love him like you did, or tolerate his flaws with such patience and understanding.

Now, you stood by the large window of your apartment, gazing out at the night sky over Los Angeles. The city lights shimmered through the rain that began to pour, the droplets creating a rhythmic patter on the roof. You sipped from your glass of red wine, the rich taste lingering on your lips. You wore an oversized black silk button-up shirt that exposed your shoulders, adding to the sense of vulnerability that had crept into your thoughts.

As you stared into the night, your mind wandered, but every thought seemed to circle back to Michael. You could almost hear his voice, feel his touch, remember his love, his lips... his eyes. Each memory tugged at your heart, reminding you of what you once had and what you had lost. You took another sip of wine, hoping it would dull the ache, but the taste only deepened your longing.

You hadn't been with anyone since the breakup. Men asked you out on dates, but it often felt like they were only interested because you were Michael's ex-hoping to get closer to him through you. This realization was a significant reason why you avoided dating altogether. Deep down, though, there was another crucial reason: you still yearned to be with Michael again.

The evening was quiet, with only the sound of rain tapping against the window. You moved away from the window to the softness of your red patterned sofa and sat down, savoring the warmth of the room. The sudden ring of the doorbell startled you, causing you to drop your glass of wine on the white carpet. "Shit," you muttered to yourself, hastily picking up the glass and placing it on the table. The red wine spread across the carpet like an inkblot.

Annoyed and curious, you walked down the long hallway to the front door, peeking out the peephole. Your heart skipped a beat-it was Michael.

You opened the door, your eyes locking onto his familiar face. "Michael, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on tour?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of surprise and apprehension.

Michael stepped forward, holding out a bouquet of roses. You glanced at them, then back at him. His fedora shadowed his eyes, making it hard to read his expression.