𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊

𝙷𝚒𝚍𝚎 & 𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚔

♥︎
1988
Neverland Ranch
Word Count: 7.5k

  The house was alive, practically humming with the sound of laughter. It echoed off the vaulted ceilings and danced through the hallways, filling every corner with the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that comes only from shared moments of true happiness. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm, golden glow that wrapped around the family like a comforting blanket. The living room, strewn with toys, books, and the scattered remnants of a day well spent, had the kind of coziness that only comes from years of love and memories.

Your children's laughter—high-pitched and uncontrollable—was the loudest. It filled the space like music, those small giggles and breathless squeals that made your heart swell. They were rolling around on the thick, plush carpet, their little bodies wriggling and kicking, hands clutching at their bellies as they tried to catch their breath, but failed miserably because Michael—of course—wasn't letting up.

Your son, with his bright, wide eyes and face flushed red from laughing so hard, was trying his best to keep up with his younger sister, who had long since surrendered to her giggles. She was sprawled out on the floor, curls in a wild halo around her head, legs kicking in the air as she squealed, "Daddy, stop!" in between gasps.

Michael, ever the jokester, stood tall in the center of the room, towering over the chaos he'd created, and the grin plastered on his face was one of triumph. After ten years together—five of them married—you thought you knew every side of him. But there he was, effortlessly slipping into a spot-on Mickey Mouse impression that had you—and the kids—crying with laughter.

"Daddy, stop!" your daughter hollered again, her tiny hands still gripping her belly. "My tummy hurts!" she gasped, eyes squeezed shut as another wave of giggles overtook her.

But Michael was in his element. With that grin of his, he leaned into another Mickey impression, his voice rising to that perfect high-pitched falsetto that you never could've guessed he could pull off so well. You were doubled over, breathless from laughing, the sight of him—your husband, the man you adored—playing the role of Mickey Mouse with such dedication, making you laugh harder than you had in ages. His playfulness had always been one of the many things that made you fall for him, but even now, it surprised you just how much joy he could bring with such simple, silly moments.

"Just one more!" Michael declared, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he strutted over to the piano in the corner of the room. With a flourish, he grabbed a pair of Mickey ears from the top of it—who knew how long he'd been hiding those—and perched them proudly on his head. The sight of him, standing there with his boyish grin, Mickey ears slightly crooked, looking absolutely ridiculous, was almost too much to bear.

"No, Michael!" you wheezed, trying to get a hold of yourself, but still laughing despite your protests. Your sides ached from it, and your cheeks were hot and sore, stretched from grinning too wide. "That's enough, baby. I can't... I can't anymore!" You stumbled forward, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath.