It's been so long, my lovelies! But I'm back now! 😭

Did ya miss me? ;)

--

Chapter thirty-four – Under The Stars

~~

-Citria's point of view-

Poor Michael; seeing him in the state he was in earlier hurt me badly. He really wasn't in a good place at all – cuts and splinters all over him, and he himself a shivering, shaking, crying ball by the tree. I'm just glad that I found him before he did anything he might've regretted.

Anyway, now we're walking to the fields; even at past 1:00am, I'm sure it'll be nice for us both. It's mostly for Michael's benefit though, to be honest; but that's enough of a benefit to me. I'm slightly concerned though; the cuts looked quite serious, which kind of made me worry about whether or not I should take him to the hospital, but he's assured me it's fine and shouldn't be worried about, so I'm trying to take his word for it.

"What made you want to come out here anyway?" I question softly, walking by his side.

"I don't know. Maybe just fresh air," he answers quietly, probably still a little shaken up from the injuries he received earlier.

"I see." With no more to say on the topic, I try to think of a new one. "Um ... " I murmur out loud, feeling stupid a moment later because I have nothing to add to it.

"It's okay to be silent sometimes," Michael then speaks up, causing me to look at him. He sees me watching him, so elaborates a little. "I mean ... one another's company is enough ... isn't it? Sometimes silence is the best; you don't have to hear anything – just feel."

"Right," I agree, trailing off a little at the end from the embarrassment of having tried to start a new conversation.

The rest of the walk is silent, but luckily it's only a short journey from home to the fields. We reach the highest peak of the hill, before sitting there together. Michael falls back, allowing himself to lie on the grass, causing me to do the same as him, lying next to him.

He then points up at the sky, letting out a soft sigh. "Look. Look up there. You see all those stars?"

My eyes avert upwards, and I notice all the little shiny white dots in the jet black sky. The contrast of light on dark is gorgeous.

"I see them," I mutter, overwhelmed by how beautiful the sight is.

"That's what I've spent most nights looking at. That's what I spent tonight looking at, before everything started going wrong," he goes on to admit. "Um ... w-what do you think of the stars?"

"Me?" My eyes mentally join the stars, to form pictures of love hearts and flowers and five-sided stars. "Well ... the stars, to me, are very special. They ... they represent all the angels that have lost their lives."

"Me too," Michael tells me. "Great minds think alike, don't they?" Although his words seem happy, his tone is still a little sad-sounding.

"They sure do." My gaze moving off the stars, I sigh softly to myself. Instead, I look at Michael, who is busy admiring the sky, still. His eyes contain a sparkle which never ceases to amaze me; it's like, even when he's sad, there's still magic in those eyes of his. I love that about him.

"Speaking of angels in Heaven, uh ... I want to ask about your mother, if that's okay." Finally, he looks at me, but the darkness of the night makes it difficult for us to see one another clearly.

"Go ahead," I invite politely. "What do you want to know?"

"Have you ... ever spoken to her? Like ... about life? I mean in the past few months," he questions.

"Many times," I answer simply. "I tell her about everything."

"Like what?" His curiosity seems to get the better of him, now.

"Well, some stuff is kind of private, but there's a lot of stuff that isn't. For example, I ... I talk to her about you."

"Me?" he mutters.

"Yeah. I've told her all about you; I know that she would approve of you. I'd like to think your family would approve of me, too," I explain, chuckling a little.

"Of course they would. I was actually wondering if your mother would approve of me, had she have been here," he admits, resting one arm under his head for support, bringing me close with the other.

"No doubt about it. Can I also tell you something?" I request, suddenly perking up because I'm anxious to tell him.

"Sure. You can tell me anything," he assures me.

"Okay. So ... not long after you and I got together, I was talking to mom, looking at her picture. The picture is of her, but she isn't smiling – she's expressionless. But you know what happened?" My open-ended question is an invitation for him to guess what I'm about to say.

Nonetheless, he shakes his head. "No; what happened?"

"I looked away for a second, and when I looked back, she was smiling. Her picture was smiling," I finish. "That's what told me that she approves of you. I was talking about you, and she smiled at me."

To this, Michael snickers. "Cute. But I'm pretty sure it was just your imagination."

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, probably. But it was still a nice thing to see, anyhow."

"I'm sure it was. I wish I could say that I've seen that," he replies matter-of-factly. He doesn't seem saddened by this statement, so I continue the conversation normally.

"So, this is kind of nice," I smile, pulling myself closer to him. "It may be early Fall, but it's still quite warm, considering it's night time."

"Yeah. And we're keeping one another warm," he laughs quietly.

"Of course. I mean, we could have a better life, but ... there's no place I'd rather be than here with you right now, Michael." My words are cliché and sickly, but surprisingly they're true.

"And me. Yeah, I could have all my family, all my friends, and everyone I ever knew, but ... then I wouldn't have you. Both situations are a blessing, yet a pain to me," he answers truthfully.

"I get that. But just remember that you have me, Reiss, Clover, and my father to support you. And you'll always have me, Reiss, Clover and my father to support you. Always."

In appreciation, he plants a gentle kiss upon my lips, before moving his head away a little, allowing his eyes to meet mine. Despite how dark it is, it's easy to see the depth of his eyes; they're deep and dark, and mysterious-looking in this light.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "And remember it's the same for you too. There's only the five of us now; we have to keep each other safe. With Marco knowing that Clover's in America, we have to take extra care."

"I'm still sorry about Marco," I apologise randomly, a pang of guilt in my stomach.

"We've passed that now, Citria. You don't need to be sorry for that any more," he assures me.

"I know," I breathe, frowning a little. "But the guilt is still kind of here inside of me. I was stupid to tell him Clover's in America."

He shakes his head, his curls shaking a little due to this action. "No ... it wasn't stupid. You were just trying to be nice, like you always are. It may have been risky, what you did, but it wasn't stupid. It's just your nature to be sweet and kind." He gives me a reassuring smile, but because of the darkness, I can barely see it.

"But you said that sometimes I'm too nice for my own good," I remind him, feelings of both guilt and pride filling me. "And maybe ... you're right. But I can't control it; I can't help but try and give everyone the best."

He exhales through his nose, giving himself a moment to think of a reply. "I see what you mean. Sometimes the niceness is wonderful, though. Sometimes it makes me so happy, and you don't even realise that. It's as if you hold a little piece of each member of my family within you."

At the latter words, I can't help but gasp softly; those few words could possibly have made my day. I can't help but grin at what he's just said. "That means a lot to me, Michael ... it really does. Gosh ... you really think so? Are there any bad traits I've got? Wait! No! I'm not saying your family has any bad traits; I'm just sayi—"

"You're kind of ranting a little now, Cit," he chuckles, gently nuzzling his nose against mine, closing his eyes for a moment. "But it's cute when you rant."

"I didn't want to upset you," I admit, laughing softly. "I know your family is wonderful, really."

"No family is perfect, Citria. In fact, my family was far from perfect."

A silence suddenly comes crashing down on us; neither of us say a single word for at least thirty seconds. It may not seem like a lot of time, but when you're experiencing it, it feels as if it's lasting a hundred years.

Eventually, Michael elaborates on what he previously said. "Um ... I mean, my siblings annoyed me, and I annoyed them; when I didn't want to socialise at special occasions, I was forced to, and that angered me; uh ... and the amount of pain each person put one another through is astounding."

"You caused one another pain on purpose?" I question quietly, feeling curious.

"Not often on purpose, no. I mean, I used to place spiders in my sister's bed – which I already told you before – but that was more playful than painful," he explains, smiling at the memory. "But most of the time, it was accidental."

"Like when? Uh—if you don't mind me asking?" The latter sentence tumbles out my mouth at too quick a speed, so that Michael knows I'm not forcing him into anything.

"It's cool. Well ... I've been meaning to tell you something for a while, now. It's one of the examples of when my father caused me pain – but not on purpose," he starts.

"Go for it," I usher him on, holding him as he holds me.

"Well ... you know how I always tell you to be careful of my curls? How I like to keep them special for my girl?" he quizzes, no louder than a mutter.

"Yeah, I remember. I thought it was just a joke. It is just a joke, isn't it?" My right brow raises in interest.

"It kind of is, yeah. But ... there's a story behind it." He pauses a moment, remaining silent as if he's reliving the memory. "Uh ... I must have been about nineteen – twenty, perhaps. My father and I were alone, outside, in the garden, and father was smoking a cigar. I was lying on the grass beside him, just relaxing, but then I heard him sigh ... so I said "What's wrong, dad?". He replied, "I left my glasses inside. I need them to read my book". So, he got out his chair, setting the cigar down on the table next to his chair. He went inside, leaving me alone, but then a breeze came, and it managed to knock the cigar off the table. It landed in my hair, but I didn't realise until I smelled burning, and I opened my eyes to see my hair was what was burning."

"My God! Was it bad?" I ask in surprise.

"Luckily, mother managed to put the fire out before it spread to my scalp; it only tinged the ends of my hair a little. But it could have been a lot worse, had the fire not have been put out when it was," he concludes his little story. "So now you get why I'm so protective of my curls? When I was younger, my hair was a little shorter; but now I've managed to grow it out, and I intend to keep it that way until I die."

"I understand," I assure him. "But God ... I'm just surprised at how easily that could've all gone wrong. I dread to think about what would've happened if you were too late."

"Me too. I doubt I would even be alive," he answers, his expression indicating that he seems genuinely worried about the potential possibility of it happening. "But anyway ... let's make this positive now. I'm not going to allow myself to be sad yet again. I've had enough of that tonight."

"Yeah; I agree," I respond. "So ... what do you want to talk about now?"

To this question, he pulls a classic "Thinking" face. Although we're in the darkness, it's still rather easy to tell his facial expressions. "Well ... I'm not sure. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Not that I can think of," I admit, perhaps a little embarrassed by that. "Sorry."

"You know, not every moment has to contain conversation. Remember? Just feeling. Not necessarily talking – feeling."

"Okay then," I reply simply, feeling a little silly for not remembering that, despite it only being mentioned recently. "So ... we're just going to remain silent now?"

"I guess. Let's just take in the nightlife; the atmosphere; the surroundings. Y'know?" After voicing his suggestion, he slides his arm under me, wrapping it around me, before pulling me closer.

A peaceful silence takes place between us then. My head leans against his shoulder; the front of my body is presses against the side of his. His warmth aids in making me feel safe and loved.

My eyes move upwards to the night sky, so I can take in the view. The stars are especially bright; they're twinkling beautifully against the dark, vast sky behind them. Each star must represent everyone that's ever gained their angel wings – what else could it mean?

The silence lasts only a few minutes' longer; Michael suddenly moves his head, looking at me, automatically causing me to return the glance.

"Citria?" he calls my name softly.

"Yeah?" My voice imitates his unintentionally.

"Nothing's ever going to part us ... right?" he asks, almost sounding fearful.

"No, of course not. Why?" Although he can't see this, I raise my eyebrows in concern because of how random the question is.

"I'm just wondering. I mean ... I know you said you care for me, but what if one day ... you decide that you don't like me any more, or you're just sick and tired of me? Because it could happen."

His apparent worry can't help but make me giggle a little. "You don't have to worry about that Michael; I'm never leaving. What makes you think I will?"

"Well ... " His eyes avert downwards in thought. "I have no family but Reiss. I'm pretty much useless to the world. I have no job ... no life ... nothing. At some point, that could all become a turn-off for you."

"Really Michael?" His words insult me; not because I disrespect Michael's opinion – it's more, he thinks I'll really let him down like that. "Do you really think I would be that shallow? I don't care for how much or little you have ... I care for you. I always have cared for you, and I always will care for you. None of the other stuff matters to me that way. You need to know that."

Michael doesn't reply straightaway; instead, he pulls me closer, capturing my lips with his own for a brief moment. Upon pulling away, a smile is evidently clear on his face, even if you'd think it would be impossible to see in this lighting.

"That's what I was longing to hear. Though really, I should have known that you would say that." His nose gently presses against my cheek, as he nuzzles it affectionately.

"You should have already known that," I tease, going along with his little game.

"And what I also know is that ... " He pauses momentarily, shaking his head with a grin. "God, I almost said something so cliché there."

"What? Say it," I demand playfully.

"It's so damn sickly," he protests defensively.

"I don't care. Let me hear it, Mr Cliché," I chuckle.

Having been given this nickname, he chuckles a little in response, before growing more serious. He exhales through his nose, obviously wanting to avoid saying what he's about to say. Nonetheless, he says it anyway.

"Citria ... I may not have been your first love ... but ... I want to be your last. That will happen, won't it?"

"Of course," I answer. "Stop doubting. You're too much of a doubter."

"One of my flaws," he reasons. "I'm too doubty."

"We'll work on that," I assure him, giving him a small, soft smile.

With that being said, we both continue to converse under the stars, for hours and hours on end, until we see the sun rise.

~~

Ending was so stupid, but I had to end it somehow. x(
This chapter took me so long to write! Damn. xD

On a different note: how would you guys feel about a Michael and TJ Jackson fanfic? Obviously TJ would have to be a big part of it, but would that bother you? Let me know! Feedback is appreciated! :)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)