For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a “Reserved” sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant. Despite the fact that I was sure I’d never see her again.
— Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
Michael had always considered himself a rather lucky person. He had been blessed with the best parents, he had the best of friends who he got to live out his dream with, touring the world as a successful band, he had found the love of his life when he was just 20 and all throughout his life he had remained in that safe bubble of happiness the people around him provided.
At least, up until now.
Your death had been the thing to break the bubble, making room for emotions Michael had never before felt, and ones he did not want to feel. Suddenly life was cracking underneath his feet and he was falling into what most people told him was reality. But if this was reality Michael would much rather live in a fantasy.
He had never before had to deal with something like this. In all of his 22 years on earth, not one person that he loved had passed away. No one had expected that you’d be the first one Michael had to say goodbye to.
Michael had never quite understood the way people spoke about people they’ve lost, always mentioning how they sometimes start typing out a message meant for someone who is not there anymore, accidentally putting an extra plate on the table even though it’s been months of that plate not being needed. When people are gone, they’re gone, and it seems like the world always wants to remind the ones that have been left behind that their loved ones are no longer there. He’s never understood how anyone could just forget that someone’s dead.
That’s until you passed, that is, and Michael found himself stuck in a vicious cycle of forgetting and then being brutally reminded as reality slaps him in the face. Even though it’s been months he still wakes up curled up on his own side of the bed, reaching out with a sleepy hand, expecting to come in contact with warm skin but only finding cold sheets. He finds himself glancing over his shoulder the way he always used to do, eyes wanting to make sure you’re catching up to him but realizing that you won’t wrap your arms around his waist from behind again, pressing your nose against his back and complain that he’s walking too fast.
At first, Michael found it hard to cry. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sad, because he was so devastatingly heartbroken he felt like he might actually die. He just felt hollow, as if he wasn’t whole anymore. It was almost as if he couldn’t quite believe it, because it was all so fucking messed up. Everything from you getting sick to passing away to Michael being left in the burning aftermath felt like it was just a sick joke that he refused to believe in. He kept all your things, wanting the house to look like it did when you used to breathe within its walls. He refused to pack your clothes, your shoes still neatly placed next to his and your favourite coffee cup never leaving its spot on your bedside table, the stain of your lipstick fading by each day that passed.
Michael knew people found it ridiculous. He could see it in the boys’ eyes, concern as deep as the ocean as they watch their best friend, softly offering their help in packing but only being denied. He hadn’t been ready to remove your things like that, packing everything that had your name written on it just to put it in a box like the memory of you was old Christmas decorations. He needed to take his time with it. Losing you was the hardest thing he had ever been through, and it didn’t matter how many times people told him that things would get better, that he really was too young and too dumb to know things like love anyways, because it still hurt.
Michael had always been a fan of partying, but it wasn’t until after your death that he fell dangerously in love with alcohol. He drank it like it was water, spending hours drinking beers at bars and taking shots at house parties. It was like the liquid made the aching go away, as if it put a temporary bandage around his heart and allowed him to breathe again for a few hours. It filled his veins and took control of his thoughts until he couldn’t recognize himself anymore. He felt a relief in drowning in the alcohol, because the world seemed to lose its focus and he could just forget who he is and who you were and everything that has happened.
It was months after you passing away when Michael with the help of Ashton was cleaning the house and he accidentally stumbled upon his old Zepplin shirt, the one you used to live in. It was old, and Michael had planned on throwing it away when you had jerked it from his arms, holding it close to your chest and claiming it yours. Michael hadn’t minded, though, he always loved it when you wore his clothes. And so every time you crawled into bed wearing it, or cooked dinner in it or fell asleep on the couch with the material like a soft blanket around your body Michael felt his heart go soft.
You hadn’t been able to find the t-shirt for weeks, crying against Michael’s shoulder as you had to leave home for the hospital without it. It was when Michael found the shirt that he cried over you for the first time. He sank down on the floor with the shirt tugged close to his heart and sobs shaking him so violently he felt like all the air was sucked from his body.
It was in that moment that he for the first time felt like he was back in reality, suddenly faced with the fact that his life isn’t a nightmare, even though it feels like one. He gasped for air, the realization that you won’t ever come back hitting him like a punch. That he won’t wake up with you next to him again, you won’t ever laugh at his jokes again or kiss his lips or run your fingers through his hair or hold his hand or slow dance with him through your house to your favourite songs ever again.
That night Michael closed his eyes, the shirt still tucked close in his arms as he silently cried, remembering and repeating your last words to him as if his life depended on it.
one thing i love about queen is that 80% of the time, they never look like they’re dressed for the same event
from left to right, they’re going to :
a job interview
buy some cigarettes and bread
disco
romantic diner in a very chic restaurant
Alternatively:
a Skype job interview at a real estate company
to walk back and forth while carrying heavy bundles of tools over one shoulder and pausing to dramatically wipe the sweat off his brow and take a long, careless swig from a water bottle, right where he can be observed doing this by his crush
an intergalactic disco space orgy
a different, but slightly seedier intergalactic disco space orgy
Alternatively alternatively:
• Teacher at a parent-teacher conference • Painting a wall • Gay club (ironically not Freddie wearing it) • Pickup artist lesson for vampires
The ones that are so plush and soft looking next to his scruff?
[Who are you?]
[I’m you but stronger]
Also here’s a gif of that bc you need it
[WhO hAs sUcKeD oN tHiS] [,,,,,no one] me: ^^
Think they’re all cute and soft when he’s asleep?
Yeah awake he turns into BOTTICELLI’S FUCKING ANGEL
If he was my boyfriend his name in my phone would definitely be Hot Lips
I crave death. He’s literally drinking my tears
Okay first of all RUDE second of all RUDE third of all
*john mulaney voice* now we don’t have time to unpack all of tHat
and this is what taught me i’m attracted to assholes. cocky lil bastard
ok so we all know the 2015 AMAs ended me but just LOOK the color gradient between his hair and lips vs his eYes
he exhaled but it was my breath that was taken
excuse me but what about the inside world of my body….. How do you think it feels
Let’s not even get started on the valentine’s music video. Just look and…. Meditate…. Commit to memory so you can be precise what your sins were tomorrow at confession
Hey boo what tinted chapstick u use
LIPS!!! MATCH HAIR!!!! DRAG OVER!!!! BY HANDS!!! THEY PLUMP!!!! SOFT!!! MOTHERFUCKER!!!!
so yes in short they are very full and plump and glorious. in the words of @tequila-clifford
I think this is my new favorite picture of him because he looks so relaxed and in his natural setting. However, that is not the way to hold a book. My poor crisp-book-loving heart.
