AgustDPeach

────୨ৎ────

you and michael dominated the music industry together, you were a beautiful force that commanded every chart and every awards stage. being married only increased the madness; the press loved it, turning your relationship into a public fairy tale, an empire built on music and true love where the world watched your every move with admiration.

you laid with your head resting against his shoulder, his shirt brushing against your skin as your fingers traced lazy patterns over his chest. he kept one arm looped around your waist, pulling you into his side so you could keep warm.

“we should take a break from touring.” michael hummed as his fingers tangled gently in your hair with a slow tenderness. “start a family, start really building our future.”

you smiled against his skin, turning your face upward to meet his deeply expressive eyes in the lamp light. “that's all i ever wanted, michael.”

“i love you.” he whispered, a soft smile tracing his lips as he leaned down to press a warm kiss to your forehead, his arm tightening around your waist as if he was holding you into the beautiful future you were sketching out in the dark.

the telephone on the nightstand ruined the quiet, cutting through the warmth of the room as you felt his muscles lock beneath you, the relaxation disappearing from his posture before he reached across the mattress, lifting the heavy receiver to his ear with a sleepy grunt.

you couldn't hear the voice on the other end, the muffled static offering nothing but a faint hum, but you watched his face closely in the light. within seconds, the heavy exhaustion melted from his features as a gentle smile perked up the corners of his lips. a cold weight dropped into the pit of your stomach, your heart sinking with the certainty that you already knew exactly who was calling.

“hey.” michael said into the receiver, his tone softening into that careful cadence he always reserved for one person. “no, no, you didn't wake me. what's wrong, diana?”

the name slipped from his lips effortlessly, sending a shiver down your spine as he slowly began to ease his body out from under the covers. the absence of his warmth left you freezing as he swung his legs over the bed, never breaking the conversation as he stood up and reached for his discarded button down on the nearby chair.

he leaned back over the mattress, pressing a distracted peck to your cheek while his mind drifted miles away from the room, his eyes fixed on the floor as he listened intently to the voice in his ear.

you sat up against the pillows, pulling the sheets tight against your chest to keep yourself warm, your eyebrows furrowing in a mix of hurt and frustration as you watched him button his shirt with ease. you caught his eye through the shadows, refusing to let him just walk out without looking at you, and mouthed the words “where are you going?”

michael paused, pulling the phone away from his ear and muffling the receiver against his chest to cut off the sound from the other end. he offered you an apologetic look that didn't reach his eyes, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper. “something came up with diana, i'll be home later on, my love.”

you bit the inside of your cheek as you forced down the bitter words threatening to spill over. you nodded slowly, offering no verbal reply because you knew it would only start an argument if you tried spoke up. turning your back on him, you pulled the blanket up to your shoulders and stared blankly at the wall, listening to the soft rustle of his clothes as he moved toward the door.

it wasn't unusual for him to pull something like this, but every single time he did, it ate away at your sanity. it killed you knowing how much power one woman held over his mind, how easily one phone call from her could break the perfect moment. you laid there in the quiet, the public image of your flawless musical empire feeling like a cruel joke compared to the reality of lying in an empty bed, wondering if you he would ever choose you over her.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

a few weeks had passed in stretch of time, and you found yourself buried in the studio again, melting into your music. it was the one place you loved unconditionally, the only place you knew you could always run to when the world became too much to handle.

you stood in the booth, listening to the instrumental track with quincy, your mind drifting through the heavy heartbeat of the bass line. you nodded your head slowly to the music as quincy adjusted the faders, his experienced eyes watching you with a knowing concern from across the mixing board.

closing your eyes against the glare of the booth lights, you let out a quiet breath, your voice a whisper as you began humming along to the rise of the keys. the unreleased words slipped out of you in a low mumble, a private confession meant only for the space of the booth. “trade your broken wings for mine...” you sang, exposing your genuine love to sacrifice yourself to anything he would go through. you swallowed back a rush of emotion, whispering the bitter truth of a love that made you question your own place in his life. “i've seen your scars and kissed your crimes...”

“so many people that i know, they just tryna touch ya.” you sang into the microphone, your voice a raspy register laced with the exhaustion of diana. you paused as the bitter image of his easy departure that one night flashed behind your eyes, a spike of resentment hitting your throat before you leaned back slightly and kissed your teeth with a quiet hiss. “kiss up, and rub up.. kiss up, and rub up and feel up on ya.”

you were only thinking of michael, the memory of how easily he had let diana rub up against his life, leaving you to bleed your heartbreak into a microphone while he remained busy with his own life.

the instrumental swelled through your headphones, filling your head until the dark studio walls dissolved around you. your voice shifting from that bitter bite into something sweet that poured directly into the microphone.

“sweet love, all night long..” you cooed softly, the melody stretching out with a overwhelming wave of nostalgia that hit you in the chest as you watched quincy nod in slow approval from behind the control room console.

as the notes vibrated in your throat, your mind betrayed you, dragging you into the golden memories of the good parts of your marriage, the version of michael that belonged entirely to you. you were suddenly reminiscing about the early days, before diana became too comfortable and her late night phone calls cracked your foundation. you remembered the quiet mornings in the kitchen when he would spin you around, his laughter bright enough to make your whole day. you remembered the protective way he used to hold you backstage after a show, burying his face in your neck as if you were the only person who mattered.

“all i wanna, ain't no other..” you sang, your eyes closing tighter as the truth of the lyric tore through you, your voice carrying beautifully over the track. there really was no one else who could compare to the depth of him, no one else who truly understood the craziness of your shared fame.

you let your fingers trace your arm reassuringly, the rhythm carrying you deeper into the past, into the certainty of what you had built together before the shadow of diana became stronger. “we together, i remember... sweet love all night long.”

every word was a reminder of his perfection, of the beautiful reality that made his current absence hurt even more. you stood there singing to the ghost of the man who had promised you a quiet future, desperately trying to reconcile the loving husband who used to hold you all night long with the man who only became more comfortable catering to diana's needs.

quincy paused, his hands freezing over the mixing board as the final echo of the instrumental faded into the monitors, leaving a heavy silence in the room. he looked up his sharp eyes catching the subtle tremor in your shoulders before you could pull yourself together. hitting the talkback button, his voice cut through your headphones, sounding genuinely concerned against the static. “you okay in there?”

you quickly swept the back of your hand across your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that had fell during the chorus, and immediately put on a face. drawing a deep breath to steady your posture, you locked eyes with him through the glass and flashed a practiced smile that you had perfected for the cameras. “yes.. always.” you said back into the microphone, your voice coming through the room speakers clear and stable, masking the ache in your heart.

quincy stared at you for a long moment, seeing right through the fragile mask but choosing to respect your boundaries as an artist. he shook his head in awe, a wide smile finally spreading across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “always is right. m’ telling you, this track is.. is somethin’ else. we're looking at a historic number one record, straight to the top of the charts!”

✮⋆˙

a week later, the grand auditorium hosting the soul train awards required both yours and michael's presence as you sat at a premier vip table right near the edge of the stage. michael sat right beside you, his hand was resting protectively over yours on the white tablecloth, his thumb rubbing your knuckles as he leaned in close to your ear.

“you look so beautiful, y/n.” he whispered, a genuine smile illuminating his features as he squeezed your fingers. “m' so lucky to have such a pretty wife..”

you turned your head slightly, meeting his brown eyes and feeling a swell of comfort from his touch. “thank you, baby.. feels like forever since we could just sit down.. and watch instead of performing.”

“i know...” he frowned, his expression softening with a hint of quiet regret as he tilted his head closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “things have been so much lately, too much...”

he cut himself off as the main lights suddenly slammed down into a dramatic darkness, the shift causing the entire crowd to erupt into eager cheers. michael gave your hand one affectionate squeeze before turning his attention toward the main stage.

under the flash of the stage lights, diana glided out onto the center stage in a glittering silver gown, holding the microphone elegantly to her lips. seeing her step into the spotlight, you quietly let out a tired sigh, shifting in your seat as you braced yourself for a performance you didn't want to watch.

diana flashed a dazzling smile to the crowd, bringing the microphone closer as the audience fell into anticipation. “tonight, i want to give you all a little surprise..” she exclaimed, her voice laced with mischief. “m' going to be performing a song i haven't released yet!”

the synthesizers instantly wailed over an upbeat pop track, and the crowd immediately began to roar, clapping along to the high energy groove that vibrated right through the room. up on stage, diana commanded the spotlight with practiced glamour, her silver gown shining as she strutted down the runway.

at first, she mindlessly sang, her vocals gliding through an unfamiliar intro, making you barely pay any attention to the performance. you simply stared blankly ahead, the words washing over you as background noise while you tried to emotionally check out, until the rhythm shifted, forcing you to actually listen to what she was singing.

you suddenly froze as your heart dropped to your stomach as you realized she was singing your private lyrics.

“so many people that i know, they just tryna touch ya!” she belted out, tossing her hair back with a smile that had the entire front row cheering.

at the vip table, your breath caught completely in your throat. your jaw dropped, shock paralyzing your entire face as the private words you had sang to quincy just days ago echoed back at you through the room. you sat still, staring at the stage in disbelief, your mind spinning as you tried to process how your private heartbreak had been turned into diana's song and a pop song.

diana leaned into the microphone to deliver the soaring chorus directly down toward your section of the audience. “sweet love, all night long!” she sang out, and the words felt like it had hit you physically, fuelling the rage building inside you.

you slowly turned your head to look at michael, hoping to find some shred of shared confusion or defense but your heart shattered at the sight. he was leaning forward slightly, his eyes locked onto the stage while his face was lit up with a genuine smile of admiration. he was nodding along to the stolen beat, captivated by her performance, his expression filled with the kind of awe he reserved only for the greatest artists.

he had no idea the song belonged to you, and seeing him smile with such pride at diana while she sang the soundtrack of your crumbling marriage left you frozen before your breath hitched in frustration.

the hot rage pushed you out of your seat before you could even think about the cameras, the public eye, or the rows of hollywood elite surrounding your table. you got up abruptly, the sharp sound of your chair against the floor cutting straight through the music and drawing michael's attention away from the stage instantly.

“baby?” michael called out, his voice laced with confusion as his hand caught empty air where yours had just been a second before. he looked up at your tight posture, catching the frustrated on your face, and immediately stood up, his own chair shifting as he quickly followed after you into the crowded aisle.

you pressed forward into the dark, your steps heavy as you fled down the backstage hallways, blindly pushing past security guards and stagehands while diana's voice melted through the walls from the main auditorium.

you moved with a fierce purpose, the fabric of your gown rustling while your heels clicked against the cold floor before you stopped right by the dark wings of the stage, tucked away in the shadows where the spotlights couldn't reach you.

you leaned your back against a cold storage crate, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as you tried you regulate what you were feeling. from this angle, you could see diana clearly, moving effortlessly while singing your deepest heartbreak to the crowd.

the final applause erupted through the thick walls as the curtains closed, cutting off the blinding shine of the lights. diana turned around, letting out in a breathless laugh as she glided into the backstage wings yet the moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she spotted you and michael standing there.

without a trace of shame or hesitation, a wide smile spread across her face despite the reality of what she had just stolen from you. “michael!” she exclaimed, her voice smooth and dripping with sweetness as she stepped closer, completely bypassing you. “oh, i am so glad you were out there to see that. it was magical, wasn't it?”

the audacity of her smile made the blood boil in your veins, the rage finally snapping your emotions as you took a step forward. “what the fuck, diana? those were my lyrics, my song. why would you do this?”

diana stopped in her tracks, her hands coming up to her chest as her face shifted into a flawless display of innocence. she blinked rapidly, her head tilting in confusion as she looked at you, acting clueless. “y/n, what are you talking about? your lyrics? my label brought this track to me days ago, fully written. there's truly no need to make a scene over this, honey.”

hearing her lie so effortlessly to your face made you laugh in disbelief, turning your head to look at your husband, expecting him to defend you.

but michael stood paralyzed between the two of you, his chest heaving as a deep conflict tore him apart from the inside out. he looked over at diana, the woman he had been profoundly infatuated with since forever, the idol who still held an untouchable grip over his mind; seeing her look so innocent made it impossible for him to believe she could do something so evil.

yet, his breath hitched as his gaze dropped down to his own hand, his brown eyes locking onto the polished gold of his wedding ring. that ring belonged to you, his wife, the woman who he wanted to build a future with, and he could see the genuine anger burning in your eyes.

he looked back up at diana, then back down at the ring, trapped in the middle of his lifelong idol and his real life marriage, unable to speak a single word.

diana noticed the suffocating silence stretching between the three of you, her eyes darting from your furious glare down to where michael stared helplessly at his wedding ring.

a subtle gleam flashed in her eyes before she instantly softened her expression, taking a step closer to michael and reaching out to brush her fingers gently against his arm. “michael, please tell her.” diana pouted, her voice dropping into a comforting tone she knew always worked on him, her eyes wide. “you know me. you've known me your whole life. you know i would never, ever steal a song from anyone, let alone your.. wife.”

the touch seemed to snap michael out of his trance, his shoulders tensing as he looked from her hand on his arm straight into her eyes, the familiarity of his infatuation pulling hard at his chest. but the moment he looked over at you and saw the betrayal and hot tears glossing over your eyes, he flinched, pulling his arm back just enough to break her grip.

“i... i don't know what to say.” michael choked out, his voice cracking slightly as his fingers nervously traced the edge of his wedding ring again. he looked back and forth between the two of you, his breath hitching under the pressure of the backstage corridor. “y/n, baby, the lyrics... diana... diana, the label gave it to you? there has to be a mistake somewhere. we should.. we should talk to the label about this.” he said, his voice pleading as he looked at you, desperately trying to offer a reassuring glance but it only felt like a betrayal.

even though he was trying to play the peacemaker, the shift in his posture and the defensive tilt of his head toward diana made it obvious where his deeper loyalties were pulling him; he was trying to remain neutral, but the lifelong worship of his idol was winning, filtering his words with a gentle bias that shielded her from blame.

“there's no talking that needs to be done, michael.” you spat out, the words freezing the air between you as your voice rang with a dangerous finality. your breath hitched as you took a step closer to the woman who had stolen your work. “diana stole that song. she knew.”

you slowly squinted your eyes at diana, your gaze narrowing into a sharp dagger of accusation that pierced right through her mask of innocence. “you knew.”

diana caught the moment michael's defenses began to waver towards her name, and she didn’t waste a second. she tilted her head back, her eyes wide and welling with a perfect gloss as she looked up helplessly at him, creating the image that she was fragile and wrongly accused.

michael looked down into her face, his expression melting from panic into a look of affection which immediately took over his features, his eyes locking onto hers with a captivated devotion that erased the rest of the backstage wing.

watching the two of them look at each other like that, clarity washed over you, cutting through the fury in your veins until you were left numb. the realization hit you, settling deep into your chest as you realised you were never going to compete. it didn't matter that you were his wife, or that you had built an empire together; the painful truth was that your husband would always melt under diana's words, powerless against her presence and the hold she had on his heart.

it broke your heart into pieces, an ache blooming where your love used to be as you realized you were just a second option to his grand obsession. you were over it, the title of the public fairy tale crumbling to dust in an instant.

“fuck the both of you.” you snapped, your voice dropping into a deadly hiss that cut straight through the suffocating tension between them. without a second of hesitation, you tore the polished gold wedding ring off your finger and threw it onto the floor, the heavy ring clinking sharply before rolling to a stop at michael's shoes.

you turned your back on both of them, your gown rustling furiously in the dark as you walked off down the hallway, leaving them behind in the shadows without looking back once.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ 𓂃 ⋆

you sat huddled on the edge of the sofa in the living room, a half empty glass of red liquid resting between your hands, a bottle sitting on the coffee table. you had intended to pack your bags, to march upstairs, drag the heavy suitcases out of the closet, and erase yourself from this house entirely.

but as the drink settled into your veins, it brought a fragile hope with it. the sizzle of the wine made you believe, or at least pray, that your husband would walk through that door, drop to his knees, and tell you that he had finally cut her off for good.

you sat there drinking as the night only grew longer, the clock ticking away the hours, the hope slowly disappearing until the front door clicked open at midnight.

michael stepped into the living room, looking entirely drained as the edges of his suit jacket hung loosely from his slumped shoulders while he exhaled a long breath.

“where have you been, michael?” you asked, your voice audible against the silence, your eyes tired with smudged mascara from the hours of weeping and waiting in the dark.

you paused, a heavy wave of the suspicion suffocating the air in the room as you swallowed down the lump in your throat. you stared at the guilt written all over his face before you whispered. “you were with diana, weren't you?”

michael froze, his brown eyes landing on you with a mixture of anxiety and guilt as he took a slow step forward. “y/n, baby, please... she was upset after you left-“

“m’ your wife, michael.” you interrupted, standing up from the sofa as the raw reality of the night broke through the numbness of the alcohol. you took a step towards him, your voice trembling with heartbreak you gestured between the two of you. “your wife. what is diana?”

“she's... family.” he whispered softly, trying to play the peacemaker while defending her from your wrath. “she would never do anything intentional to hurt you, i know her, please believe me, baby.”

the soft tone of his voice only fueled the fire building in your chest, the absurdity of his excuses snapping at your sanity. your vision blurred as a wave of hot tears spilled over your lashes, tracking through the dried mascara staining your cheeks.

“why the fuck do you always defend her?!” you snapped, your voice cracking with a painful sob that tore straight from your chest. you took another step forward, your hands trembling at your sides as you glared at him through your waterfall of tears. “she stole from me, michael. you don't understand, i poured my soul into that song, my life.. it meant.. that song meant everything.”

michael flinched slightly, his expression twisting into a look of hurt as he stepped closer, his hands rising in that desperate gesture to try and soothe you, his voice remaining quiet but stubborn. “y/n, please.. diana.. she doesn't need to steal melodies. the industry is messy, and things get copied by accident all the time. you're just hurt right now, baby, and you're letting your anger blind you to how the business works-“

your chest heaved, a broken whimper escaping your lips as you looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the painful truth. he was never going to see her flaws and he was never going to protect you. you felt entirely small, exhausted, and defeated by the realization that your husband would always choose to defend her over saving you.

the tears kept falling until a cold certainty suddenly washed over you, freezing the sorrow into resolution. you closed your eyes for a brief second, drawing in a shaky breath as you wiped your tears. “m’ done, michael. i can't keep doing this.” you shook your head, forcing your eyes open as you prepared to give him the ultimatum.

“you can't keep choosing the both of us anymore.. it's either.. me or diana.”

michael froze as his eyes widened with panic, overtaking his features as he stared at your tear stained face and the trace of your ruined mascara. his gaze flicked down to the bare skin of your left hand, then to his own hand where his wedding ring hugged his finger perfectly, before snapping back up to lock onto your eyes.

he opened his mouth to speak, his lips parting as if to instantly shout your name but no sound came out. he choked on the air, his throat tightening, paralyzed by the choice you had laid in front of him.

“y-y/n...” he stammered, taking an unstable step toward you, his hands rising into the space between you, his fingers twitching helplessly as if he could physically grasp the dissolving pieces of your marriage before they disappeared. “baby, please... don't do this. don't-don't make me choose like this.”

he was pleading with teary eyes but the words themselves said enough, he hadn't chosen you, he hadn't spoken your name without a second thought. in the one moment of resolvement, when your broken heart laid, he had hesitated. he balanced your soul against the lifelong hold diana possessed over him, and it was obvious he couldn't let her go.

the last spark of hope inside you died a quiet death, leaving behind nothing but hollow numbness as the tears stopped falling. you turned away from him with a slow grace, walking straight toward the front door as michael's footsteps followed closely behind you, his breath hitching once you reached the door and gripped the handle.

you pulled it open, letting the chill of the night air rush into the warm house before turning your head slightly to look back at him over your shoulder one last time.

“when i walk out of this door michael, i.. i won’t come back.” you said, your voice dropping into a quiet whisper as your eyes, locked onto his face.

michael stood paralyzed, the harsh light catching the tears spilling down his cheeks as he bit his lip, his entire body shook yet he remained trapped in the deafening silence of his own hesitation.

seeing everything you ever needed to see in his panic, you stepped out onto the porch, leaving him behind. you pulled the door shut, the thud echoing through the quiet house as you shut him out and walked into the dark.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

the months that followed were a long blur of crowds, stage lights, and silence the moment the curtains fell. you knew you couldn't suffer alone with the company of alcohol so you threw yourself into the madness of your own solo tour, traveling from city to city across the country.

you lived out of hotel rooms and tour buses, melting into your work because it was the only way to keep from losing your mind. you wrote music constantly, filling notebooks with raw lyrics about betrayal and the shadow of another woman.

on stage, you were a beautiful figure, singing your heart out to thousands of screaming fans every single night. but beneath the title of a successful tour, you were still heartbroken, the applause of the crowd did nothing to fill the void he left. every single night, after the lights went out and the arenas emptied, you would return to a lonely hotel room and stare at the telephone on the nightstand, quietly hoping it would ring. but it never did. despite everything you still missed him, and you hated yourself for it.

it didn’t help you couldn't escape the ghost of him. even while touring the country, the media shoved him back into your face at every airport newsstand and hotel lobby. the tabloids were merciless, their covers splashed with photographs of him attending industry galas. and right beside him, always stood diana.

the columns fed on the mystery of your separate lives, paparazzi shots of you leaving hotels alone were always compared with recent pictures of him and diana at other shows.

MR. AND MRS. JACKSON SEPARATION?

the articles screamed in heavy black ink, printing beautiful photos of your joint empire right alongside your solo tour dates.

THE KING AND QUEEN OF POP NO LONGER TOGETHER?

the tabloids openly speculated that your marriage was decaying while others cruelly hinted that diana had finally taken her place as his true partner, leaving you to bleed your heartbreak into a microphone every night.

but you were tired of bleeding in secret, you were tired of letting diana wear your crown, parading around in the spotlight and embracing the spot you left as if it was some kind of celebration. so, against the panicked warnings of your management team and the heavy restrictions of the label, you made a choice, caring less whether it brought issues or not.

you finalized ‘all night’, you no longer cared that she had performed it first, you were going to take back what was yours, and you were going to do it on the most visible stage the industry had to offer.

𓇢𓆸

the opportunity arrived a month later at the grammys, an auditorium crawling with hollywood celebrities. backstage, the atmosphere was suffocating with a performative tension that made it hard to draw air. with the seating arrangements, you knew the organizers had created the perfect trap, intentionally seating michael and diana together in the center of the front row, directly in the line of the main stage.

standing in the shadows of the wings, your dress felt heavy, dragging against the floor as the overwhelming rush of the past threatened to ruin the composure you had spent months piecing together.

your mind dragged you into the memories of michael, the early days when you were enveloped in his arms, your head resting against the rise of his chest while the noise outside faded into nothing. you remembered the warmth of his sheets, the lazy patterns his fingers traced over your skin, and the tender tone of his voice planning out your shared future of a family.

desperate to stop the painful memories, you reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed a glass of amber liquid from the catering cart nearby. you threw your head back and took a burning shot, closing your eyes as the raw spike of it tore down your throat to scorch away the weakness, numbing the ache in your chest just enough to give you the confidence you needed.

the curtains parted to reveal your silhouette standing alone beneath a white spotlight that cut through the darkness, capturing the mournful sweep of your black dress. your fingers gripped the cold metal of the microphone stand with a desperate hold, your eyes scanning the room until they locked directly onto the beloved face of your husband.

the original instrumental swelled through the stadium monitors, causing a stunned gasp to ripple through the rows. michael’s eyes widened as his breath hitched, realizing just how much he had missed you. beside him, diana’s practiced smile dropped as she realized the stolen soundtrack of your marriage was about to be reclaimed by its true creator.

you closed your eyes for a second, letting the dark memories of the studio and the isolation you had felt for months lift your voice into a raw tone that was laced with heartbreak, holding thousands of people captive with your singing.

but as the instrumental built, swelling toward the emotional transition of the song, the rage and sorrow you had hidden from the public for months tore through the surface.

hot tears spilled over your lashes, tracking through your makeup and catching the glare of the spotlight as they stained your skin. your breath hitched, a quiet sob threatening to break your pitch but you fought through the tightness in your throat, opening your eyes to lock a devastating gaze onto michael, singing directly to his soul as if the rest of the crowd did not exsit.

“they say true love’s the greatest weapon..” you sang out, your voice cracking with power that echoed beautifully through the room, carrying the weight of every lonely night you had survived. “to win the war caused by pain…”

“but every diamond has imperfections..” you cooed as you found your lyrics somewhat defending him, your heart aching at the thought of you being back in his arms. “but my loves too pure to watch it chip away…”

beside him, diana shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze dropping to the floor as the rows began to whisper in a frenzy, realizing the correlation echoing from the stage. but you didn't look at her once, you kept your heavy eyes fixed on your michael, forcing him to witness the depth his hesitation had caused.

“boy, nothing real can be threatened.” you belted out, the melody stretching with a wave of vulnerability, exposing the truth right in front of him, nothing and no one could break real love between two individuals. “true love breathes salvation back into me..”

with the final notes approaching, a shaky breath escaped your lips as your tears blurred your vision into a haze of white. you gathered every piece of dignity you possessed, singing the final line like a prayer of release.

“with every tear came redemption... and my torturer became my remedy…”

the moment those lyrics slipped from your lips, the devastating paradox of him being labeled both the “torturer” and the “remedy” for your suffering, his heart swelled with an aggressive warmth that threatened to suffocate him.

he heard the bleeding testament of a love so deep that it had survived the worst of his actions, a love that was still calling out to him through the ruin of his silence. he felt it within his soul as he realised he would dismantle his reputation, his career, and his very name if it meant he still had a chance at being the medicine to heal the woman he had broken.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the next evening, the quiet inside your hotel room was filled with the exhausting aftermath of your grammy performance. your relief, a bottle of red liquid, sat on the nightstand and the scattering of morning papers laid across the covers of your bed.

your drink left dark smudges on the cheap newsprint as you mindlessly flipped through the pages, your body aching from the physical and emotional toll of the night before, your eyes still raw from the tears you had cried beneath the spotlights.

you expected the usual media circus, the speculation about the tears flowing through your makeup and the visible, suffocating distance between the king and queen of pop yet instead, a massive headline in the entertainment section caught your eye, the dark ink stark against the page.

MICHAEL JACKSON PROFESSIONALLY CUTS ALL TIES WITH DIANA ROSS.

your fingers froze against the paper, your breath catching in your chest as your eyes scanned the print beneath the title. the columnists detailed a corporate warfare that had taken place in the early morning hours, detailing a ruthless dismantling of management teams and the binding extraction of his name from every project associated with her.

before your mind could even process the words on the page, the small television set on the dresser across the room flickered, drawing your attention away from the paper.

an entertainment news anchor appeared on the screen, their voice laced with urgency that broke the silence of the room. “we interrupt our scheduled broadcast to bring you the first footage from a live press conference held earlier today, where michael jackson expresses the truth following last night's historic grammy performance.”

the screen cut sharply to a chaotic room packed with reporters, the constant flash of cameras overwhelming the tv as michael stepped into the frame, the sight of him making your heart tighten with a familiar ache.

his slender frame appeared fragile beneath his black button down long sleeve, his curls falling around a face that carried the heavy exhaustion of a man who had finally came to the right realisation.

when he spoke, the raw tone of his voice vibrated through the television speaker, filling your quiet hotel room with an honesty that made you bite your lip in.. hope.

“m’ not here to talk about records, or tours, or business.” michael began, his voice cracking before he drew a deep breath, his eyes rising to look into the camera lens, looking straight through the screen. “last night, i sat in the front row of the grammy awards and i watched my wife weep on stage. i listened to her sing the words that were born from her own heartbreak.. words that were stolen from her soul by someone i trusted blindly.”

a collective silence seemed to fall over the crowded press room on the screen, the reporters freezing as the king of pop stripped his private life bare before the world.

“diana ross did not release that track by accident.” michael continued, the quiet anger and regret in his chest pushing through his voice. “she took what belonged to my wife, and instead of protecting the woman i swore my life to, i hesitated. i let my admiration for an idol cloud my judgment, and i allowed my own cowardice to leave my wife alone while i defended a lie.”

he paused, his fingers nervously tracing the gold wedding ring that still clung tightly to his finger before taking a deep breath.

“as of this morning, i have legally severed every professional and personal connection to diana ross. i have terminated the contracts of the executives who allowed this theft to happen..”

the broadcast cut back to the stunned news anchors, but you couldn't hear their voices over the rush of your own blood. your hands flew to your face, the glass of wine slipping from your fingers and spilling across the sheets as a choked sob tore straight from your chest, the raw magnitude of his public appearance and words melting you completely.

the echoes of his televised confession still replayed through your head when a sudden knock resounded against the wooden frame of your hotel door.

your breath hitched, your heart jumping as you stumbled up from the bed, struggling to walk straight as you threw the door open, the latch clicking loudly in the quiet corridor.

michael stood in the lighting of the hallway, his white shirt rumpled and damp from the rain outside, as his shoulders shook under the weight of his own breath. he looked vulnerable, his face plastered with fresh tears as he stared at you through the open doorway.

the overwhelming sight of him caused a sharp wave of adrenaline to slam into your chest, the months of suffocating isolation and the bitter memories of his betrayal rushing to the surface all at once.

“why are you here, michael?” you choked out, your voice a trembling whisper but before he could even part his lips to answer, the weight of your heartbreak spilled over into action.

you stepped towards him, your fingers curling into tight fists as you brought them down against his chest. you hit his shirt once, a push meant to punish him for the silence, for the empty hotel rooms, and for the agony of choosing diana over you.

he stood there, his chest heaving under your touch, his dark brown eyes wide and overflowing with remorse that watched you with devotion.

seeing the absence of defense in his posture only made your anger increase as you hit him again, yet the momentum was slowly dying, your fists turning into weak thuds against him as the rage quickly turned into a deep sorrow.

“how could you leave me alone like that?” you sobbed openly, your knuckles resting helplessly against the heartbeat behind his shirt as the strength drained from your arms. “why did you take so long to choose me?”

your knees buckled beneath the realization that he was finally here, the anger burning out and leaving behind nothing but a desperate exhaustion.

he lunged forward, closing the remaining distance in a blur to catch your waist before you could hit the floor. he gathered your shaking frame against his chest with strength that lifted you right off your feet, his long arms wrapping around you so tightly it felt as if he were trying to fuse your broken souls back together.

“m’ sorry, m’ so sorry, baby.” michael wept into your hair as he buried his face deep into the warm crook of your neck, his voice a fragile tone. “m’ here, right here.. never gonna leave you alone again, i promise you...”

you buried your face deep into his shirt, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck as the coldness of the last months melted into the healing warmth of his embrace.

he rocked you gently in the space behind the closed door, his hands rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back as he planted tender kisses over your forehead, neck, and the wet skin of your cheeks, reassuring you over and over until the trembling in your body finally began to ease.

you pulled back an inch, your hands rising to cup the angles of his jaw, your thumbs gently sweeping away the dampness tracking down his cheeks.

michael leaned into your touch immediately, his long fingers wrapping over your wrists to hold your hands against his skin, terrified that if he let go, you would disappear.

he looked down into your eyes, his gaze shining with a vulnerability so raw it left only the truth of how much he still belonged to you. he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against yours, his breath shaky and warm against your lips as he whispered.

You'd both suddenly remember you were just two embarrassingly shy actors in your twenties standing far too close together. One of you would clear your throat.

The other would suddenly become fascinated with a nearby prop. Sometimes you'd accidentally make eye contact, immediately smile out of instinct, then both look away at exactly the same time while the makeup artists tried not to laugh.

One afternoon, after everyone had broken for lunch, you wandered through one of the empty sound stages searching for your water bottle.

Most of the lights had already been switched off, leaving only a few pale beams shining across the unfinished ballroom set where tomorrow's rehearsal would take place.

The silence was comforting until you heard someone quietly murmuring to themselves.

"...No... too much."

A pause.

"Smile with the eyes first."

Another pause.

"No... that's for the fans."

You frowned slightly before following the voice.

Jaafar stood completely alone in front of one of the decorative mirrors leaned against a wall. He hadn't noticed you. He was staring intensely at his own reflection, smiling, then dropping it, then smiling again.

One smile was dazzling and bright.

Another was gentle.

Then one became almost bashful.

He stopped, shook his head and tried again.

You couldn't help yourself. "...What are you doing?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. "Oh!"

His hand flew to his chest. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry." You said, embarrassed.

"No, no, you're okay."

You stepped closer, trying very hard not to laugh.

"Were you... practising smiling?"

His ears immediately turned pink.

"...Maybe."

You finally laughed.

"You were."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I know it sounds weird."

"It sounds very weird."

He let out an embarrassed laugh before looking back at the mirror. "It's just..." He hesitated. "My uncle smiled differently depending on who he was looking at."

You blinked.

"What do you mean?"

He turned back towards you, suddenly becoming incredibly serious. "I've watched hundreds of hours of footage." He folded his arms thoughtfully.

"When he's talking to fans... his smile is really bright."

He demonstrated.

"When he's with little kids..."

The smile softened almost instantly.

"It's... warmer."

Then another.

"When he's joking with his brothers..."

A mischievous grin appeared.

"And..."

He sighed.

"When he was with my Auntie..."

He looked back into the mirror.

"It's different."

There was a silence.

"It isn't as big."

He smiled again.

"It's quieter."

Another attempt.

"It almost looks like... relief."

He frowned. "I don't know how else to explain it." He ran a hand through his curls.

You watched him carefully.

"So I've been trying to find that smile."

"You've been practising smiles because your uncle smiled differently at his wife?"

"...Yeah."

A tiny laugh escaped you before you could stop it. He looked over.

"What?"

You covered your mouth. "Nothing."

"No, what?"

You shook your head.

"It's just..."

You laughed again. "You're kind of silly."

His eyebrows lifted.

"Silly?"

"A little."

He let out a dramatic sigh. "I spent three hours studying how to smile..."

"I know."

"You think that's silly?"

"I really do."

He stared at you in mock offence before you laughed properly this time, the sound filling the empty stage. It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. Just warm. Genuine. Completely unguarded.

Jaafar forgot to answer.

Instead...

He simply looked at you. His shoulders relaxed without him noticing. His eyes softened.

And a smile slowly appeared. Not rehearsed, not measured, not studied. Just...genuine.

You stopped laughing. "...There!"

He blinked. "What?"

"That one."

"What one?"

"The smile."

He frowned. "What smile?"

"The one you were doing just now."

He looked completely confused. "I'm smiling?"

You nodded. "That."

You pointed directly at him.

"That's the smile."

His expression froze.

"...Really?"

"Yeah. You look handsome when you did that smile—" You immediately paused, catching yourself as Jaafar was equally, if not more flustered than you.

Neither of you spoke for several long seconds.

The silence somehow felt louder than any conversation.

Eventually one of the assistant directors poked their head inside.

"There you two are."

Both of you practically sprang apart.

"We're ready to rehearse!"

You and Jaafar answered at exactly the same time.

"Coming." You two awkwardly stepped out of the break room.

The assistant director looked between you both, shaking his head. "So obvious."

———————

It was the filming of the first meeting scene.

The beginning of one of the sweetest, real love stories in Hollywood.

The moment that would establish why Michael and Mrs. Jackson fell in love, and how Michael's life would change in that one moment forever.

The set had been transformed into a lavish 1983 after-party celebrating the impossible success of Thriller.

Gold chandeliers reflected against polished marble floors.

Champagne glasses sat untouched across velvet-covered tables while extras dressed in shimmering evening gowns and immaculate tuxedos drifted around the room in slow choreography.

A live jazz quartet rehearsed softly in the corner, their music blending into the quiet chatter echoing throughout the ballroom.

Outside the enormous balcony windows, the lighting crew had built an artificial sunrise that would gradually brighten over the course of the scene.

The director, Antoine gathered everyone.

"Remember," he said. "This isn't love at first sight. It's recognition. Two shy people who somehow find one another in a room where neither feels comfortable."

You nodded. Jaafar nodded too. Neither of you looked at each other.

The slate clapped.

"Action."

The room immediately came alive.

As Michael, Jaafar wandered through the crowded celebration with polite smiles that never quite reached his eyes.

People congratulated him. Shook his hand. Praised Thriller.

Yet despite the overwhelming attention, he looked oddly isolated, quietly slipping away toward the balcony for fresh air.

That was your cue.

As Mrs. Jackson, you had been standing near the refreshments, nervously adjusting the sleeve of your dress before wandering outside yourself.

Neither character expected company.

Then your eyes met.

For a long second...nothing happened. No dramatic music. No instant romance. Just two painfully shy people caught looking at one another.

Jaafar gave the tiniest, almost apologetic smile.

"...Hi."

You looked away before smiling back.

"Hi."

"You... um..."

He laughed nervously in character.

"I don't actually know what I was going to say."

You couldn't help laughing too.

"That's alright."

"I just thought... everybody else seems to know everybody."

"They do."

"And..."

Another awkward silence.

"...I don't."

"I don't either."

A tiny laugh escaped both of you.

"So..." Michael scratched the back of his neck. "Would it be alright if... maybe... we didn't know everybody together?"

The crew behind the monitors smiled.

The dialogue wasn't even particularly romantic. It just felt... honest. The scripted conversation carried on for several pages. You both spoke about music. Childhood. Books. How strange fame was. Michael admitted parties exhausted him. The latter confessed she'd nearly gone home twenty minutes after arriving because she hated crowded events.

"I thought I was the only one."

"Oh, definitely not."

"You really don't like parties?"

"I like leaving them."

He laughed. "So do I."

The laughter became easier.

The silences became softer.

By the time the artificial sunrise slowly painted warm orange light across the balcony, neither character wanted the conversation to end.

The script should've ended very simply.

You checked the time.

"I should probably head home."

Michael smiled sadly. "Yeah."

She walked away, fade out. That was what was written.

That wasn't what happened. You delivered your final scripted line.

"I should probably head home."

You turned.

One step. Two—suddenly—

"Wait." He called out so softly, with a hint of desperation.

Um...what? That wasn't in the script.

Your heart skipped. You turned around instinctively.

Jaafar looked equally surprised by what he'd just done.

As Michael, he stood frozen for a second before slowly walking toward you. Then...he reached forward. Very gently. His fingers wrapped around your hand.

The crew collectively held their breath, mouths open in shock.

"I..." He swallowed.

His voice became almost painfully quiet. "So..." Michael asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Um... would you... maybe want to see me again?"

Nobody moved.

The director didn't yell cut.

Everyone simply watched, you hadn't planned anything either, your brain emptied—Then instinct took over.

You thought of what she would've done in that moment if Michael took her hand. Instead of answering immediately...you stepped forward, and wrapped your arms around him.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't passionate. It was simply... grateful. Comfortable. Like she'd already found home. You rested your head against his shoulder.

"...Definitely."

Jaafar visibly stopped breathing for about half a second.

Then, almost automatically—

He hugged you back.

When you finally separated, he looked at you with the kind of smile that said Michael himself couldn't quite believe someone had just chosen him. You smiled too, seeing him smile...that's the one he practiced.

Then, without warning—

He leaned forward.

Placed the gentlest kiss against your cheek. A tiny one, barely there.

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise.

Michael—no, Jaafar immediately looked just as shocked as you did. "Oh...um..." He laughed awkwardly.

"Sorry." Then, completely flustered—Michael gave the most bashful wave imaginable.

"...I'.."

He laughed again.

"...O-okay, bye."

And before Mrs. Jackson could answer—He practically ran away down the hallway, grinning to himself like an embarrassed teenager—definitely what Michael would've done in that moment if he was that bold.

You stood there, touching your warm cheek, unable to stop smiling. "...See you."

Silence. Then—

"CUT!"

The entire set erupted. Crew members clapped.

Someone behind the monitors shouted,

"KEEP THAT! KEEP THAAAT!"

Antoine stood up from his chair, his face riddled with amazement and confusion. "You two...are—wait, Jaafar!"

Jaafar was still running off, too embarrassed from what he improvised as he locked himself in his dressing room. You had your hands up to your face, flustered as well.

"Jaafar, come back! You guys did amazing! Keep it up with the improv!" Antoine yelled out.

A muffled, clearly embarrassed voice responded from behind the door. "Thank you!" The door didn't open for a couple of minutes as the crew laughed whilst you hid in your own dressing room.

Both you and Jaafar leaned on the door, sliding down.

Was that really for the movie??

———————

2026.

The cameras rolled only a few seconds after the countdown ended, though it felt much longer than that.

Bright studio lights bathed the stage in a warm glow that almost mimicked the golden lighting from the film's premiere, the cream-coloured sofa looking deceptively comfortable despite the nerves quietly settling in your stomach.

Rows upon rows of audience members sat only a few metres away, many already smiling excitedly before a single question had been asked.

Behind them, enormous LED screens displayed the Michael logo, intercut with stills from the film—Michael performing on stage, intimate family moments, and one particular image that had somehow become one of the most recognisable promotional photographs: Michael and Mrs. Jackson standing together, foreheads nearly touching, smiling in complete silence.

You sat with your hands neatly folded on your lap, smoothing the fabric of your outfit every few seconds without even realising you were doing it. It was an old nervous habit.

Beside you, Jaafar looked remarkably composed from a distance, but anyone who had spent even five minutes around him during filming knew otherwise.

His knee bounced ever so slightly beneath the coffee table. He adjusted the sleeve of his jacket. Then his watch. Then the microphone clipped neatly against his lapel. Then he quietly cleared his throat. Then, almost instinctively, he reached up to smooth hair that didn't need smoothing at all.

You noticed.

He noticed you noticing.

For exactly one second your eyes met.

You both smiled awkwardly, then immediately looked somewhere else. The audience didn't miss it. An entire section of the crowd let out a collective, "Awww."

The interviewer hadn't even introduced the programme yet.

He lowered the cue cards in his hands, looked between the two of you with an amused smile, then slowly turned towards the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen..." he laughed. "We've been live for approximately eight seconds."

The audience burst into laughter.

"And they're already blushing."

Your shoulders instinctively curled inward as you covered part of your face with one hand, laughing softly into your fingers while shaking your head. Beside you, Jaafar leaned back against the sofa cushions, letting out a quiet, embarrassed groan as one hand rubbed across the back of his neck.

"Oh, man..." he muttered under his breath, though his smile betrayed just how amused he actually was.

The interviewer chuckled warmly.

"This..." he gestured between the two of you, "...is going to be a very enjoyable interview."

The audience applauded.

Only then did everyone properly settle.

After the opening introductions and congratulations surrounding the success of the film, the conversation naturally drifted towards the experience of making it. The interviewer rested one ankle over the opposite knee, glanced down at his notes before looking back up with genuine curiosity.

"I think one of the reasons people have connected with Michael so deeply," he began, "is because everyone involved treated these people with so much care. This wasn't just another biopic—it was incredibly personal for a lot of you. So I'd love to ask... what was the hardest part?"

You took a quiet breath before answering.

"Hm..."

Your eyes briefly wandered upwards as though searching for the right words somewhere among the studio lights.

"I think..." you smiled thoughtfully, "...the emotional scenes."

Your voice remained soft enough that the audience naturally leaned in.

"You can rehearse crying."

You lightly shrugged.

"You can practise the dialogue. You can work out exactly where the camera is going to be, when you're supposed to breathe, when you're supposed to look away."

You paused.

"But that love.."

You glanced briefly towards one of the still photographs displayed behind the audience.

"...you can't really rehearse that kind of love."

The room became noticeably quieter.

"There were days where we'd finish a scene and..." you smiled sadly, "...nobody really wanted to say 'cut' had happened."

You looked down at your hands.

"The cameras would stop rolling. The crew would start quietly packing equipment away—some of them would be crying...and..."

You laughed gently through your nose.

"...sometimes nobody spoke for five or ten minutes."

Your fingers absent-mindedly intertwined.

"It felt wrong to immediately go back to normal."

The interviewer nodded slowly.

"Because these weren't fictional people."

"No."

You shook your head.

"They were real. They loved. They laughed. They made mistakes. They had children. They experienced joy. They experienced heartbreak."

Your smile softened.

"And every single morning we reminded ourselves...we're guests. We're stepping into lives that mattered. So we weren't trying to imitate them, we were trying to honour them."

A quiet wave of applause swept through the audience.

You looked down bashfully before smiling in appreciation.

Beside you, Jaafar nodded long before his microphone reached his mouth.

"I completely agree."

His voice carried a calm sincerity that immediately settled across the room.

"There were genuinely days where..." he paused, searching for the memory, "...I'd leave set and still be Michael for another hour."

He laughed quietly.

"Not intentionally. I'd just..."

He gestured vaguely with one hand.

"...still be thinking like him."

The interviewer tilted his head.

"What do you mean?"

Jaafar smiled.

"I spent so long asking myself...'What would Uncle Michael do?'"

The audience laughed as you smiled.

"'How would he respond?' 'Would he laugh here?' 'Would he stay quiet?'"

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees now.

"So after filming...I'd accidentally still be asking those questions."

The audience smiled.

"It became part of my day."

The interviewer grinned.

"And physically?"

Jaafar immediately laughed.

"Oh..."

He leaned back dramatically.

"My body hated me."

The audience erupted into laughter.

"I'm serious."

He lifted both hands.

"I don't think I've ever stretched that much in my life."

More laughter.

"I'd spend six hours dancing, then I'd go home. Then I'd watch rehearsal footage." He listed off on his fingers. "Then I'd watch concert footage, then I'd read, then I'd do vocal exercises, then I'd practice walking."

The interviewer blinked.

"...Walking?"

Jaafar nodded.

"Michael walked differently."

The audience chuckled.

"He'd stand so straight...the way he'd turn corners. The way he'd point. The way he'd reach for something."

He demonstrated one of Michael's delicate hand movements almost unconsciously before stopping halfway through and laughing.

"See? I still do it."

The audience applauded.

"There were mornings where I'd wake up and literally every muscle hurt."

He smiled.

"But honestly...I loved every second."

The interviewer turned towards you once more.

"And portraying Mrs. Jackson?"

You smiled almost immediately.

"I wanted to understand who she was when nobody was watching."

The audience listened carefully.

"We all know the headlines, famous appearances...but I wasn't interested in those." You sat up.

"I wanted to know...what made her laugh, what made her nervous. How she looked at Michael when there weren't cameras around."

You looked towards Jaafar, who was already listening intently.

"So I read everything I could. I listened to stories. I watched interviews. I tried to imagine what her everyday life might've looked like."

You smiled.

"And honestly..."

You glanced sideways again.

"Rehearsing with Jaafar made it easy."

His eyebrows lifted.

"Really?"

You nodded.

"Because..."

You laughed quietly.

"...It wasn't that hard to see how Mrs. Jackson fell for Michael."

The audience instantly reacted.

A chorus of excited squeals echoed around the theatre.

You froze.

Your eyes widened.

"Oh..."

Your hands immediately flew to your cheeks.

"I didn't mean..."

Laughter erupted.

"I mean..."

You laughed helplessly.

"I meant..."

You pointed vaguely at Jaafar without looking at him.

"...his performance."

"I meant how she fell for Michael—not me...."

The audience laughed even harder. Jaafar's ears had warmed at that.

He leaned into his microphone almost defensively. "I know exactly what she meant."

The interviewer immediately leaned forward. "Did you?"

The audience roared.

Jaafar laughed, rubbing both hands over his face.

"Yes." He smiled into his palms. "I know what she meant."

The interviewer looked unconvinced. "Hm."

More laughter. "You answered that awfully fast."

Jaafar looked down at his shoes, smiling to himself as he quietly muttered,

"...Because we've had this conversation before."

The audience practically exploded.

The interviewer took one long look at the pair of you before dramatically placing his cue cards against his knee with an exaggerated sigh, allowing the audience's laughter to settle naturally instead of rushing to the next question.

Every time the room grew quiet, someone else in the crowd would let out another little "aww," setting everyone off all over again.

You couldn't help hiding your smile behind your hand, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter as you looked down at your lap, while beside you Jaafar sat with his lips pressed together, unsuccessfully trying to compose himself.

The corners of his mouth twitched every few seconds before another grin escaped, and he shook his head as if silently asking himself how the interview had somehow become this embarrassing less than twenty minutes in.

The interviewer pointed a finger between the two of you with a knowing smile. "Alright," he laughed. "Since we've established that the two of you apparently cannot compliment one another without blushing..." The audience erupted again. "...let's talk about the scene."

An audible wave of excitement rippled through the theatre.

Several people clapped before he had even finished speaking.

Someone from somewhere near the front excitedly shouted, "The balcony!"

The interviewer laughed. "Yes. The balcony."

Behind all three of you, the enormous LED screen slowly faded from the Michael logo into the now-iconic sequence that had dominated social media for weeks.

The audience immediately recognised it from the opening frame alone, cheering before Michael had even appeared on screen. You instinctively glanced upwards, already smiling in embarrassment, while Jaafar leaned back against the sofa cushions and covered his eyes for a brief second with one hand.

"Oh, no," he mumbled, already laughing.

The clip began.

Michael nervously walking beside Mrs. Jackson after spending the evening together. Neither of them saying very much, just comfortable silence after having a talk.

Michael hesitating. Looking down, looking back up.

She was starting to say her goodbye when suddenly she felt his fingers grabbing for her hand.

The tiniest brush of his fingertips against hers before fully intertwining them. The audience collectively sighed dreamily.

Then came the line that everyone somehow knew by heart.

"So..." Michael asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Um... would you... maybe want to see me again?"

Mrs. Jackson looked at him for only a heartbeat before breaking into the gentlest smile.

Instead of answering immediately—she stepped forward, and wrapped both arms around him.

Michael completely froze. His eyes widened just enough to betray genuine surprise before he slowly melted into the embrace, smiling against her shoulder with that unmistakably shy expression.

The audience had already started squealing. Then—Michael pulled back just enough to look at her, without thinking—he leaned forward.

Pressed a soft kiss against her cheek. His own eyes widened the second he realised what he'd done.

"Oh." A tiny, awkward smile.

One little wave. "O-Okay... bye."

Then he turned—And practically fled. Not jogged. Not briskly walked.

Ran.

Straight through the balcony doors. The audience burst into uncontrollable laughter before the clip had even finished.

The interviewer was laughing so hard he had to remove his glasses to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I've watched that scene," he admitted between laughs, "probably thirty times."

More laughter.

"And every single time..." he pointed towards the screen behind him, "...that run gets funnier."

Jaafar dropped his head into his hands, smiling. "Oh, man..."

The interviewer turned back towards both of you. "So." He folded his cue cards together. "I think everyone wants to know...how much of that was actually scripted?"

Silence. You slowly turned your head towards Jaafar. Jaafar slowly turned his head towards you.

The moment your eyes met—Both of you immediately burst into helpless laughter.

The audience cheered. "There it is!" the interviewer exclaimed, pointing dramatically. "That look!"

Jaafar covered half his face. "I knew this question was coming."

"You did?" the interviewer asked.

"I was hoping maybe you'd forget."

"I absolutely wasn't going to forget." More laughter.

Jaafar sighed dramatically before sitting up straighter. "Okay..."

He rubbed his palms together. "So..."

He looked over at you for permission.

You nodded, already smiling.

"When I grabbed her hand..." He demonstrated the movement unconsciously, extending his own hand into the space between you before catching himself halfway and laughing. "...that wasn't scripted."

A collective gasp echoed around the studio. "We were supposed to stop about..." he gestured vaguely, "...here." He pointed towards the paused image on the monitor.

"And then the dialogue was supposed to continue. Instead...I just..." He shrugged sheepishly. "...reached for her hand."

The interviewer blinked. "You just... decided to?"

Jaafar nodded. "I don't know why—I wasn't planning it. It just felt..." He searched for the words. "...like something Michael would've done."

He looked towards you. "And thankfully..." He smiled. "...she didn't pull away."

The audience responded with another chorus of delighted squeals. You laughed softly. "I wasn't expecting it."

You looked down at your own hands as though remembering the moment. "I actually remember feeling his hand before I realised the cameras were still rolling."

You smiled. "And I remember thinking...'Oh...Michael finally got enough courage.'" The audience quietly melted.

"So..." you continued, "...Mrs. Jackson would've noticed."

The interviewer nodded slowly. "So the hug?"

You smiled. "Also wasn't scripted." The audience applauded.

"I just looked at him..."

You laughed to yourself.

"...and he genuinely looked terrified."

Everyone laughed.

"I thought...'There's no way she'd leave him standing there looking this nervous.' So...I hugged him."

You looked towards Jaafar again.

"I completely surprised him."

"Oh, absolutely," Jaafar laughed immediately.

"I had no idea she was about to hug me. I remember my brain completely shutting off."

The interviewer laughed. "So your reaction......was real?"

Jaafar nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. One hundred percent."

"I completely forgot there were cameras. I completely ignored Antoine. I completely forgot there were about a hundred crew members standing behind us."

The audience laughed. "It was just..." He smiled awkwardly. "...me being embarrassed."

The interviewer leaned forward. "And the kiss?"

The room instantly fell quiet again. Jaafar laughed once, then sighed. "I don't know."

The audience laughed.

"I'm serious." He shook his head. "I wish I had some kind of explanation—I don't. I just hugged her back..." He paused.

"...and then I looked at her. I thought..." He smiled to himself. "'Michael would probably kiss her cheek.' So...I did."

He looked down at his shoes. "And then about half a second later..."

His ears visibly reddened as everyone watched. "...I realised...'Jaafar, what have you done?'"

The audience exploded. "I panicked." He covered his face again."I literally panicked."

You were already laughing before he continued.

"I turned around...I walked through the balcony doors—I made it maybe three steps, and then I actually started running."

The interviewer was nearly crying with laughter again. "You genuinely ran?"

"I genuinely ran."

"Off the set?"

"Off the set."

"Past the crew?"

"Past everybody."

The audience laughed louder with every answer.

"I ran straight into my dressing room. I shut the door. I locked it. I sat on the floor."

The interviewer laughed. "Locked it?"

"I didn't want anybody coming in!"

More laughter.

"I remember somebody knocking." He mimicked the sound against the arm of the sofa.

"'Jaafar? Everything okay?'"

He buried his face in one hand. "And I yelled..." He laughed before finishing the sentence. "'I need five minutes!'"

The audience erupted into thunderous applause and laughter. You could barely breathe from laughing yourself.

"I remember wondering where he'd gone," you managed between giggles. "I thought maybe he'd forgotten one of his lines or maybe something technical had happened. So I walked over to one of the assistant directors and asked, 'Has anyone seen Jaafar?'"

You paused, already smiling.

"He didn't even look up from his clipboard."

The audience leaned in. "He just sighed..."

You lowered your voice to imitate him. "'He's hiding.'"

The studio exploded once more.

"I said, 'Hiding where?' And he goes..." You started laughing again before finishing. "'Dressing room.'"

"'Why?'"

"'Because you hugged him.'"

The laughter took several moments to die down, the audience still chuckling amongst themselves as Jaafar hid behind one hand, shaking his head with the kind of embarrassment that only made everyone adore him more.

You were wiping at the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard, taking a sip of water before setting the glass back down with a quiet breath.

The interviewer smiled at the pair of you for a long moment, allowing the atmosphere to settle naturally before his expression softened into something much more reflective.

"You know," he began quietly, resting his cue cards on his lap, "this film carries a different kind of weight for you, Jaafar."

The audience immediately grew still. He turned fully towards him. "You're not just portraying an icon." He paused.

"You're portraying your uncle."

Jaafar's smile gradually faded into something gentler. His fingers loosely wrapped around his microphone as he nodded once, his eyes dropping towards the floor for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. When he finally looked back up, there was a sincerity on his face that immediately changed the mood of the room.

"It was..." he exhaled softly. "...honestly, one of the most spiritual experiences of my life."

The room became silent enough that even the cameras moving around the stage could be heard.

"I don't really know how else to describe it." He smiled faintly.

"I spent almost every day asking myself what Uncle Michael would've done."

His thumb absent-mindedly traced circles around the microphone.

"I'd study concert footage until my eyes hurt. I'd practise dancing until my legs were shaking. I'd repeat little things over and over again—how he tilted his head, how he smiled when he was nervous, how he'd laugh when something genuinely caught him off guard."

He laughed quietly through his nose.

"There were nights I'd get home and my shoulders felt like they were on fire."

The audience smiled.

"But then I'd remember why I was doing it."

His expression softened.

"I read his handwritten notes, journals. I read little things he'd written down that weren't meant for cameras. I listened to people who knew him. And every single day before walking onto set..."

He paused.

"I'd tell myself...'Don't try to become Michael. Just understand him.'"

A ripple of applause spread through the set. Jaafar smiled gratefully before continuing.

"I wanted people to see the man behind the legend. The uncle I knew. The brother my family knew. The father his children knew. The husband my auntie knew."

He glanced towards you for only a brief moment before looking back to the interviewer. "And honestly..." He smiled. "...I just hoped he'd be proud."

The audience applauded much louder this time. Several people stood.

You quietly reached over without thinking, gently resting your hand against his forearm for a second.

He looked down at it, then at you.

You smiled. "I'm sure he is." You mouthed to him.

His eyes softened. "Thank you." He mouthed back.

The interviewer allowed the applause to fade before asking one final question.

"Was there ever a specific memory of your uncle that stayed with you throughout filming?"

Jaafar nodded almost immediately.

"There was."

He smiled to himself, as though watching the memory unfold somewhere only he could see.

"I kept remembering 2001. The 30th anniversary celebration of his career. I was still a kid. I remember standing backstage, I remember hearing everybody cheering. I remember watching Uncle Michael walk off stage."

His smile became impossibly fond. "And then...I watched him find Auntie..."

The audience smiled.

"He hugged her. They kissed. They laughed. They weren't performing for anyone. They were just..."

He searched for the word.

"...happy."

He chuckled softly. "I don't know why that memory kept coming back—I'd be filming a scene...and suddenly I'd remember seeing that as a little boy."

You had been listening intently. Your brows slowly knitted together.

"...Wait."

Jaafar turned towards you. "What?"

You blinked. "...I was there."

Silence.

The interviewer stared. "...You were what?"

You nodded, almost laughing in disbelief. "I was invited."

"There were a lot of children backstage. I remember because we were all lined up near the side of the stage waiting to meet everyone afterwards."

You looked towards Jaafar.

"I was watching the exact same moment."

He blinked. "No way."

"I swear." You said, putting a hand over your chest.

The audience immediately began murmuring amongst themselves. One of the producers behind the cameras suddenly lifted a finger. "Hang on."

Everyone looked towards him. He quickly disappeared behind the curtain.

The interviewer laughed. "I have absolutely no idea what's happening."

Neither did you.

About half a minute later, the producer hurried back onto the studio floor carrying a tablet, whispering something into the director's headset.

The interviewer's eyebrows shot upwards.

"...Apparently..." He laughed in disbelief. "...our team found archive footage."

The audience gasped as the enormous screen behind you slowly faded to grainy footage from 2001.

The date appeared briefly in one corner. "September 10, 2001." The audience applauded before the clip had even started.

Michael stood smiling beneath the stage lights and beside him stood Mrs. Jackson, both of them laughing together after the performance had ended.

The camera panned, children gathered behind them. Someone paused the footage.

"There," the producer called. The image zoomed in. A collective gasp swept through the whole set.

Little Jaafar. Standing quietly near one side of the stage.

Only a few feet away...

...was you.

Neither of you were looking at one another.

Neither of you even acknowledged the other's existence.

You were simply two children watching the same married couple embrace after an unforgettable performance, completely unaware that twenty-five years later you would be entrusted with telling their story together.

You covered your mouth with both hands. "Oh my goodness..."

Jaafar stared at the screen in complete disbelief. "...No."

He laughed quietly. "No way."

He stood up from the sofa almost instinctively, taking a few slow steps closer to the screen as if getting physically nearer would somehow make the footage easier to believe.

One hand rested on his hip while the other covered his mouth, his head shaking over and over in amazement. You stood beside him a second later, your eyes fixed on the paused image, unable to stop smiling.

"We were..." You laughed softly. "...right there."

He nodded. "We were literally standing beside each other."

The interviewer walked closer to the screen himself, looking from the footage to the two of you standing in front of it.

"I don't usually like throwing words like this around..."

He smiled. "But..." He pointed first at the image of the two children, then at the two of you standing before it. "...I don't know."

He laughed. "That feels like destiny."

The audience rose to its feet almost as one.

A standing ovation filled the studio.

Neither of you quite knew where to look. You looked at Jaafar. He happened to look at you at exactly the same moment. Both of you immediately looked away again.

The audience squealed so loudly that even the interviewer laughed. "Oh, come on." He shook his head. "You two really aren't helping yourselves."

You both laughed helplessly, cheeks flushed pink.

As everyone settled back into their seats, the interviewer smiled warmly, taking one final glance at his notes before folding them closed.

"I only have one last observation."

He looked between both of you with a grin that immediately made you suspicious.

"Oh, no," Jaafar laughed.

The audience giggled.

"I think everyone here..." The interviewer gestured around the audience. "...and everyone watching at home can agree that the chemistry between the two of you is extraordinary."

He shrugged innocently.

"On screen." He looked from you to Jaafar. "And, if I'm honest...off screen too."

The audience erupted into deafening cheers. Several people wolf-whistled.

Someone shouted, "Just kiss already!"

The entire set dissolved into laughter.

You immediately buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking as you laughed in complete embarrassment.

"Oh, my goodness..." You could barely get the words out.

Jaafar leaned back against the sofa, covering his face with both hands this time as he laughed so hard his microphone slipped slightly from his grasp.

"You guys are unbelievable," he said, his voice muffled behind his hands.

The interviewer only laughed harder. "So..." He pointed at the pair of you. "Anything you'd like to say?"

Jaafar slowly lowered his hands, revealing a face that had turned unmistakably red. He looked towards you for barely a second before instinctively looking away again, laughing under his breath.

"Um..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...thank you."

The audience cooed. You smiled shyly beside him, your own cheeks warm.

"Yeah..." You nodded. "Thank you."

Neither of you tried to explain yourselves.

Neither of you denied anything.

By the time the interview came to an end, clips were already spreading across the internet faster than anyone in the studio could have imagined.

2003neverland ranch

You couldn't believe you were doing this.

You sat there with your body angled toward Michael in the familiar comfort of your home theater while everything around you felt just slightly unfamiliar. The dim lighting hasn't changed, the seats haven't changed, the quiet intimacy of the room is still there, but now it's filled with cameras, crew members, quiet movement, and the awareness that something so private is about to be shared in a way it never has before. It's strange, letting people into something you've spent years protecting, years keeping close, especially when so many have already tried to define it for you without ever knowing the truth.

You and Michael have lived under that for so long. The stories, the assumptions, the way people take fragments and stretch them into something unrecognizable. You stopped correcting it a long time ago because it never felt worth it, because what mattered was always what existed between the two of you, not what the world thought it saw.

Sitting here now, knowing that for once you get to decide what is shown and what isn't, there's a quiet sense of control in it that you don't usually have. Not enough to take away the nerves completely, but enough to steady them.

"Baby, are you okay?" Michael's voice cuts gently through your thoughts, warm and immediate in a way that pulls you back without effort.

You blink, turning your head toward him, and the concern in his eyes is already there, settled in like it belongs, like it never left. He's watching you closely, reading you the way he always does, like he can feel when your mind starts to drift somewhere heavier than you meant it to.

"Yeah, sorry... just thinking, are we starting?" You ask.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he keeps looking at you, his gaze soft but searching, like he's deciding whether you mean that or if you're brushing something aside for the sake of everything happening around you. It's familiar, the way he pauses like that, like he refuses to move forward unless he knows you're truly okay.

Before he can say anything else, you shake your head slightly and lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting the contact speak for you just as much as your words do.

"I'm okay, Michael... I promise," you whisper. He exhales softly, still watching you for a second longer before he nods, though the concern doesn't fully leave his expression.

"If it's too much, we don't have to do this," he says.

There's no hesitation behind it, no pressure to continue just because the cameras are there or because everything has already been set up. It's a simple truth, offered without condition, and it lands deeper than anything else could. After everything the two of you have gone through recently, he means it completely.

The miscarriage is still fresh in ways neither of you has fully put into words, something that sits quietly beneath everything else, shaping how you move through moments like this. You had recently gone through it, and it had been difficult on both of you, but Michael was by your side the entire time, never once stepping away, never once making you feel like you had to carry it alone.

So you shake your head again, this time more certain, letting yourself settle back into the present. "No, it's okay... I was just thinking, I don't know which videos you picked, you wouldn't tell me," you say.

The shift in him is immediate, the heaviness easing just enough as a smile spreads across his face, followed by a soft laugh that pulls one out of you just as easily. It's always been like that with him, how quickly he can pull you out of something heavier without forcing it, just by being himself.

"I want to surprise you," he says, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

"I love you," he adds, the words coming out as naturally as anything else he says, like they've lived in him for so long they don't require thought anymore.

"I love you more," you respond, turning your head slightly to look at him more fully.

And when you do, you take him in properly, your eyes tracing over the open white shirt, the way it falls loosely against his chest, the black jacket layered over it in that effortless way he always carries himself. Even here, even in a moment like this, there's something undeniably him about it, something that hasn't changed.

"Sitting here with your chest out like this," you say, laughter slipping into your voice.

He looks at you with that familiar smirk, the one that always comes just before he leans in closer, his voice lowering as he brings his lips near your ear, making sure the moment stays between the two of you.

"Easier for you to take off when we finish this," he whispers.

You turn toward him with a matching smirk, the look that passes between you both unspoken but understood completely, something that belongs only to the two of you, no matter how many cameras are in the room. It lingers just long enough to settle before the presence of the crew pulls you back again.

Someone steps forward, letting you know they're ready, and Michael nods, shifting slightly in his seat as everything around you falls into place. You reach for his hand without thinking, your fingers slipping into his as easily as they always have, and you give a small squeeze. He returns it immediately, steady and grounding, the silent reassurance running both ways.

The cameras begin rolling, the quiet hum of the room shifting into something more focused.

"Many people are wondering why we would put our private home movies on television?" Michael starts.

His voice is calm, measured, familiar in a way the world recognizes, but sitting beside him, you can feel the intention behind it, the quiet decision to let people see something real instead of something constructed.

You take a slow breath before continuing, letting your voice come naturally, without forcing it into something performative.

"And so, we thought it was time to do so because many people have opinions about Michael, about me, and our relationship, and they haven't even met us; they don't even know us," you say.

His hand tightens slightly around yours as you speak, not enough to draw attention, just enough for you to feel it, the subtle reminder that you're not doing this alone.

"So, we thought it was time to open up and show them who we really are, who I really am... I'm simply Michael Jackson, and this is my beautiful wife of 15 years," Michael says, turning his head to look at you as he speaks.

The smile he gives you isn't for the cameras, and you know that instantly. It's the same one you've seen for years, the one that softens everything around it, the one that reminds you that no matter how much of your lives are about to be shared, what matters most has always existed outside of anyone else's view.

Your smile comes just as easily in response, not forced, not measured, just real.

"Cut."

The director's voice breaks through the moment, and the shift in the room is immediate, tension easing as people begin to move again. Before anything else can interrupt, Michael leans over, closing the small space between you to press a soft kiss to your lips, instinctive and unthinking in a way that feels far more real than anything the cameras could ever capture.

You smile against him when he pulls back, because even with everything happening around you, even with everything you're about to share, that part of your life has never needed an audience to exist.

Michael starts with his background, showing home movies from when he and his family still lived in Gary, Indiana, and you feel something soften in you as the footage flickers across the screen. The grainy clips carry a kind of warmth that only comes from time, from moments that were never meant to be preserved for anything other than memory. You watch him there: young, carefree in ways he rarely got to stay, surrounded by his brothers, laughter easier, movements lighter, untouched by everything that would come later. It's almost surreal, seeing him like that, knowing the version of him sitting beside you now, knowing everything in between.

You smile as you watch, because those moments matter. They always have. They're some of the last pieces of normalcy he was allowed to have, and even now, years later, you can feel how much they still mean to him without him having to say it out loud.

dangerous tour

Then the footage shifts, the tone following it, moving from childhood into performance, into the beginning of something much bigger. You already know what comes with it. You've heard the stories, seen the effects, lived through your own version of it alongside him. You knew how hard Joe pushed them, how early the pressure started, how little space there was for anything else.

Michael starts talking about touring as the clips play, and you lean into him without thinking, your head settling gently against his shoulder as you watch both the screen and him at the same time. There's something about seeing those moments while sitting next to him now that makes everything feel closer, more real, like the distance between then and now disappears for just a second.

You remember how grueling touring was for him. It was always the most exhausted you've ever seen him, the kind of tired that didn't just go away with sleep, because it wasn't only physical.

"It's a difficult thing to tour... You go from one continent to another, you're sleepy, the time zones are different, and you can't sleep after the show. The adrenaline is up here," Michael explains.

One of the camera crew looks at him, and even before he speaks, you can already tell where it's going. "Can we just do it again without the negative saying that you don't like to tour?" he asks.

Michael turns his head toward him immediately, shaking it without hesitation. "I don't like it though... I go through hell touring," he says.

You gently squeeze his hand where your fingers are still intertwined, grounding him in a way that doesn't interrupt, just supports. The back and forth between him and the cameraman continues, light but persistent, and you can feel that familiar mix of honesty and compromise settling in.

Eventually, Michael nods, giving in just enough. "Okay, okay, I'll make it positive, but you know the truth," he says.

You laugh softly at that, because of course he does, of course he can't just let it go without making that clear. "Okay, action, Michael," the cameraman says.

Michael turns back toward the front camera, straightening just slightly as he resets himself, and then he nods. "I love to tour," he says.

You don't even get a chance to stop yourself. The laugh comes out immediately, breaking through before you can hold it back, and the second it does, Michael turns to you, already laughing too, the moment dissolving into something real and unpolished as the camera crew joins in.

"See? Baby, why'd you start laughing? I was about to get into it," Michael says through his laughter.

You shake your head, still smiling, the warmth of the moment spreading easily between you. "I'm sorry... it just wasn't convincing at all," you say.

He laughs again, shaking his head as he settles back, the honesty of it lingering even as the moment passes.

Michael goes on to explain that his favorite part of going on tour is his fans, and you feel that shift in him as he talks about them. It's something you've always admired, the way he loves them without hesitation, without distance, the way he sees them as more than just a crowd. Your home has always been filled with fan mail, letters stacked carefully, read and reread, never treated like something disposable.

He talks about how they know every song, every move, how they can recognize what's coming from just a single chord, and there's a kind of light in him when he says it, something genuine and untouched.

The footage switches to one of the Dangerous shows, and you recognize it immediately, the memory rising up before he even says anything. You smile without realizing it, because you remember exactly how that night felt.

Michael is talking about how much love his fans give him when he comes on stage, and then his voice shifts slightly, something softer threading through it.

"One of the best moments is right here," Michael says as he smiles at the screen.

You follow his gaze, your eyes lifting as the footage continues, and then you see it, you see yourself stepping onto the stage with the marching band, and the memory hits fully this time, vivid and immediate.

"It's right in the middle of the show, it's my birthday, and I'm thousands of miles away from my family, and my wife surprised me with a full marching band, and then she brought out this huge, beautiful birthday cake," Michael explains.

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face as you watch it play out. On the screen, he's flustered, overwhelmed in that soft, genuine way he gets when something catches him off guard like that. He's covering his face, smiling through it, and you're there, focused and excited, gesturing for the stagehands to bring the cake out at the right moment, your attention split between the timing and him.

"Okay, everyone, you ready?" your voice on the video says into the microphone.

The crowd erupts, loud and immediate, and you watch yourself lead them into singing happy birthday, thousands of voices joining in, filling the space in a way that feels almost unreal even now.

"I realized two things that night... I don't deserve my wife at all, and I've got family all over the world, everywhere I go, because my fans really show me the love, and I love them just as much," Michael says with a smile.

Your chest tightens just slightly at that, not in a painful way, but in a way that reminds you how deeply he feels everything, how much he carries, how much he gives.

On the screen, the song finishes, the crowd still roaring, and before you can even fully register it, Michael reaches for you, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you into a kiss right there on stage.

The crowd explodes into cheers and applause, the sound echoing through the theater as you watch it happen again, years later, the moment just as real now as it was then.

"His fans have always been so supportive of us... of course, you have some that can be a bit mean and nasty, but I don't take it personally, I know they love him so much and feel like he's theirs, and in a way, he is. I love the way that he is loved by them, and I love the way he loves them back," you explain with a smile.

The words come easily, because they're true, because you've lived inside that dynamic for years now and learned how to understand it instead of fighting it. Sitting there beside him, watching the footage play out on the screen, you can feel that same warmth settle in your chest again, that same appreciation for the connection he has with people all over the world, the way it's never felt distant to him, no matter how large it's grown.

You and Michael turn toward each other for a brief moment as the scene continues, both of you smiling in that quiet, shared way that doesn't need to be explained. There's something about seeing it again, about being back in that moment together, that pulls the same joy right back to the surface. It lingers between you just long enough to be felt fully before your attention shifts back to the screen.

On the footage, Michael pulls away from the kiss slowly, still smiling, still slightly overwhelmed in that soft, genuine way that always shows when something touches him deeply. He looks at you first, like he always does, like you're the anchor in the middle of everything, and then when he speaks, his voice carries out to both you and the crowd.

"Thank you to my wife... Thank you all so much. This is incredible," Michael says on the video.

You can't help the smile that settles deeper across your face as you watch it, remembering exactly how that moment felt, how real it was in the middle of all that noise and excitement. It was never about the spectacle for you: it was about him, about making sure he felt something that he had gone so long without.

"I always love doing something special for Michael on his birthday, no matter where we are, because he didn't celebrate them growing up because of the family's faith, and you know he gives so much to everyone, and especially to me... I just try to always show him he's loved and appreciated in return," you say.

As the words leave you, you feel his attention shift again, not toward the screen this time, but fully toward you. There's something softer in his expression, something deeper that settles there as he takes in what you've said, like it reaches him in a way that goes beyond the moment.

"Every day with you has shown me that," Michael says.

It's quiet, but it lands with weight, with sincerity that you've never had to question. You bite down gently on your lip, feeling the emotion rise just slightly in your chest, not overwhelming, but present enough to remind you of everything that sits behind a simple statement like that.

christmas at neverland

"I've met a lot of people in my life, and very few are real, real, real friends, you can probably count them on one hand... Elizabeth Taylor and my wife are two of the most loyal, loving, and caring people that I know," Michael says as the video switches, and the second the image changes, you feel the recognition settle in, a soft smile already forming as you realize exactly which memory he chose.

Christmas.

The screen fills with the warmth of it before anything else fully registers, lights woven through the trees, garlands wrapped carefully along the railings, the entire space transformed into something that feels almost unreal even now. Sitting there beside him, you feel yourself slipping back into that moment without effort, remembering the quiet excitement you carried that morning, the anticipation of finally sharing something with him that he had never experienced before.

"The two of them decided to transform Neverland into its first Christmas because I don't celebrate Christmas," Michael explained as the video continued, and the camera moves slowly through the house, capturing every detail the two of you had spent hours putting into place. The decorations feel alive in the footage, every light and ornament carrying the intention behind it, and then Elizabeth's voice comes through, clear and full of warmth.

"It is 1993, and this will be Michael Jackson's very first Christmas," Elizabeth says, and the video shifts again, settling on you and Elizabeth sitting together on the couch.

"It has taken me... I think five years of talking him into celebrating Christmas at Neverland... I understood that as a Jehovah's Witness, they don't celebrate Christmas, but when he stepped away from being a Jehovah's Witness, I said to him, I think Christmas is a wonderful way of celebrating love. It's a celebration of love... and we got married in 1988, right after he left the faith, so we never got the chance to have our first Christmas together," you say on the video, and sitting there in the present, you feel Michael's hand tighten gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a quiet, grounding motion that pulls you fully into the now while the past continues to play out in front of you.

"And I can't see Christmas without Michael, or Michael without Christmas," Elizabeth says on the video.

The footage continues, following you and Elizabeth as you move through the house, the camera capturing every corner of Neverland that had been transformed overnight. You remember how carefully the two of you planned it, how intentional every detail was, wanting him to feel it fully, not just see it. There had been something almost childlike in the way you approached it, not because it was a holiday, but because it was his first time experiencing it.

"I had no idea they were planning this... This was a... a real surprise," Michael says, his voice soft as the video continues, now showing you and Elizabeth making your way upstairs toward the bedroom.

You remember that part clearly, the quiet of the house before he woke up, the way you had slipped out of bed earlier than usual, careful not to wake him, letting Elizabeth in so the two of you could set everything up before he even realized what was happening.

"Michael... baby," your voice calls out on the video.

"And that's our bedroom, they're coming to. I was surprised to hear her voice because I didn't even feel her get out of bed, so hearing her voice outside of the door woke me up and made me realize she was no longer next to me," Michael says, turning his head toward you with a smile that carries both amusement and something softer beneath it, and you laugh quietly, the memory settling warmly between you.

"I couldn't leave Elizabeth to decorate alone," you say, the explanation simple, but the meaning behind it still there, still understood.

On the screen, the bedroom door opens, and Michael steps out in his pajamas, his expression shifting almost instantly as he sees you standing there. There's that brief moment of confusion, of realizing you hadn't been beside him when he woke, and then it melts into something else entirely as he takes in the scene in front of him. He leans in to kiss Elizabeth on the cheek, familiar and affectionate, and then he turns to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, soft and natural in a way that feels just as intimate now as it did then.

Sitting beside him, you lean into him slightly, your shoulder brushing his as you watch, the memory pulling you closer without you even thinking about it.

In the video, you and Elizabeth guide him back downstairs, and the moment he steps into the main space, everything shifts again. The look on his face: surprise, disbelief, and something almost overwhelmed, fills the screen as he takes in the decorations, the lights, the presents waiting beneath the tree.

"Oh my god... It's incredible. I can't believe this," Michael says on the video.

Next to you, he smiles, squeezing your hand again as if the feeling from that day is still sitting just beneath the surface.

"They decorated the entire house," Michael says, and you can hear it in his voice, even now, how much that moment stayed with him. On the screen, he moves slowly through the space, taking everything in like he doesn't want to miss a single detail, like he's trying to understand something entirely new all at once.

You watch yourself point out the presents, your voice explaining which ones are his, your excitement clear even through the grain of the footage, and it brings another smile to your face as you remember how much you wanted him to enjoy it, to feel it the way you did.

"At the same time, it was exciting, and I felt so guilty too. I remember going to the bathroom and crying later because I felt I had done something wrong, because I was raised not to ever celebrate it," Michael says, his voice quieter now, more reflective, and you feel your hand tighten gently around his in response, instinctive and immediate.

He glances at you for just a moment, that familiar look passing between you, before he turns back toward the camera.

"And she was so good to me that day... she reminded me that I wasn't doing anything wrong, and reminded me that Christmas is a celebration of love. I still felt a little guilty, but she helped ease that for me, and let me know that it was okay," Michael says.

You turn your head slightly toward him, your smile softening as you take in the way he says it, the sincerity that never fades, no matter how many years have passed since that moment.

The video continues on, Michael opening his gifts, and the energy in the room shifts into something lighter, something playful that feels almost effortless after the emotional weight of everything that came before. You watch as he unwraps them on the screen, his reactions just as genuine as you remember, the quiet surprise turning into something brighter when he realizes what he's holding.

Two super-soakers.

Even now, sitting beside him, you can feel the memory before it fully plays out, the way that moment turned into something much bigger than just a gift, the way it carried forward into the rest of the day like it always did with him, turning something small into something unforgettable.

On the screen, he makes the joke, already leaning into it.

"If you're wondering why I love Super Soakers so much, it's because if you come to Neverland, it's a rule that you are bound to get wet," Michael says.

You turn your head toward him immediately, your eyebrow lifting without you even thinking about it, because you know exactly where that sentence could go, and sure enough, he turns to you at the same moment. The second his eyes meet your expression, recognition flashes across his face, followed by that familiar laugh that always comes when the two of you land in the same unspoken place at the same time.

You shake your head, already trying to hide the reaction you know is coming.

"By being thrown in the pool," he continues.

Your face burns instantly, the heat rising before you can stop it, and you turn away from him, refusing to give him the full reaction you know he's looking for, even though the memory behind it plays just as clearly in your mind as it does for him. The way he laughs again beside you only makes it worse, because you can feel the shared understanding sitting between you, a private joke that no one else in the room fully gets, no matter how much they laugh along with him.

You can still hear it in his laugh, the way it lingers just a second longer when it's something that belongs only to the two of you.

The cameras cut for a moment, then shift back to production, subtly but noticeably as someone steps forward, asking Michael if there's a direction he wants to go in next. The room settles again, quieter now, waiting.

He doesn't hesitate. He says he wants to go back to the beginning, to talk more about how the two of you met.

And just like that, everything pulls backward, the warmth of the present blending into something older, something that reaches all the way back to the early 80s, where all of this really started.

thriller

The videos of the rehearsals for Thriller start to play, and the moment the familiar footage fills the screen, something soft and warm settles in your chest. You recognize it instantly: not just the choreography or the setting, but the feeling of it, the beginning of something that neither of you fully understood at the time. You smile without even thinking about it, your body leaning slightly into Michael's as the memory pulls you back.

"We met when I was hired to star in the Thriller video with Michael, as the love interest," you say. Michael chuckles beside you, the sound low and familiar, already colored with the memory of it.

"We probably rehearsed for hours and hours every day... because I wanted to get it right, of course, but also because I wanted to spend more time with her. First day that I saw her, she was beautiful... she still is, obviously, but she made me so nervous," Michael says.

You feel the smile deepen at that, the memory of how it actually felt settling in alongside what he's saying now.

"That's why he wanted to rehearse all the time, he knew that was his best way of communicating with me, by letting me fully see him in his element," you say.

Michael lifts his hand slightly, pointing toward the screen as the footage shifts, and you follow it as it cuts to the dance studio, the two of you there with John Landis. The energy of it comes through even now, focused but playful, structured but alive in a way that felt different from anything else you had done before. The scene of you both practicing the moment where you leave the movie theater plays out, the choreography still familiar, still easy to follow.

"John told me I was going too fast, but I was just so nervous... I mean, look at her, she's beautiful, who wouldn't make a few missteps?" Michael says.

Heat rises in your cheeks before you can stop it, and you shake your head lightly, smiling as you watch the footage continue. You can see it so clearly now, the way John keeps correcting him, telling him not to move too far ahead of you, the way the two of you move through the choreography, and underneath it, something quieter, something that hadn't been obvious in the moment but feels undeniable now.

The camera catches the way Michael is looking at you as you stand just in front of him.

His expression is softened, his focus entirely on you in a way that stands out even against everything else happening in the room. It's a look you've come to know over the years, one that has never really changed, but seeing it there, that early, something about it shifts your understanding of when this all really started.

You feel it more than you react to it, but beside you, Michael notices it too. You can tell by the way he smiles. "From that day... I knew she was the one for me," he says.

You turn your head toward him, the words catching you just slightly off guard, even now. "Really?" you ask.

He nods without hesitation.

"Doing Thriller rehearsals with you was some of the most fun I've had in my life, and you didn't treat me like Michael Jackson... you treated me normally, like I was just some regular costar on a regular job," he says.

You both laugh at that, because it's true, because that was exactly how you approached it without ever thinking twice about it.

"But that's what I've always admired about her, that I can just be myself with her, not a popstar, not a performer, or an entertainer... just hers," Michael says.

The way he says it settles deeper than the words themselves, and you lean over without thinking, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your hand brushing lightly against his arm as you do.

the grammys

The video shifts again, moving forward, and this time you recognize it immediately.

The night of the 1984 Grammys.

By then, everything had already changed between the two of you. You were officially together, months into something that had already started to root itself in ways neither of you was questioning anymore. It was also the first time the world would see you together like that, stepping into something public that had, until then, been yours.

"Oh, and this is on the way to the Grammys... I had gotten a record 13... I think 13 nominations for Thriller, and uh... so I didn't know what was going to happen," Michael says.

On the screen, the car door opens, and he steps out first, the blue and gold of his outfit catching the light immediately, the sunglasses adding that extra layer of composure he always carried in public. Then he turns back toward the car, reaching inside, and your attention shifts fully to the moment you remember just as clearly.

He's reaching for you.

You watch as he helps you out, his hand steady, familiar even then, and as you step into frame, your gold dress catches the light in a way that almost mirrors his, the two of you visually connected before anything is even said.

You glance at him beside you, and he's already smiling, the same smile that's on his face in the footage, like the moment exists in both places at once.

"Michael insisted we match that night," you say with a smile. He laughs softly, shaking his head.

"We were going public for the first time as a couple... I just wanted to look good next to her... I mean, look at her. She's outshining me in that dress," Michael says.

You roll your eyes, but the smile stays, lingering as you watch the two of you on the screen, moving through that moment like it was just another step forward, even though it meant so much more than that.

You were both so young then.

And sitting here now, watching it all play back, it's impossible not to feel the weight of everything that came after, everything that built from moments just like that, when the world was just starting to catch up to something the two of you had already begun to understand.

The video shows Bill coming up next to you, holding Emmanuel Lewis, and the moment he appears on the screen, both you and Michael react at the same time, smiling as you greet him in the footage. It's easy, natural, the kind of interaction that didn't feel significant in the moment but now feels like part of something much bigger when you see it again. The scene continues, shifting fluidly into the two of you being guided through the back entrance of the Grammys, the energy changing as you step into a room filled with other stars and celebrities, conversations overlapping, people moving, attention constantly shifting.

On the screen, people come up to Michael one after another, greeting him, congratulating him, drawn to him in a way that feels almost constant, and you're there beside him, being greeted too, included in the moment but still new to the scale of it. Watching it now, you realize how much of that night blurred together at the time, how much you were just trying to take in without fully understanding what you were stepping into.

But then you notice something you hadn't noticed that night.

Even with all of that attention, all of those people coming up to him, Michael never fully lets you out of his awareness. The camera catches it over and over again in a way that feels impossible to miss now. He'll be mid-conversation, smiling, responding to someone, and then his eyes shift just slightly, searching across the room until they land on you. He watches for a moment, just long enough to make sure you're okay, that you're comfortable, that you're not overwhelmed, before he turns back to whoever is speaking to him.

And then he does it again, and again. The pattern is so consistent that once you see it, you can't unsee it, and something about it settles deep in your chest.

"I never noticed how much you were checking on me that night," you say to him. Michael turns to you, that soft smile already there, like he doesn't need to think about the answer.

"I knew you weren't used to that level of fame yet... and it was our first public appearance together. I had to make sure you were okay, or if you felt uncomfortable, I needed to make sure I was nearby so I could intervene if I needed to," Michael says.

You smile at that, because it fits him so completely, because it's exactly who he is, even when no one else is paying attention.

The video shifts again, moving into a lighter moment, and the change in tone is immediate. Chuck Berry appears, and before you can even fully process it, the footage shows him lifting you up in his arms, your laughter spilling out freely, Michael's blending with yours in a way that fills the space around it. Sitting there now, you shake your head, laughing along with it, the memory just as vivid as the image on the screen.

Then the scene cuts again, moving forward as you and Michael are escorted further into the building, the movement more focused now as everything leads toward the main event.

"Now we're on our way to go inside the building. Emmanuel tried to go up under her dress," Michael says. The footage switches again, showing you and Michael standing together as you wait to be led into the audience area, Emmanuel beside you, small and curious, his attention clearly fixed on your dress as he plays with the fabric.

"He's a flirt... see, I liked her, well, she was my girl officially at this point, and because of that Emmanuel liked her too, but he knew she was mine," Michael says with a smile.

The video shifts once more, the two of you walking hand-in-hand toward your seats, the movement steady, connected, natural in a way that feels grounding even in that environment.

"Oh, here's us walking in," Michael says.

You watch it carefully this time, noticing things you hadn't allowed yourself to fully process back then, the scale of it all coming into sharper focus as the moment plays out again.

"I remember being slightly overwhelmed because when we walked in, there was a tumultuous applause for Michael. People were really excited... I think it was then that I realized just how big Michael was. I mean, I knew Thriller's sales had done amazing, especially once his short films got in heavy rotation on MTV, but this night... this was when it really hit me," you say.

As the words leave you, you feel his attention shift again, the same quiet concern returning to his expression as he looks at you. He knows what that felt like for you, knows that even though you were already established in your own right, this was something different entirely. His world existed at a scale that few people ever truly understood, and bringing you into it, even gently, even carefully, was still a lot.

Over the years, you've learned how to move within it, how to hold your own without losing yourself, but he's never stopped being aware of it, never stopped watching for the moments where it might feel like too much.

The video changes again, moving into the aftermath of the Grammys, showing Michael with his eight awards, standing with Quincy Jones, the significance of the night captured in every frame. The camera then shifts to you both on the carpet, flashes going off, paparazzi calling out questions, asking if the two of you are together, trying to define something that, at that point, was already real long before they saw it.

And then it ends.

The screen settles, the moment fading out, and beside you, Michael turns his head, looking at you with that same softness that has never really changed.

"I don't think I would've gotten through that night without you. Everything was so big and overwhelming, and you kept me calm through it," Michael says. Then he turns toward the camera, his voice steady, but the meaning behind it deeper than what's being shown.

"And that's what she's always done... in the moments where things felt too big, too loud: award shows, tours, anytime we've gone out in public, she's always been my peace through it all," Michael says as he kisses your temple.

The gesture is gentle, instinctive, something he's done countless times before, but sitting there now, with everything you've just watched, it carries the weight of every moment that led up to it.

bad rehearsals

The next segment you guys do is when Michael was making his Bad short film, and the second, the footage begins to shift, you feel the change in yourself before you even fully process what you're looking at. Your smile comes first, instinctive, but underneath it, there's something deeper, something layered, because the Bad sessions weren't just another era for you. They were complicated. They were beautiful, yes, but they were also one of the few times where you genuinely didn't know if the two of you were going to make it to the altar and the life you had planned together.

You sit there, watching it unfold on the screen, and the memories don't come back in pieces; they come all at once. Michael had been completely consumed during that time. The studio, the sessions, the short films, the pressure of following Thriller, all of it pulling him deeper and deeper into himself until there were moments where you could feel the distance even when you were standing right in front of him. It wasn't intentional, you knew that even then, but that didn't make it easier to live through.

You had your own work happening at the same time, filming two movies back to back, your schedule just as demanding in its own way, but there were moments where it felt like you were the only one trying to bridge the gap. Missed phone calls that you waited on longer than you should have, promises to visit your set that never quite happened, nights where you told yourself you understood, and others where you didn't.

The anniversary dinner you had flown home for plays through your mind just as clearly as anything on the screen now, the quiet disappointment of sitting there without him because he had lost track of time in the studio again.

There had been arguments. Real ones. Not the kind that fade away easily, but the kind that force you to question whether love is enough when life starts pulling you in opposite directions.

And yet, sitting here now, you know how that story ends. You know what you fought through, what you chose, and what you built anyway. You love the record. You're proud of him in a way that runs deeper than just admiration, because you saw what it took out of him to create it.

The video switches from the finished Bad short film into rehearsal footage, and everything in you shifts again, the heaviness giving way to something lighter, something familiar that pulls a completely different reaction out of you. Your eyes light up instantly, and Michael notices it before you even say anything.

He turns toward you, already laughing. "God, she loves these rehearsals," Michael says. You laugh with him, because it's true, because it always has been. "This is at rehearsal at the Helmsey Palace, choreographing it," he says, his voice carrying that same ease as he watches himself on the screen.

You both turn your attention back to the footage, but this time it's different. This isn't just something you remember emotionally; it's something you remember physically, vividly, down to the smallest detail. You bite your lip slightly as you watch him move across the screen, your memory filling in everything the footage doesn't show.

You had gotten a break from set that day and came to see him, something you didn't do as often as you wanted during that time because of how busy both of you were. But that day, you made it happen. And now you're watching him exactly as he was then—the black slacks, the orange shirt half tucked in like he had been moving too much to care about fixing it, the tie hanging loose in a way that felt more like an afterthought than part of the outfit.

But it was never just the clothes, it was his hair.

Even now, sitting beside him years later, you feel the same reaction rise up in you as you watch those curls, messy from sweat, falling in every direction from how hard he had been working. There had always been something about his curls that undid you completely, but that day, seeing him like that, fully in his element, lost in the music and the movement, it had been almost impossible to look at him without feeling it.

And you remember that night just as clearly.

"You're just so handsome, I can't take it," you say as you shake your head.

Michael laughs immediately, the sound full and warm, because he remembers it too. He remembers exactly when you said it, exactly how you looked at him when you did.

"We had two days to choreograph, and I love that pressure," Michael said.

You let out a quiet breath as you continue watching, your eyes still fixed on the screen, but your thoughts slipping between then and now so easily it almost feels like you're in both places at once.

"You should grow your hair out like that again, or bring the curls back," you say.

He turns to you, smiling in that way that already tells you he's about to play into it. "Curls for my girl?" he says.

You both laugh, the moment soft and easy, and he squeezes your hand before lifting it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles that feels just as natural as everything else between you. You nod, already smiling, and he laughs again before giving in.

"Just for you," he says.

You laugh at that, the promise light but meaningful in the way he always makes even small things feel intentional.

"The fans want it too, a few letters addressed to me said, 'Could you ask Michael if he'd wear his hair curly again? We miss the curls. That's a loose paraphrase," you say.

That pulls another laugh out of him, louder this time, and you can see the shift in him as he processes it, the realization settling in as his cheeks begin to warm just slightly. He hadn't realized how much people noticed it, how much they held onto something as simple as that.

And sitting there beside him, you can't help but smile a little more, because you knew. You always knew.

your birthday

The video changes again, and the second the image shifts, recognition settles in before anything else, a quiet warmth rising in your chest as you realize exactly which day this is. You smile without thinking, the memory already beginning to take shape, but before you can fully sink into it, the camera crew shifts slightly, adjusting to capture Michael as he begins to narrate.

"We had a day for my wife... we don't celebrate birthdays really, so we created these days, originally for our father and mother, but I wanted to do it for my wife too... and I got everyone together at Neverland, and we gave speeches on how we feel about her, gave her presents," Michael says.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks almost immediately, the memory of that day carrying the same overwhelming feeling it had back then, because it had never been something you expected, never something you were prepared for in the way he had done it.

"Yeah, I was only used to having these days for Joseph and Katherine, but this was in '91, my 30th birthday, and that's why he wanted to do it, since 30 is a milestone age technically," you say.

Michael smiles beside you, and on the screen, the footage continues, pulling both of you back into that day completely. You see Joe with Bubbles, the image almost surreal even now, and then it shifts to you and Janet walking together, your arms wrapped around each other as you head toward one of the rides. The ease between you and her is obvious, something that had formed quickly and never really left.

Michael smiles as he watches it.

"If there's one person who thinks they love my wife more than me, it's Janet. Janet was 17 when I brought her to meet the family, and she was immediately joined to her hip," Michael says.

You laugh, the memory of that first meeting coming back clearly, the curiosity, the warmth, the way Janet had taken to you without hesitation.

"She was so surprised Michael was bringing a girl home, she wanted to know everything about me," you say.

Michael's smile lingers, deeper now.

"My whole family loves her... adores her, really, and who wouldn't? Oh, that ride," Michael says, pointing toward the screen. "There are two names for it. The spider and the puke bucket," Michael says as he laughs.

The video switches to you and Janet standing nearby, her arm wrapped around your shoulders, her other hand pressed against her forehead in mock dread, and you can't help but laugh again at the sight of it.

"I don't think Janet got on this; she's just a little chicken," Michael says.

You laugh as the footage cuts to him on the ride, the motion chaotic and fast, and then suddenly his hat goes flying off, disappearing out of frame in a way that makes it impossible not to react.

The video shifts again, slowing down as it moves to Katherine and Joe sitting together on a bench, Joe holding a container of popcorn, the moment quieter, more grounded.

"Here's my mother and father sitting together, which is a great shot. It's fantastic. My mother had pulled me aside later and said how sweet it was for me to do this for my wife. Mother has always loved her, from the moment they met," Michael says with a smile.

You feel your face warm again at that, the weight of it settling in, because you remember that conversation too, the way Katherine had looked at you, the way it had felt to be accepted so fully, so genuinely.

The camera pans again, briefly catching two of Michael's nephews playing together before shifting back, finding you once more. You're walking just ahead of the bench where Joe and Katherine are sitting, and when you notice the camera, you turn toward it, smiling easily before doing a small spin, holding the lens in your gaze like it's second nature.

Beside you, Michael's attention sharpens, the reaction immediate and unmistakable.

"Look at her, she's so beautiful. She's like me, she loves the camera," Michael says.

On the screen, you blow a kiss toward the camera, playful and effortless, and next to you, Michael laughs, the sound filled with something softer beneath it.

"That was always my favorite part," he says.

The footage returns briefly to Joe and Katherine before finding you again, this time walking hand-in-hand with Michael, the cameraman following just behind you. The connection between you is easy, unforced, something that doesn't need to be explained to be understood.

"That's us... I think we're headed toward the movie theater to see the magic show," Michael says.

His smile widens as the footage continues, catching the moment he twirls you mid-step, the movement spontaneous, playful, something that feels entirely like him.

Inside the theater, the camera finds you again, and this time you're holding two ice cream bars, one in each hand, completely unbothered by it, completely yourself.

"Two ice creams, that's her. My baby loves to eat, and I like that too... You know the industry can be so mean to women about their image, their body, and how they look. I've always tried to encourage her, give her affirmations, and make sure she knows I love her no matter what. I love that she's never been self-conscious about eating," Michael says.

The sincerity in his voice lands immediately, and you feel it settle somewhere deeper, enough that you instinctively press your face slightly against his shoulder, turning away from the camera just a bit, the attention suddenly feeling heavier than it did a moment ago.

"Oh, she's getting shy, I can't help it. I just love bragging about her," Michael says.

His voice carries that same warmth, that same pride, and even as you try to hide from it just a little, you can feel it surrounding you completely.

hospital visit

Michael points to the screen as it changes to footage of the two of you visiting children's hospitals, and the shift in the room is immediate, quieter in a different way than before, more grounded, more intentional. The laughter from the previous moments settles into something softer as the images come into focus: hallways, small rooms, children sitting up in beds or gathered together, their attention lifting the second you and Michael step into the space.

"In between concerts and for her movies, whenever we have time off, we always visit hospitals and orphanages, and we do it from our hearts. She's amazing with children, and they all light up whenever she walks in the room," he says.

You laugh as you lift your head from where it had rested lightly against him, the reaction automatic, because you've heard him say things like that before, and you've never quite been able to take it at face value the way he means it.

"No, they light up because Michael Jackson is visiting them," you say.

Michael shakes his head immediately, the disagreement just as instinctive as your deflection.

"They light up because of you, too, look... look at how that girl is smiling at you," he says, pointing toward the screen.

You follow his hand, your attention settling on the footage, and there it is, exactly what he's talking about. A girl, a little older than some of the others, is watching you with this open, unguarded smile that feels almost too bright for the room she's in. It pulls something deep in your chest, something familiar, something that never quite gets easier, no matter how many times you do this.

You smile as you watch, because you do love these moments. You always have. Being able to walk into those rooms with him, to give those kids even a small piece of joy in the middle of something so heavy, something so unfair, it's always meant more than anything else you could do publicly.

But there's always that other part too: the part that stays with you long after you leave, the part that follows you home.

Throughout the years, you've made it a habit to check in quietly, to ask about the kids after the visits are over, wanting to know who made it, who got better, who went home. And for the ones who didn't... You never talked about it publicly, never made it something to be seen, but you made sure their families didn't have to carry that burden alone. Funeral arrangements were taken care of quietly, anonymously, the only thing that mattered being that they were given dignity and care even in the end.

The footage continues, and your voice brings you back into the moment.

"Oh, this was an older girl, early teen... she asked me if being married to Michael Jackson is as magical as it seems because of how sweet he is, and I told her it's more," you say.

Michael's attention shifts to you immediately, the softness in his expression deepening as he takes that in, like the words settle somewhere he feels them more than hears them. He leans over without hesitation, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, something brief but full, before turning his attention back to the screen.

On the footage, he's sitting with a little boy now, the two of them talking, the boy's attention shifting suddenly as he points toward you, smiling in a way that feels just as bright as the girl's did earlier. Michael laughs at something the boy says, and even without hearing it clearly, you can already tell what kind of moment it is.

"Oh, he was trying to steal my girl," Michael teases. You laugh, the sound lighter again as the moment unfolds. "He was! He had asked me if you were my girlfriend, and when I told him you were my wife, he said you're really pretty, and when he gets better, I have some competition," Michael says.

You laugh again, the image of it playing out on the screen matching perfectly with the way he's describing it, the innocence of it making the moment feel even more real.

"The kids are always so sweet, it warms my heart to see them," you say.

Michael smiles beside you, the warmth in his expression lingering as the footage continues, both of you watching quietly for a moment, the meaning of it all settling in without needing to be said out loud.

vacation

The video changes to some clips of the two of you in other countries, the colors brighter, the energy lighter, and you can feel the shift immediately. There's a looseness to these moments, something freer than the structured chaos of tours and events, and even now, watching it back, you remember how rare it was to get time like that together.

"When we get time off, it's a rarity in the first place; it's a real rarity, we always end our tours in the fun places, like Florida, we stay at the Playboy Club hotel, the bunnies walking around serving you... not that I ever looked at them," Michael says as he looks at you.

You meet his gaze with a playful look, one that carries years of shared teasing behind it, because you already know exactly what he's doing.

"I told him if he even glanced at them for a second too long, he would have to pay for it," you say.

Michael laughs, shaking his head as the two of you turn your attention back to the screen, the ease between you settling naturally into place as the footage shifts again, moving into another memory entirely.

"The footage you see now is my wife and me... at this time, we were still dating. We're on a speedboat at Disney World. I actually proposed to her on this vacation. We had so much fun there, we did everything. We did hot air balloons, and we fed turtles," Michael says.

You watch the footage carefully, the movement of the boat, the way the wind catches your hair, the sound of your laughter blending with his, and it all feels so close, like you could reach out and step back into it. That trip had felt different, even before you knew why. There had been something building beneath it, something you couldn't quite name at the time, but looking back now, it makes perfect sense.

The video shifts to the dinner, the lighting softer now, more intimate, and beside you, Michael's entire expression changes the moment he sees it.

"Oh, this is the proposal... I had asked Janet if she would record the moment, but not to be seen, so it wouldn't give away what I was doing," Michael says.

Then he turns to you, and the way he looks at you pulls you out of the footage and into the present all at once. "You looked so beautiful that night, and I was so nervous," he says.

You smile, the memory sitting just as vividly in your chest as it does on the screen. "Did you think I was going to say no?" you tease.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "No, but I was nervous I was going to mess up what I wanted to say to you before I asked the question," he says.

You laugh with him, because you remember that too, the way his voice had wavered just slightly, the way his hands had been steady but his eyes had given him away completely. On the screen, the moment plays out again, your reaction is immediate and emotional, your yes comes without hesitation as he pulls you into his arms.

Watching it now, you feel it all over again, the disbelief, the certainty, the overwhelming feeling of knowing your life had just shifted most permanently.

"I was crying like a baby when I realized he was proposing. I couldn't believe it. The easiest yes I've ever said," you say. Michael's hand tightens around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as the footage changes again, moving forward into something even more significant.

Your wedding, right there at Neverland. "Oh, the wedding," you say with a smile as the footage begins.

Michael smiles too, but there's something softer in it now, something deeper, his eyes settling on the screen as the moment unfolds.

"We had the wedding here at Neverland, just my family and hers... she looks so beautiful in her dress, look at her. This was between the first and second leg of Bad Tour," Michael says.

You watch yourself appear at the top of the aisle, your dress flowing around you, your father beside you, his arm steady and grounding in a moment that feels almost too big to hold. The camera captures everything—the emotion, the anticipation, the weight of what you're stepping into.

"There's her late father... walking her down the aisle, everyone was crying. He was, she was, I was... when I saw her at the top of the aisle with her Dad, I couldn't hold it back anymore, I just cried so hard," Michael says.

The footage zooms in, catching Michael as he stands at the altar, the tears already falling before you've even taken your first full step toward him.

"And seeing him cry made me cry," you say. The memory settles deeper as you watch it, the way everything felt amplified in that moment, every emotion sitting right at the surface with nothing to hide it.

"It was overwhelming, in a good way. As she was coming down the aisle, I just remember thinking that I couldn't believe she had said yes, and she was choosing to spend her life with me, and I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have someone like her who loves me so genuinely, who gets to see a side of me that not everyone gets to see, and she protects that," Michael says.

His words don't just sit in the air: they land, fully, and you feel it in your chest as your eyes begin to water, the emotion rising without resistance. It's not just what he's saying, it's how he says it, the truth in it, the way it reflects everything you've lived together.

"And now here we are, 15 years of marriage and 20 total years together," you say as you turn to look at him. At the same time, he turns to you. The timing is effortless, like it always has been, like you've been moving in sync for years without needing to think about it.

"I wouldn't change anything," he says to you.

You smile, leaning toward him, the space between you closing naturally. "Neither would I," you say softly.

Michael leans in, and you meet him halfway, your lips coming together in a kiss that feels quiet and grounding, something that belongs entirely to the two of you. For a moment, everything else fades: the cameras, the crew, the fact that any of this is being recorded, and when you pull away, you're both still smiling, still looking at each other, both of you caught in the weight of everything you've built over the past twenty years.

When you remember the cameras are still around, the cameraman cues the two of you to film the closing, and the shift back into that awareness happens quietly, like stepping out of something deeply personal and back into something being shared. Michael smiles, that familiar calm settling over him as he turns toward the camera, his hand still wrapped around yours like he hasn't let go of you for a second.

"You've seen a lot of footage tonight of my life, my joys, my happiness, you know, um... but what you're gonna see now is what I'm most proud of," Michael says.

You turn to him, your eyebrows lifting slightly, curiosity settling in because you don't know what he chose, and there's a small part of you that's suddenly unsure of what's about to play.

Then the music starts.

Butterflies plays over the footage, soft, smooth, and familiar in a way that immediately pulls something deeper from you, and as the first new footage begins to play, you realize very quickly that this isn't like anything that came before.

It's you, not posed, not aware, or not performing in any way, just you.

The first clip shows you standing in the bathroom, dressed in an evening gown, your attention focused on your reflection as you apply your makeup. The lighting is warm, slightly dim, and you can see the way you move without thinking, swaying slightly. You're dancing, soft and absent-minded, completely lost in the music, completely unaware that Michael had been standing there, capturing it.

The memory hits you instantly. You were listening to the Bad album as you were getting ready for the Oscars that night, the excitement, the nerves, the comfort of putting on his music to steady yourself, and the fact that you never noticed him filming makes something in your chest tighten just slightly.

Then, the footage shifts.

Now you're in the kitchen, moving around with the same ease, making breakfast, the light coming in differently this time, softer, calmer. Again, you're dancing, small movements, barely noticeable unless someone is watching closely, but Michael had been watching. Recording. Keeping it.

You recognize this moment, too.

Right after your honeymoon, when everything still felt new in a different way, when you had just returned to Neverland before he left again for the second leg of the Bad tour. There had been a quiet happiness in those days, something simple and unspoken, and seeing it now, through his eyes, makes it feel even more intimate than it did at the time.

The video changes again, and this time, it's older. The early 80s.

You're sitting with his nephews, a book open in your hands as you read to them, your voice unheard but the moment clear in every other way. They're gathered close to you, two on both sides of you, leaning against your shoulders, a third nestled between your legs, resting back against you, all of them focused, listening, completely at ease in your presence.

Beside you, you feel Michael shift slightly, and when you glance at him, you see the smile already there, softer than anything he's shown all night.

"I love and adore my wife, she's my everything... and this moment, seeing her reading to my nephews before they went to bed, this was when I knew I wanted to marry her, and have a family with her," Michael says.

Your eyes begin to water almost immediately, the emotion rising without warning as more footage begins to play, each clip pulling something deeper from you.

These were moments you didn't know he had. You, sitting quietly and reading. You, sketching something at the table, completely focused. You, curled up on the couch watching TV, eating a snack, unaware of anything but the moment you were in. You, dancing again, always dancing when his music played, something you never seemed to realize you did as often as you did.

And then even you when you're sleeping. You looked peaceful, still, and captured in a way that doesn't feel intrusive, just... careful and intentional. He wanted to remember you exactly as you were in those quiet, unguarded moments.

You can't even be embarrassed by it, not really, because the way he chose them, the way he framed them, they don't feel exposed. They feel... loved.

"I love my wife very much, and I'm so proud to be her husband," Michael says.

The footage comes to a close, the screen dimming slightly as the moment settles, and when he turns to look at you, your eyes are already full, the tears slipping down your cheeks before you can stop them.

"I'm very proud to be your wife, Michael," you say after the cameras cut.

The shift happens quickly after that, the crew beginning to move, equipment being adjusted and packed away, voices lowering as they start to file out. Michael thanks each of them as they pass, his attention still warm, still present even as the moment winds down. The director lets you know that the final edit will be sent over for approval before anything airs, and then just like that, the room empties.

Leaving the two of you alone.

The quiet that follows feels different from before, heavier in the best way, filled with everything you just experienced together.

Michael turns toward you, his hand lifting gently to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, the gesture slow, careful, like he's grounding you back into the moment.

"You did good, baby... are you feeling okay?" he asks. You nod, leaning into him instinctively, your body settling against his as you take a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions still moving through you.

"That was so beautiful... to see our memories like that, everything we've built over the last two decades," you say. He smiles as he looks at you, that same softness still there, still present in the way he holds your gaze.

"Every single moment I've spent with you has been so wonderful," he says as he kisses your temple.

You sniffle, unable to stop the wave of emotion that hits you again, stronger this time, and before you can fully pull yourself back together, you feel his fingers gently lift your chin, his thumb brushing away the tears from your cheeks.

He leans in and kisses you, and you kiss him back a little harder, holding onto him, grounding yourself in the familiarity of him, in the way he's always been able to steady you just by being there.

When you part, your breathing is uneven for a moment, both of you trying to settle again, and you let your head rest against his shoulder, closing your eyes as the feeling of it all finally begins to soften into something calmer.

"I love you, Michael," you say softly.

"I love you more, baby... come on, let's go back to the house," he says.

You nod, lifting your head as you both stand from the theater seats, and he keeps you close as you make your way out, his arm steady around you, the connection between you as natural as it's ever been.

You're glad for today.

For the way it let you see everything again, not just as memories, but as something living, something still growing even after all these years. Seeing where it started, how it changed, how it held through everything, it only makes one thing clearer.

Twenty years later, you love Michael more than you ever thought possible, and Michael feels the same. To him, you're more than just his wife.

You're the other half of his soul.

You'd both suddenly remember you were just two embarrassingly shy actors in your twenties standing far too close together. One of you would clear your throat.

The other would suddenly become fascinated with a nearby prop. Sometimes you'd accidentally make eye contact, immediately smile out of instinct, then both look away at exactly the same time while the makeup artists tried not to laugh.

One afternoon, after everyone had broken for lunch, you wandered through one of the empty sound stages searching for your water bottle.

Most of the lights had already been switched off, leaving only a few pale beams shining across the unfinished ballroom set where tomorrow's rehearsal would take place.

The silence was comforting until you heard someone quietly murmuring to themselves.

"...No... too much."

A pause.

"Smile with the eyes first."

Another pause.

"No... that's for the fans."

You frowned slightly before following the voice.

Jaafar stood completely alone in front of one of the decorative mirrors leaned against a wall. He hadn't noticed you. He was staring intensely at his own reflection, smiling, then dropping it, then smiling again.

One smile was dazzling and bright.

Another was gentle.

Then one became almost bashful.

He stopped, shook his head and tried again.

You couldn't help yourself. "...What are you doing?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. "Oh!"

His hand flew to his chest. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry." You said, embarrassed.

"No, no, you're okay."

You stepped closer, trying very hard not to laugh.

"Were you... practising smiling?"

His ears immediately turned pink.

"...Maybe."

You finally laughed.

"You were."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I know it sounds weird."

"It sounds very weird."

He let out an embarrassed laugh before looking back at the mirror. "It's just..." He hesitated. "My uncle smiled differently depending on who he was looking at."

You blinked.

"What do you mean?"

He turned back towards you, suddenly becoming incredibly serious. "I've watched hundreds of hours of footage." He folded his arms thoughtfully.

"When he's talking to fans... his smile is really bright."

He demonstrated.

"When he's with little kids..."

The smile softened almost instantly.

"It's... warmer."

Then another.

"When he's joking with his brothers..."

A mischievous grin appeared.

"And..."

He sighed.

"When he was with my Auntie..."

He looked back into the mirror.

"It's different."

There was a silence.

"It isn't as big."

He smiled again.

"It's quieter."

Another attempt.

"It almost looks like... relief."

He frowned. "I don't know how else to explain it." He ran a hand through his curls.

You watched him carefully.

"So I've been trying to find that smile."

"You've been practising smiles because your uncle smiled differently at his wife?"

"...Yeah."

A tiny laugh escaped you before you could stop it. He looked over.

"What?"

You covered your mouth. "Nothing."

"No, what?"

You shook your head.

"It's just..."

You laughed again. "You're kind of silly."

His eyebrows lifted.

"Silly?"

"A little."

He let out a dramatic sigh. "I spent three hours studying how to smile..."

"I know."

"You think that's silly?"

"I really do."

He stared at you in mock offence before you laughed properly this time, the sound filling the empty stage. It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. Just warm. Genuine. Completely unguarded.

Jaafar forgot to answer.

Instead...

He simply looked at you. His shoulders relaxed without him noticing. His eyes softened.

And a smile slowly appeared. Not rehearsed, not measured, not studied. Just...genuine.

You stopped laughing. "...There!"

He blinked. "What?"

"That one."

"What one?"

"The smile."

He frowned. "What smile?"

"The one you were doing just now."

He looked completely confused. "I'm smiling?"

You nodded. "That."

You pointed directly at him.

"That's the smile."

His expression froze.

"...Really?"

"Yeah. You look handsome when you did that smile—" You immediately paused, catching yourself as Jaafar was equally, if not more flustered than you.

Neither of you spoke for several long seconds.

The silence somehow felt louder than any conversation.

Eventually one of the assistant directors poked their head inside.

"There you two are."

Both of you practically sprang apart.

"We're ready to rehearse!"

You and Jaafar answered at exactly the same time.

"Coming." You two awkwardly stepped out of the break room.

The assistant director looked between you both, shaking his head. "So obvious."

———————

It was the filming of the first meeting scene.

The beginning of one of the sweetest, real love stories in Hollywood.

The moment that would establish why Michael and Mrs. Jackson fell in love, and how Michael's life would change in that one moment forever.

The set had been transformed into a lavish 1983 after-party celebrating the impossible success of Thriller.

Gold chandeliers reflected against polished marble floors.

Champagne glasses sat untouched across velvet-covered tables while extras dressed in shimmering evening gowns and immaculate tuxedos drifted around the room in slow choreography.

A live jazz quartet rehearsed softly in the corner, their music blending into the quiet chatter echoing throughout the ballroom.

Outside the enormous balcony windows, the lighting crew had built an artificial sunrise that would gradually brighten over the course of the scene.

The director, Antoine gathered everyone.

"Remember," he said. "This isn't love at first sight. It's recognition. Two shy people who somehow find one another in a room where neither feels comfortable."

You nodded. Jaafar nodded too. Neither of you looked at each other.

The slate clapped.

"Action."

The room immediately came alive.

As Michael, Jaafar wandered through the crowded celebration with polite smiles that never quite reached his eyes.

People congratulated him. Shook his hand. Praised Thriller.

Yet despite the overwhelming attention, he looked oddly isolated, quietly slipping away toward the balcony for fresh air.

That was your cue.

As Mrs. Jackson, you had been standing near the refreshments, nervously adjusting the sleeve of your dress before wandering outside yourself.

Neither character expected company.

Then your eyes met.

For a long second...nothing happened. No dramatic music. No instant romance. Just two painfully shy people caught looking at one another.

Jaafar gave the tiniest, almost apologetic smile.

"...Hi."

You looked away before smiling back.

"Hi."

"You... um..."

He laughed nervously in character.

"I don't actually know what I was going to say."

You couldn't help laughing too.

"That's alright."

"I just thought... everybody else seems to know everybody."

"They do."

"And..."

Another awkward silence.

"...I don't."

"I don't either."

A tiny laugh escaped both of you.

"So..." Michael scratched the back of his neck. "Would it be alright if... maybe... we didn't know everybody together?"

The crew behind the monitors smiled.

The dialogue wasn't even particularly romantic. It just felt... honest. The scripted conversation carried on for several pages. You both spoke about music. Childhood. Books. How strange fame was. Michael admitted parties exhausted him. The latter confessed she'd nearly gone home twenty minutes after arriving because she hated crowded events.

"I thought I was the only one."

"Oh, definitely not."

"You really don't like parties?"

"I like leaving them."

He laughed. "So do I."

The laughter became easier.

The silences became softer.

By the time the artificial sunrise slowly painted warm orange light across the balcony, neither character wanted the conversation to end.

The script should've ended very simply.

You checked the time.

"I should probably head home."

Michael smiled sadly. "Yeah."

She walked away, fade out. That was what was written.

That wasn't what happened. You delivered your final scripted line.

"I should probably head home."

You turned.

One step. Two—suddenly—

"Wait." He called out so softly, with a hint of desperation.

Um...what? That wasn't in the script.

Your heart skipped. You turned around instinctively.

Jaafar looked equally surprised by what he'd just done.

As Michael, he stood frozen for a second before slowly walking toward you. Then...he reached forward. Very gently. His fingers wrapped around your hand.

The crew collectively held their breath, mouths open in shock.

"I..." He swallowed.

His voice became almost painfully quiet. "So..." Michael asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Um... would you... maybe want to see me again?"

Nobody moved.

The director didn't yell cut.

Everyone simply watched, you hadn't planned anything either, your brain emptied—Then instinct took over.

You thought of what she would've done in that moment if Michael took her hand. Instead of answering immediately...you stepped forward, and wrapped your arms around him.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't passionate. It was simply... grateful. Comfortable. Like she'd already found home. You rested your head against his shoulder.

"...Definitely."

Jaafar visibly stopped breathing for about half a second.

Then, almost automatically—

He hugged you back.

When you finally separated, he looked at you with the kind of smile that said Michael himself couldn't quite believe someone had just chosen him. You smiled too, seeing him smile...that's the one he practiced.

Then, without warning—

He leaned forward.

Placed the gentlest kiss against your cheek. A tiny one, barely there.

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise.

Michael—no, Jaafar immediately looked just as shocked as you did. "Oh...um..." He laughed awkwardly.

"Sorry." Then, completely flustered—Michael gave the most bashful wave imaginable.

"...I'.."

He laughed again.

"...O-okay, bye."

And before Mrs. Jackson could answer—He practically ran away down the hallway, grinning to himself like an embarrassed teenager—definitely what Michael would've done in that moment if he was that bold.

You stood there, touching your warm cheek, unable to stop smiling. "...See you."

Silence. Then—

"CUT!"

The entire set erupted. Crew members clapped.

Someone behind the monitors shouted,

"KEEP THAT! KEEP THAAAT!"

Antoine stood up from his chair, his face riddled with amazement and confusion. "You two...are—wait, Jaafar!"

Jaafar was still running off, too embarrassed from what he improvised as he locked himself in his dressing room. You had your hands up to your face, flustered as well.

"Jaafar, come back! You guys did amazing! Keep it up with the improv!" Antoine yelled out.

A muffled, clearly embarrassed voice responded from behind the door. "Thank you!" The door didn't open for a couple of minutes as the crew laughed whilst you hid in your own dressing room.

Both you and Jaafar leaned on the door, sliding down.

Was that really for the movie??

———————

2026.

The cameras rolled only a few seconds after the countdown ended, though it felt much longer than that.

Bright studio lights bathed the stage in a warm glow that almost mimicked the golden lighting from the film's premiere, the cream-coloured sofa looking deceptively comfortable despite the nerves quietly settling in your stomach.

Rows upon rows of audience members sat only a few metres away, many already smiling excitedly before a single question had been asked.

Behind them, enormous LED screens displayed the Michael logo, intercut with stills from the film—Michael performing on stage, intimate family moments, and one particular image that had somehow become one of the most recognisable promotional photographs: Michael and Mrs. Jackson standing together, foreheads nearly touching, smiling in complete silence.

You sat with your hands neatly folded on your lap, smoothing the fabric of your outfit every few seconds without even realising you were doing it. It was an old nervous habit.

Beside you, Jaafar looked remarkably composed from a distance, but anyone who had spent even five minutes around him during filming knew otherwise.

His knee bounced ever so slightly beneath the coffee table. He adjusted the sleeve of his jacket. Then his watch. Then the microphone clipped neatly against his lapel. Then he quietly cleared his throat. Then, almost instinctively, he reached up to smooth hair that didn't need smoothing at all.

You noticed.

He noticed you noticing.

For exactly one second your eyes met.

You both smiled awkwardly, then immediately looked somewhere else. The audience didn't miss it. An entire section of the crowd let out a collective, "Awww."

The interviewer hadn't even introduced the programme yet.

He lowered the cue cards in his hands, looked between the two of you with an amused smile, then slowly turned towards the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen..." he laughed. "We've been live for approximately eight seconds."

The audience burst into laughter.

"And they're already blushing."

Your shoulders instinctively curled inward as you covered part of your face with one hand, laughing softly into your fingers while shaking your head. Beside you, Jaafar leaned back against the sofa cushions, letting out a quiet, embarrassed groan as one hand rubbed across the back of his neck.

"Oh, man..." he muttered under his breath, though his smile betrayed just how amused he actually was.

The interviewer chuckled warmly.

"This..." he gestured between the two of you, "...is going to be a very enjoyable interview."

The audience applauded.

Only then did everyone properly settle.

After the opening introductions and congratulations surrounding the success of the film, the conversation naturally drifted towards the experience of making it. The interviewer rested one ankle over the opposite knee, glanced down at his notes before looking back up with genuine curiosity.

"I think one of the reasons people have connected with Michael so deeply," he began, "is because everyone involved treated these people with so much care. This wasn't just another biopic—it was incredibly personal for a lot of you. So I'd love to ask... what was the hardest part?"

You took a quiet breath before answering.

"Hm..."

Your eyes briefly wandered upwards as though searching for the right words somewhere among the studio lights.

"I think..." you smiled thoughtfully, "...the emotional scenes."

Your voice remained soft enough that the audience naturally leaned in.

"You can rehearse crying."

You lightly shrugged.

"You can practise the dialogue. You can work out exactly where the camera is going to be, when you're supposed to breathe, when you're supposed to look away."

You paused.

"But that love.."

You glanced briefly towards one of the still photographs displayed behind the audience.

"...you can't really rehearse that kind of love."

The room became noticeably quieter.

"There were days where we'd finish a scene and..." you smiled sadly, "...nobody really wanted to say 'cut' had happened."

You looked down at your hands.

"The cameras would stop rolling. The crew would start quietly packing equipment away—some of them would be crying...and..."

You laughed gently through your nose.

"...sometimes nobody spoke for five or ten minutes."

Your fingers absent-mindedly intertwined.

"It felt wrong to immediately go back to normal."

The interviewer nodded slowly.

"Because these weren't fictional people."

"No."

You shook your head.

"They were real. They loved. They laughed. They made mistakes. They had children. They experienced joy. They experienced heartbreak."

Your smile softened.

"And every single morning we reminded ourselves...we're guests. We're stepping into lives that mattered. So we weren't trying to imitate them, we were trying to honour them."

A quiet wave of applause swept through the audience.

You looked down bashfully before smiling in appreciation.

Beside you, Jaafar nodded long before his microphone reached his mouth.

"I completely agree."

His voice carried a calm sincerity that immediately settled across the room.

"There were genuinely days where..." he paused, searching for the memory, "...I'd leave set and still be Michael for another hour."

He laughed quietly.

"Not intentionally. I'd just..."

He gestured vaguely with one hand.

"...still be thinking like him."

The interviewer tilted his head.

"What do you mean?"

Jaafar smiled.

"I spent so long asking myself...'What would Uncle Michael do?'"

The audience laughed as you smiled.

"'How would he respond?' 'Would he laugh here?' 'Would he stay quiet?'"

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees now.

"So after filming...I'd accidentally still be asking those questions."

The audience smiled.

"It became part of my day."

The interviewer grinned.

"And physically?"

Jaafar immediately laughed.

"Oh..."

He leaned back dramatically.

"My body hated me."

The audience erupted into laughter.

"I'm serious."

He lifted both hands.

"I don't think I've ever stretched that much in my life."

More laughter.

"I'd spend six hours dancing, then I'd go home. Then I'd watch rehearsal footage." He listed off on his fingers. "Then I'd watch concert footage, then I'd read, then I'd do vocal exercises, then I'd practice walking."

The interviewer blinked.

"...Walking?"

Jaafar nodded.

"Michael walked differently."

The audience chuckled.

"He'd stand so straight...the way he'd turn corners. The way he'd point. The way he'd reach for something."

He demonstrated one of Michael's delicate hand movements almost unconsciously before stopping halfway through and laughing.

"See? I still do it."

The audience applauded.

"There were mornings where I'd wake up and literally every muscle hurt."

He smiled.

"But honestly...I loved every second."

The interviewer turned towards you once more.

"And portraying Mrs. Jackson?"

You smiled almost immediately.

"I wanted to understand who she was when nobody was watching."

The audience listened carefully.

"We all know the headlines, famous appearances...but I wasn't interested in those." You sat up.

"I wanted to know...what made her laugh, what made her nervous. How she looked at Michael when there weren't cameras around."

You looked towards Jaafar, who was already listening intently.

"So I read everything I could. I listened to stories. I watched interviews. I tried to imagine what her everyday life might've looked like."

You smiled.

"And honestly..."

You glanced sideways again.

"Rehearsing with Jaafar made it easy."

His eyebrows lifted.

"Really?"

You nodded.

"Because..."

You laughed quietly.

"...It wasn't that hard to see how Mrs. Jackson fell for Michael."

The audience instantly reacted.

A chorus of excited squeals echoed around the theatre.

You froze.

Your eyes widened.

"Oh..."

Your hands immediately flew to your cheeks.

"I didn't mean..."

Laughter erupted.

"I mean..."

You laughed helplessly.

"I meant..."

You pointed vaguely at Jaafar without looking at him.

"...his performance."

"I meant how she fell for Michael—not me...."

The audience laughed even harder. Jaafar's ears had warmed at that.

He leaned into his microphone almost defensively. "I know exactly what she meant."

The interviewer immediately leaned forward. "Did you?"

The audience roared.

Jaafar laughed, rubbing both hands over his face.

"Yes." He smiled into his palms. "I know what she meant."

The interviewer looked unconvinced. "Hm."

More laughter. "You answered that awfully fast."

Jaafar looked down at his shoes, smiling to himself as he quietly muttered,

"...Because we've had this conversation before."

The audience practically exploded.

The interviewer took one long look at the pair of you before dramatically placing his cue cards against his knee with an exaggerated sigh, allowing the audience's laughter to settle naturally instead of rushing to the next question.

Every time the room grew quiet, someone else in the crowd would let out another little "aww," setting everyone off all over again.

You couldn't help hiding your smile behind your hand, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter as you looked down at your lap, while beside you Jaafar sat with his lips pressed together, unsuccessfully trying to compose himself.

The corners of his mouth twitched every few seconds before another grin escaped, and he shook his head as if silently asking himself how the interview had somehow become this embarrassing less than twenty minutes in.

The interviewer pointed a finger between the two of you with a knowing smile. "Alright," he laughed. "Since we've established that the two of you apparently cannot compliment one another without blushing..." The audience erupted again. "...let's talk about the scene."

An audible wave of excitement rippled through the theatre.

Several people clapped before he had even finished speaking.

Someone from somewhere near the front excitedly shouted, "The balcony!"

The interviewer laughed. "Yes. The balcony."

Behind all three of you, the enormous LED screen slowly faded from the Michael logo into the now-iconic sequence that had dominated social media for weeks.

The audience immediately recognised it from the opening frame alone, cheering before Michael had even appeared on screen. You instinctively glanced upwards, already smiling in embarrassment, while Jaafar leaned back against the sofa cushions and covered his eyes for a brief second with one hand.

"Oh, no," he mumbled, already laughing.

The clip began.

Michael nervously walking beside Mrs. Jackson after spending the evening together. Neither of them saying very much, just comfortable silence after having a talk.

Michael hesitating. Looking down, looking back up.

She was starting to say her goodbye when suddenly she felt his fingers grabbing for her hand.

The tiniest brush of his fingertips against hers before fully intertwining them. The audience collectively sighed dreamily.

Then came the line that everyone somehow knew by heart.

"So..." Michael asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Um... would you... maybe want to see me again?"

Mrs. Jackson looked at him for only a heartbeat before breaking into the gentlest smile.

Instead of answering immediately—she stepped forward, and wrapped both arms around him.

Michael completely froze. His eyes widened just enough to betray genuine surprise before he slowly melted into the embrace, smiling against her shoulder with that unmistakably shy expression.

The audience had already started squealing. Then—Michael pulled back just enough to look at her, without thinking—he leaned forward.

Pressed a soft kiss against her cheek. His own eyes widened the second he realised what he'd done.

"Oh." A tiny, awkward smile.

One little wave. "O-Okay... bye."

Then he turned—And practically fled. Not jogged. Not briskly walked.

Ran.

Straight through the balcony doors. The audience burst into uncontrollable laughter before the clip had even finished.

The interviewer was laughing so hard he had to remove his glasses to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I've watched that scene," he admitted between laughs, "probably thirty times."

More laughter.

"And every single time..." he pointed towards the screen behind him, "...that run gets funnier."

Jaafar dropped his head into his hands, smiling. "Oh, man..."

The interviewer turned back towards both of you. "So." He folded his cue cards together. "I think everyone wants to know...how much of that was actually scripted?"

Silence. You slowly turned your head towards Jaafar. Jaafar slowly turned his head towards you.

The moment your eyes met—Both of you immediately burst into helpless laughter.

The audience cheered. "There it is!" the interviewer exclaimed, pointing dramatically. "That look!"

Jaafar covered half his face. "I knew this question was coming."

"You did?" the interviewer asked.

"I was hoping maybe you'd forget."

"I absolutely wasn't going to forget." More laughter.

Jaafar sighed dramatically before sitting up straighter. "Okay..."

He rubbed his palms together. "So..."

He looked over at you for permission.

You nodded, already smiling.

"When I grabbed her hand..." He demonstrated the movement unconsciously, extending his own hand into the space between you before catching himself halfway and laughing. "...that wasn't scripted."

A collective gasp echoed around the studio. "We were supposed to stop about..." he gestured vaguely, "...here." He pointed towards the paused image on the monitor.

"And then the dialogue was supposed to continue. Instead...I just..." He shrugged sheepishly. "...reached for her hand."

The interviewer blinked. "You just... decided to?"

Jaafar nodded. "I don't know why—I wasn't planning it. It just felt..." He searched for the words. "...like something Michael would've done."

He looked towards you. "And thankfully..." He smiled. "...she didn't pull away."

The audience responded with another chorus of delighted squeals. You laughed softly. "I wasn't expecting it."

You looked down at your own hands as though remembering the moment. "I actually remember feeling his hand before I realised the cameras were still rolling."

You smiled. "And I remember thinking...'Oh...Michael finally got enough courage.'" The audience quietly melted.

"So..." you continued, "...Mrs. Jackson would've noticed."

The interviewer nodded slowly. "So the hug?"

You smiled. "Also wasn't scripted." The audience applauded.

"I just looked at him..."

You laughed to yourself.

"...and he genuinely looked terrified."

Everyone laughed.

"I thought...'There's no way she'd leave him standing there looking this nervous.' So...I hugged him."

You looked towards Jaafar again.

"I completely surprised him."

"Oh, absolutely," Jaafar laughed immediately.

"I had no idea she was about to hug me. I remember my brain completely shutting off."

The interviewer laughed. "So your reaction......was real?"

Jaafar nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. One hundred percent."

"I completely forgot there were cameras. I completely ignored Antoine. I completely forgot there were about a hundred crew members standing behind us."

The audience laughed. "It was just..." He smiled awkwardly. "...me being embarrassed."

The interviewer leaned forward. "And the kiss?"

The room instantly fell quiet again. Jaafar laughed once, then sighed. "I don't know."

The audience laughed.

"I'm serious." He shook his head. "I wish I had some kind of explanation—I don't. I just hugged her back..." He paused.

"...and then I looked at her. I thought..." He smiled to himself. "'Michael would probably kiss her cheek.' So...I did."

He looked down at his shoes. "And then about half a second later..."

His ears visibly reddened as everyone watched. "...I realised...'Jaafar, what have you done?'"

The audience exploded. "I panicked." He covered his face again."I literally panicked."

You were already laughing before he continued.

"I turned around...I walked through the balcony doors—I made it maybe three steps, and then I actually started running."

The interviewer was nearly crying with laughter again. "You genuinely ran?"

"I genuinely ran."

"Off the set?"

"Off the set."

"Past the crew?"

"Past everybody."

The audience laughed louder with every answer.

"I ran straight into my dressing room. I shut the door. I locked it. I sat on the floor."

The interviewer laughed. "Locked it?"

"I didn't want anybody coming in!"

More laughter.

"I remember somebody knocking." He mimicked the sound against the arm of the sofa.

"'Jaafar? Everything okay?'"

He buried his face in one hand. "And I yelled..." He laughed before finishing the sentence. "'I need five minutes!'"

The audience erupted into thunderous applause and laughter. You could barely breathe from laughing yourself.

"I remember wondering where he'd gone," you managed between giggles. "I thought maybe he'd forgotten one of his lines or maybe something technical had happened. So I walked over to one of the assistant directors and asked, 'Has anyone seen Jaafar?'"

You paused, already smiling.

"He didn't even look up from his clipboard."

The audience leaned in. "He just sighed..."

You lowered your voice to imitate him. "'He's hiding.'"

The studio exploded once more.

"I said, 'Hiding where?' And he goes..." You started laughing again before finishing. "'Dressing room.'"

"'Why?'"

"'Because you hugged him.'"

The laughter took several moments to die down, the audience still chuckling amongst themselves as Jaafar hid behind one hand, shaking his head with the kind of embarrassment that only made everyone adore him more.

You were wiping at the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard, taking a sip of water before setting the glass back down with a quiet breath.

The interviewer smiled at the pair of you for a long moment, allowing the atmosphere to settle naturally before his expression softened into something much more reflective.

"You know," he began quietly, resting his cue cards on his lap, "this film carries a different kind of weight for you, Jaafar."

The audience immediately grew still. He turned fully towards him. "You're not just portraying an icon." He paused.

"You're portraying your uncle."

Jaafar's smile gradually faded into something gentler. His fingers loosely wrapped around his microphone as he nodded once, his eyes dropping towards the floor for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. When he finally looked back up, there was a sincerity on his face that immediately changed the mood of the room.

"It was..." he exhaled softly. "...honestly, one of the most spiritual experiences of my life."

The room became silent enough that even the cameras moving around the stage could be heard.

"I don't really know how else to describe it." He smiled faintly.

"I spent almost every day asking myself what Uncle Michael would've done."

His thumb absent-mindedly traced circles around the microphone.

"I'd study concert footage until my eyes hurt. I'd practise dancing until my legs were shaking. I'd repeat little things over and over again—how he tilted his head, how he smiled when he was nervous, how he'd laugh when something genuinely caught him off guard."

He laughed quietly through his nose.

"There were nights I'd get home and my shoulders felt like they were on fire."

The audience smiled.

"But then I'd remember why I was doing it."

His expression softened.

"I read his handwritten notes, journals. I read little things he'd written down that weren't meant for cameras. I listened to people who knew him. And every single day before walking onto set..."

He paused.

"I'd tell myself...'Don't try to become Michael. Just understand him.'"

A ripple of applause spread through the set. Jaafar smiled gratefully before continuing.

"I wanted people to see the man behind the legend. The uncle I knew. The brother my family knew. The father his children knew. The husband my auntie knew."

He glanced towards you for only a brief moment before looking back to the interviewer. "And honestly..." He smiled. "...I just hoped he'd be proud."

The audience applauded much louder this time. Several people stood.

You quietly reached over without thinking, gently resting your hand against his forearm for a second.

He looked down at it, then at you.

You smiled. "I'm sure he is." You mouthed to him.

His eyes softened. "Thank you." He mouthed back.

The interviewer allowed the applause to fade before asking one final question.

"Was there ever a specific memory of your uncle that stayed with you throughout filming?"

Jaafar nodded almost immediately.

"There was."

He smiled to himself, as though watching the memory unfold somewhere only he could see.

"I kept remembering 2001. The 30th anniversary celebration of his career. I was still a kid. I remember standing backstage, I remember hearing everybody cheering. I remember watching Uncle Michael walk off stage."

His smile became impossibly fond. "And then...I watched him find Auntie..."

The audience smiled.

"He hugged her. They kissed. They laughed. They weren't performing for anyone. They were just..."

He searched for the word.

"...happy."

He chuckled softly. "I don't know why that memory kept coming back—I'd be filming a scene...and suddenly I'd remember seeing that as a little boy."

You had been listening intently. Your brows slowly knitted together.

"...Wait."

Jaafar turned towards you. "What?"

You blinked. "...I was there."

Silence.

The interviewer stared. "...You were what?"

You nodded, almost laughing in disbelief. "I was invited."

"There were a lot of children backstage. I remember because we were all lined up near the side of the stage waiting to meet everyone afterwards."

You looked towards Jaafar.

"I was watching the exact same moment."

He blinked. "No way."

"I swear." You said, putting a hand over your chest.

The audience immediately began murmuring amongst themselves. One of the producers behind the cameras suddenly lifted a finger. "Hang on."

Everyone looked towards him. He quickly disappeared behind the curtain.

The interviewer laughed. "I have absolutely no idea what's happening."

Neither did you.

About half a minute later, the producer hurried back onto the studio floor carrying a tablet, whispering something into the director's headset.

The interviewer's eyebrows shot upwards.

"...Apparently..." He laughed in disbelief. "...our team found archive footage."

The audience gasped as the enormous screen behind you slowly faded to grainy footage from 2001.

The date appeared briefly in one corner. "September 10, 2001." The audience applauded before the clip had even started.

Michael stood smiling beneath the stage lights and beside him stood Mrs. Jackson, both of them laughing together after the performance had ended.

The camera panned, children gathered behind them. Someone paused the footage.

"There," the producer called. The image zoomed in. A collective gasp swept through the whole set.

Little Jaafar. Standing quietly near one side of the stage.

Only a few feet away...

...was you.

Neither of you were looking at one another.

Neither of you even acknowledged the other's existence.

You were simply two children watching the same married couple embrace after an unforgettable performance, completely unaware that twenty-five years later you would be entrusted with telling their story together.

You covered your mouth with both hands. "Oh my goodness..."

Jaafar stared at the screen in complete disbelief. "...No."

He laughed quietly. "No way."

He stood up from the sofa almost instinctively, taking a few slow steps closer to the screen as if getting physically nearer would somehow make the footage easier to believe.

One hand rested on his hip while the other covered his mouth, his head shaking over and over in amazement. You stood beside him a second later, your eyes fixed on the paused image, unable to stop smiling.

"We were..." You laughed softly. "...right there."

He nodded. "We were literally standing beside each other."

The interviewer walked closer to the screen himself, looking from the footage to the two of you standing in front of it.

"I don't usually like throwing words like this around..."

He smiled. "But..." He pointed first at the image of the two children, then at the two of you standing before it. "...I don't know."

He laughed. "That feels like destiny."

The audience rose to its feet almost as one.

A standing ovation filled the studio.

Neither of you quite knew where to look. You looked at Jaafar. He happened to look at you at exactly the same moment. Both of you immediately looked away again.

The audience squealed so loudly that even the interviewer laughed. "Oh, come on." He shook his head. "You two really aren't helping yourselves."

You both laughed helplessly, cheeks flushed pink.

As everyone settled back into their seats, the interviewer smiled warmly, taking one final glance at his notes before folding them closed.

"I only have one last observation."

He looked between both of you with a grin that immediately made you suspicious.

"Oh, no," Jaafar laughed.

The audience giggled.

"I think everyone here..." The interviewer gestured around the audience. "...and everyone watching at home can agree that the chemistry between the two of you is extraordinary."

He shrugged innocently.

"On screen." He looked from you to Jaafar. "And, if I'm honest...off screen too."

The audience erupted into deafening cheers. Several people wolf-whistled.

Someone shouted, "Just kiss already!"

The entire set dissolved into laughter.

You immediately buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking as you laughed in complete embarrassment.

"Oh, my goodness..." You could barely get the words out.

Jaafar leaned back against the sofa, covering his face with both hands this time as he laughed so hard his microphone slipped slightly from his grasp.

"You guys are unbelievable," he said, his voice muffled behind his hands.

The interviewer only laughed harder. "So..." He pointed at the pair of you. "Anything you'd like to say?"

Jaafar slowly lowered his hands, revealing a face that had turned unmistakably red. He looked towards you for barely a second before instinctively looking away again, laughing under his breath.

"Um..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...thank you."

The audience cooed. You smiled shyly beside him, your own cheeks warm.

"Yeah..." You nodded. "Thank you."

Neither of you tried to explain yourselves.

Neither of you denied anything.

By the time the interview came to an end, clips were already spreading across the internet faster than anyone in the studio could have imagined.

Mourning something you'd never had proved itself to be an impossible cruelty. The kind that tormented the soul deep into the night and refused to give back the part of yourself you hadn't realised you'd lost until you suddenly found yourself grieving it so deeply, time slips away.

In some ways, it felt like trying to catch snow in your bare hads only to have it melt the moment the icy substance makes contact with your warm flesh.

Realistically, she knew it was okay to feel the intense loss that she'd encountered fourteen days ago, but there was something in the back of her mind telling her she didn't have the right. It wasn't like something had been taken from her. She never had it to begin with.

But that's the thing about hope, it clings to your body like an uninvited shadow and makes a fool out of optimism.

The hours seemed to drag along. While her days hadn't really changed in the grand scheme of things, it now felt like the lights had been dimmed, as though the sun was taunting her from outside the world she lived. Things she thought she knew suddenly made no sense, plans she had made fell flat and in an instant, the future she'd envisioned for herself no longer existed.

Motherhood wouldn't have been the only factor in life she'd define herself with, but God, had she wanted it. The thought of growing her baby, keeping it safe within herself until it was ready to show the world the beauty it would bring had been her dream for so long, she couldn't have imagined a life where it didn't happen.

Years prior, when she was only a child heself, she was that little girl, the one who would carefully carry a baby doll around in her arms at all times and care for it as though it was real. Older generations would look at her and smile, giving a condescending, "aww, she'll be a great mom when she's old enough."

At the time, it felt harmless. Now when she thought about it, her insides ached with a pain she had never known existed.

She wanted to be a mother so bad, it physically hurt.

When she started dating Michael, back in 1982, she's never imagined life would turn out this way.

For a start, she hadn't known his fame would sky rocket the way it had. She'd known him to be talented and expected great things, but being the most famous person to exist, second to Jesus Christ himself, felt like a huge reach, but it was true.

His name rang across the globe. He didn't just have fans, he had subjects, people who were willing to do anything and everything for him just to spend a moment in his company.

Their realtionship was deep and complex. They understood one another in ways others didn't. She saw beyond the fame and got down to the man behind the curtain. He saw a women who had so much to offer the world and encouraged her to spread her wings. The first few years of knowing each other, things had been turbulent. Their paths intertwined and then veered off path, only to circle back around until they found each other once again.

A delicate balance of on and off until a year an a half ago when Micharl had decided he couldn't do it anymore. So scared of losing her and despising the idea of living a life without her, he had gotten down on one knee in the flower gardens of Neverland and asked her to take his surname and become his wife. No more breaks, no more, "when the time is right."

They'd gotten married shortly after and it had been the best decision she had ever made. Loving Michael came easily. He was everything she every wanted. Kind, driven, loyal, but above all else, he loved children just as much as she did. So when he requested they start trying for a baby on their honeymoon, she'd immediately agreed, eager to begin a family with the man she loved.

Envisioning a child with his eyes and smile, there was nothing she craved more. She hadn't even flinched when he droned on and on about the huge family he wanted. She wanted it too and for a while, it felt as though that dream was in reach.

The then waiting came.

One week. A month. Two. Six. A year.

Something wasn't right. It didn't matter what they did, how many times he had buried himself her, what position they laid in or what old wives tales they tried, every single test came back negative and with each negative result they recieved, a piece of her heart broke along with it.

Unable to live without answers, they'd both taken the medical route, subjecting themselves to rigorous testing for any fertility issues and holding one another at night, whispering soft echoes of reassurances to each others ears to rid themselves of any negative thoughts before the results came through.

Then it dropped.

The bomb that dismantled her from the inside out.

Asked to return back to the medical facility, the couple held hands as they were told the cause of their problems. Michael was perfectly okay. On paper, he could and should be able to do his part in crafting life.

She was the issue.

The words sank in at an alarming rate, so much so that even a fortnight later, she would still recite them in her darkest nightmares.

"Missus Jackson, your infertility issues appear to be linked to several factors." The doctor has spoken in a cool, matter of fact tone. "The scans suggest polycystic ovary syndrome, this is something that can disrupt ovulation, and there is evidence of scarring in one fallopian tube from a past infection. We also found small uterine fibroid that may also be affecting implantation."

The world fell silent in that moment, the air that had once been warm and inviting suddenly fell into a icy chill. If it wasn't for Michael's hand clutching desperately onto her own, she wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't have broken into a thousand tiny shards.

The doctor had continued to talk, but after that diagnosis, nothing else sank in. She caught the back end off the conversation before they left.

Basically, they could keep trying, but with everything stacked against her, it was incredibly unlikely she would ever be able to conceive children of her own.

Returning home that night had been particularly odd.

For a while, neither of them said a word. Then, seemingly out of no where, the silence had been broken by a deverstaing roar of tears.

Michael sat on the sofa, sobbing a deverstatingly painful cry into her lap, clinging onto her like he would lose her if he'd dare to let go. The hope of the future they both thought they'd have was suddenly so different and so she comforted him through the tears, unable to process the news herself as she sat there completely numb.

In bed that night, he held her tight, like he was terrified at any moment someone would rip her from is grasp or as though his love alone could somehow change their fate and they'd wake up the next day to hear from the doctor that they'd mixed up the results and she actually could carry children.

Obviously, that hadn't happen.

When they woke up the next morning, the same outcome greeted them.

Two weeks later and not much had changed.

They hadn't spoken about it. Not really.

Moments of sadness lingered, where they would look at each other on occasion and remember the crux of their problems. Neither knew how to address it, so they simply didn't.

Standing in the full length mirror of her closet, looking back at the reflection that reminded her so much of a women who was once blinded with a sense of hopefullness, now she only saw a void. A faux expression forced upon her face so no one could see the cracks beneath.

She hadn't told anyone. No one other than Michael and he's supported her. So much of their lives had been sensationalised by the greedy media. This couldn't be something they let slip. Not right now.

Closing the clasp on the dainty gold necklace around her throat, she had failed to notice the bedroom door opening. Completely in her own world as she flattened the metallic pendant against her collarbones, she was only alerted to another presence in the room when she heard the familiar dip of the mattress springs.

In the mirror, tired eyes lifted to the sight behind her. Michael, already dressed in some fine collared shirt, the gold and red detailing against the dark obsidian of the base material giving him a regale elegance she would find pretentious in any other man, yet for him fit perfectly.

Their eyes met and he offered her a small, soft smile, the kind that told her everything would be okay and like always, she felt compelled to believe it.

They'd gotten his far, hadn't they?

His knees parted, arms held wide and with a small crook of his fingers, he requested her presence.

"Baby, come here." He spoke, less like a demand and more like a plea. "I want to talk to you about something."

With no reason to object, she gave one last glance at her reflection, sighing at the dull sight that greeted her and then crossed the carpeted floor towards him.

Michael didn't hesitate one bit. The moment she stepped into his orbit, his arms fell around her waist and tugged her closer until her hands fell against his shoulder. They hadn't been intimate since the news, but the affectionate way he looked up towards her as her gaze flickered down hadn't changed.

"Is everything okay?" She asked, not all too worried when he was looking at her that way.

Embarking on his Dangerous world tour in less than a month, her assumptions quickly fell to the technicalities that regarded such planning.

While true he loved his fans, Michael absolutely detested touring and it was no secret to those that surrounded him.

After the Bad tour reached it's conclusion, he'd been insistent that he would never tour again. It wss too much. The travel, the sleepless nights, the energy and perfomances. Not to mention fans fainting every night, the lack of stability and perfectionist in him screaming in his mind when one simple thing didn't go right.

He couldn't subject himself to that again.

Then one day, he decided he absolutely would.

Not for himself, but to raise money for disadvantaged children.

Every cent he earned from the Dangerous world tour would go straight into his Heal The World foundation to help people across the globe.

Naturally, her mind ran to that. With the opening night fast approaching, she assumed his nerves had started to surface and with an gently stroke of her fingers against his broad shoulders, she attempted to sooth his aching muscles.

"You can tell me anything." She assured after a moments silence.

Brown doe eyes fell towards the plush carpet before he dared look back at her and when he did, his hold on her waist tightened a fraction.

"I've been speaking to Debbie Rowe." He began, noting the confusion on her face. "You know, she said she'd be willing to help."

Head tilted downward, she strained to hear his voice. The more he spoke, the less things made sense. Brows pinched together, mouth opened in a subtle act of perplexity.

She knew the name. She'd met the women. But what the hell did she have to do with touring?

"Debbie Rowe..." she spoke, her words lingering in the air around them. "your nurse?"

"Yeah."

"Willing to help with what exactly?"

His gaze softened, his fingers leaving smoothing patterns beneath the knitt, blue sweater she'd stolen from his closet earlier than morning.

"You know... our problem."

His eyes widened a fraction and thought it was a blink and you'll miss it moment, she noticed the way his gaze subtlety dropped to her stomach making this whole conversation much clearer than any words he used.

A wave of nausea washed over her and immediately her own hands fell from his body.

This wasn't a simple conversation. This was torture on a level she had never imagined he would subject her to.

"What do you mean? You've been talking to your nurse about this?" Hardly able to believe the words that left his mouth, she stepped back and as she did, his touch fell from her waist, leaving only coldness where his hands had been.

His face fell, lips curved downwards into a frown the second she rejected his grasp, like he had physically burnt her skin with the palm of his hands.

"I mean, she's a friend too and I was just looking for someone to talk to, you know?" His words fast in pace, in a quick attempt at rationalising what he'd uttered. "Air out my frustrations and-"

"Your frustrations?" She cut him off, scoffing at the lack of empathy in which he chose to show.

"Yeah... you know, about the whole... infertility thing."

A firey ring of anger bubbled in her stomach, rising up as his words settled around her. Suddenly, any fraction of rationality escaped her mind and pure outrage took its place.

It felt like an insult, like he was mad at her for something she had no control over.

"You're frustrated I'm infertile?"

The venomous way she spat the words hit him square in the heart and his eyes widened once again, mouth dropped with words he wanted to say but failed to reach his tongue.

Michael had realised the error in the way he approached the conversation, he never had been good at explaining himself, but it was too late now. They were in too deep and he needed to get this off his chest.

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant it like... I'm sad."

Any other time he used that excruciatingly deverstating tone, she would have bucked and rushed right over to console him. She'd only ever wanted things to work out for them, but now she felt the cracks in the ice they stood on starting to form and it was only time before they were plunged into the frigid depths below.

She laughed, actually laughed out loud, but there was no humour in the sound as it reverberated off the walls of their home.

"You were sad." She repeated, rolling her eyes like she was amused by the situation. "So what? You're trying to find some miracle cure here?"

"No." Running a large hand over his face, Michael tried hard to stay calm. "But Debbie... she'd be willing to have my kids."

"What?" She exploded, eyes narrowed in disbelief, her entire body frozen in shock.

"Not how your thinking! No! Nothing like that. Never!" Michael rushed to his feet, hands falling to her upper arms, seemingly almost repulsed by the insinuation. "You know, through a doctors office. She'd be a surrogate."

She wanted to scream until her voice gave out. She wanted to throw herself on the floor like a stubborn toddler, kicking and screaming until she got her own way.

How could he have done this to her?

Breathing heavy, her vision began to cloud through the sheen of tears she swallowed back.

This couldn't be happening.

He looked at her with so much hope in his eyes, willing her to answer so they could start the process and he could finally have everything he wanted. His body so close to her usually only providing her with comfort, but now his presence repulsed her.

Time was relative, but she thought that even he would realise how much of a sore spot this would be for her.

"It's been only been two weeks..."

Her voice soft quite, she hadn't known if he'd heard. The only sound she could hear was the fast pace thumping of her pluse in her ears. His touch lingered, but she no longer felt any peace with it.

"What?"

"Two weeks ago, I found out I can't have children." She uttered in debelif, shaking her head like she still couldn't believe it and stepping back once again, only to watch as his arms fell to his sides.

"Baby-"

Michael tried to reach for her again, but she recoiled, talking over him and trying hard not to sob over his stupid decisions.

"I haven't even processed it properly yet." Voice weak, as though the conversation was physically draining the energy from her with ever word spoke.

"I know."

"I haven't told my family."

"I know." He repeated.

Each 'I know' doing little to sooth the terrible ache rushing through her body.

"...and you're already planning happy families with another women."

The realisation hit her like a bullet to the back. So cruel and sudden, she practically stumbled on her from the impact.

She didn't care that they wouldn't be intimate in order to conceive. She cared that he hadn't even taken her into consideration before asking another women he was seemingly too close with, to carry the children that up until a fortnight ago, she thought would be hers.

"That's not true!" Michael's voice raised, rushed with an effort to assure her that wasn't even close to what he wanted. He loved her. "We'd still be together."

"Together?" She laughed, running a frustrated hand through her hair and huffing in irritation as strands tangled around the diamond of her engagement ring.

"Yes."

"While another women is pregnant with your child."

"It won't change anything." His answer automatically, like he'd already planned this conversation.

For the first time since he dropped the bomb on her, she forced her eyes to meet his. An almost vulnerable look looming within the darkest depths of his gaze and she didn't know if he was actually dumb enough to believe what he had just said, or was simply hoping she was.

"You're not that naive." Stepping into his personal space, she didn't once break eye contact. Not until he looked down at the floor and forced her hand. "A baby changes everything!"

"Why does that have to be a bad thing?"

He didn't understand and why would he? It wasn't him awake throughout the night, cursing the very body he was born with for failing to give him the one thing he so desperately desired. He wasn't questioning his worth as a human being or as a partner.

A piercing gaze spared her way. Now that he was no longer sitting, he no longer had to look up at her in order to see her face. Part of her wanted to run and hide, but she'd vowed for better or worse and this was easily her at rock bottom.

"I know your family." The murmur of her voice broke through the silence, arms folded over her chest with a hand resting against her jaw. It was all getting a little too much now.

Furrowing his brows, Michael tilted his head and shuffled carefully on his feet. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know you've separated yourself from the Jehovah's Witness lifestyle, but your folks haven't." She sighed heavily, feeling the searing heat of his gaze. "We both know your parents want you to be married to the women carrying your children."

She'd been there when Michael struggled through the guilt of leaving that faith behind. While his belief in God never swayed, his thoughts on that particular practice did have him questioning life.

Still, she saw how it still plagued him, how he made decisions based off the life he was raised in. It's why he still hadn't celebrated Christmas and why he'd yelled at her when she'd splashed out on a particularly fancy watch for his thirtieth birthday.

It wasn't a lack of effort that kept him going back, it was the guilt that threatened to swallow him whole every time he tried to dip a toe into something he'd been taught to believe to be a sin.

Where his siblings had managed to break free, Michael was still somewhat attached.

"That won't matter..." he tried, voice trailing off. "It's surrogacy."

"You don't believe that and I don't believe that it'll just be surrogacy."

She willed him to see reason, to understand where she was coming from, but Michael shook his head in return. Stubborn in nature and used to getting what he wanted, he couldn't let this fall through.

"That's just your mind playing tricks on you." He insisted, burying his hands into the pockets of his black slacks.

"Okay, so tell me this." She began, gaze unwavering in an attempt to decipher every micro expression sitting so pretty across his face. "When Debbie is carrying your baby and your mother is holding the ultrasound pictures... who do you think she's going to call the mother?"

Katherine Jackson was an absolute saint of a women. If heaven was a real place, she was surely an angel sent down to Earth to protect one of God's greatest creations. She absolutely adored the women and always looked to her for guidance.

All this aside, Katherine was of a certain generation, one set in their ways. She wouldn't mean to cause harm, but the moment she heard someone else would be carrying her grandchildren, things would be different.

"No. She wouldn't. I'll tell her-"

With a wave of her hand, she didn't allow Michael to finish. "And once she's pregnant, you'll have Debbie move in..."

"Well, of course." He nodded like it was obvious, like she was foolish for even needing clarification. "I'll have to keep a close eye on her."

She didn't know what he meant by that and she didn't want to find out.

Sharing her space with the women who could do the one thing for her husband she couldn't, all the while knowing it's the only he thing he really wanted would deversate her.

"And that changes things!" She yelled.

"Girl, you're talking crazy."

She's never been a violent woman, but in that moment, she seriously considered lunging forward and strangling him right then and there.

Pacing the floor back and fourth, wearing the carpet thin and bitting down so hard on her lower lip, the blood rushed forward. Every thought in her mind begged for this to be a mistake.

Maybe she was still dreaming or perhaps she had misheard.

Stepping forward, Michael pressed a large grounding hand to her shoulder to stop her steps. Slowly she turned to face him and only then did she see a wash of disappointment paint the sharp contours of his face.

"I need to be a dad!" He admitted, leaving no room for argument.

"I know." She had never wanted to deny him of that.

"No, I don't think you do." It was his turn to get angry. Michael scoffed, stepping away and turning his back to her only to face her again, this time his cheeks red with irritation. "That's all I've ever wanted. For as long as I can remember, that's been the only thing that kept me going. I'm going through with this! There is no other reality for me!"

He didn't shout. He didn't have to. Michael had the ability to speak perfectly calm with authority and when he did, he became the most terrifying person in the room. He wasn't aggressive nor violent, but he knew how to scare people.

The heavy weight of his words lingered in the air and she was forced to confront them, because right now, he wasn't giving her an option. He was demanding something she no longer felt like she was a part of.

"So then, what am I?" Boardering on a whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Huh?" His face screwed up in confusion, not understanding the gravity of the question she's thrown his way. "What?"

"What am I if I can't give you that."

The clarity hit harder than he imagined and with a distinct huff, his hands fell against his narrow hips. "You're my wife."

"Am I?" Voice high pitched, eyes wide in debelif. "It sure as hell doesn't feel that way. You're planning on moving another women in without so much as consulting me."

"Stop putting words in my mouth. You know I love you."

"No, actually, I don't." She saw the way his face dropped at the admission, but couldn't allow herself the luxery of stopping long enough to care. "You couldn't even give me a month to wrap my head around this. You instantly found someone else to replace me with and what, I'm supposed to be fine with it."

"You're acting like I'm betraying you."

"You are." She spat, not once feeling sorry for it.

If he'd been wise enough to leave his dark curls down, she knew he would have been hiding his face behind the curtain of black. Unfortunately for Michael, he'd used one of her hair ties this morning and created a low hanging ponytail of sorts. Soft tendrils had fallen loose, but certainly not enough to disguise his expressions.

"No, I'm not." He fought back, hating the accusations thrown at him. Hands moving between them in a frustrated motion. "I'm finally doing something I want."

"Why her?" Unable to hold the question on any longer, it had been plaguing her the moment he uttered those words.

Because that was the thing, Debbie wasn't just another women. She was someone he'd let in. Someone he's gotten close to and trusted.

There weren't many people Michael had in life that he could consider a real companion, someone to guard his secrets and share part of his soul with. Maybe she'd been naive not to question her place in his life. Had she known Debbie had shifted from a nurse into something much more threatening to their marriage, she would have acted sooner.

"What?" Michael almost laughed.

"Why Debbie?" She snapped, no longer dancing around the situation.

Throwing his hands up, it was his turn to start pacing now. "Why does that matter?"

"Because out of every women in the world, you picked her."

"I didn't pick her." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between elegant fingers.

"Yes, you did." She spat through gritted teeth. "Plenty of women would offer to have your babies. You're Michael Jackson for crying out loud."

She wasn't saying it was a good idea, God no. If surrogacy was a route they would ever go down, there would be a lot more planning than picking a random fan off the street, but this wasn't a rational conversation and she had a point to prove.

"I know."

"You went to her. You cried to her, told her things you should've been telling me." Heart heavy with the reality crushing their realtionship, holding back tears had never felt so hard. "You've been talking to her about our marriage."

"I wasn't talking about our marriage."

"You were talking about me! My diagnosis!"

And somehow, that was worse because it wasn't about confiding a secret to a friend. It was complaining about a medical mishap, something she couldn't control that had changed their lives forever without her permission.

Not just that, but the women he'd so carelessly trusted with her secret was a women she didn't know and the realisation that he had gone to someone else rather than approach his own wife wouldn't be something she could easily forget.

"That's different." But even he knew that was a weak excuse.

"No." She sniffed. "It really isn't."

"She's my friend." He muttered through a shaky breath. "I need someone to talk to."

And that was it, wasn't it? In his time of need, he hadn't seeked her out, but rather looked for the comfort of another women. It didn't matter if they were intimate or not, because all it proved was that he no longer trusted her to be cautious with his emotions.

She couldn't shake the idea off. The series of events that lead him into the arms of someone that wasn't her. The thought of him crying against someone else's shoulder, clinging to them with flushed cheeks and tear filled eyes as this other women rubbed his back and soothed him until he calmed down. The image made her sick.

"You had a wife! I'm right here." She whispered, her voice barley there.

"You haven't exactly been easy to communicate with."

Time stilled.

Physically, the world continued to spin, but here in the shared space of their home, in the bedroom they had spent so much time loving one another, everything froze.

Her lungs no longer held any purpose, breathless from the cynical spite he'd thrown her way and the worst part is, part of her believed it.

"Wow." She muttered, no longer able to fight back the single tear that left a damp trail along the curve of her cheek.

"I didn't mean-"

"No." For what felt like the tenth time that night, she cut him off. Eyes sharp as a knife and focused in his direction. "Please, don't take it back now. Let me hear it."

"Baby-"

"Tell me, Michael!" She insisted through the heartbreak, slamming her foot down in a demand for answers.

Seeing the torment on her face and her need to actually hear his side of things, he couldn't deny it, no matter how bad he had felt saying it out loud.

"You shut down." He sighed, head in hand. "I tried... you wouldn't talk about it."

Conveniently, it seemed as though he'd forgotten about the night they recieved the news, how she latched onto him and allowed him to cry desperately in her arms for hours while still trying to process the reality of their situation herself.

She knew she wasn't perfect. Maybe he really had tried to speak to her about these things and she had dismissed him. A vague image flickered in her mind two days after the results. He'd cornered her in the kitchen, his arms wrapping around her waist as he mentioned something about starting a family anyway. She'd tuned out. It felt too sudden.

Though she understood Michael was sensitive. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it. Now she realised he probably saw it as a rejection she hadn't intended on giving.

Anger returned.

"I got told I could never carry a child!" She reminded her husband, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. "Forgive me for needing a while to come to terms with that."

"Yeah, well I was told I'd never be a father."

That wasn't the case at all and he knew it, but Michael wasn't beyond manipulation in order to get what he wanted and what he wanted was to start a family, by any means necessary.

Throwing her hands up in the air, she scoffed in defeat, eyes trained to the ceiling, like she was praying for answers she would never get. "I can't believe this."

"What now?" Michael sighed, kicking the carpet beneath his sock covered feet.

"You think this happened to you." She accused with a subtle understanding laced within each syllable.

"It did happen to me!" He snapped.

"No! It happened to us!" She practically screamed, needing him to see that he wasn't the only one feeling lost. "We could have dealt with it together, given us space and time to come to terms with it and then, maybe we could've looked into adoption or surrogacy... we could've done it together." Without permission, a sob broke through her lips. "But somehow, you've made yourself the victim here."

"I lost something too, you know!" The vulnerability in his words had him shudder.

"What did you lose?" She asked, at a loss with this conversation.

"My children."

"You don't have children." She huffed, rolling her eyes at the poor excuse he conjured up.

"You know what I mean."

It felt as though they were going around in circles, neither person understanding the others point of view and her heart cracked at his ability to be so unknowingly cruel.

"No, actually, I don't think I do." She breathed out a silent cry, wrapping her arms around her stomach like she could physically hold herself from falling apart in front of him. Her pride would never recover. "Because from where I'm standing, the only thing you've actually lost is your faith in me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He enquired, eyes softening with how utterly defenceless she appeared.

"It means, two weeks ago, I recieved a news from a doctors office that broke my heart. " She laughs though the conversation was void of any humour. "Five minutes ago, my husband did the exact same thing before he let me recover from the first injury."

"Stop making me the bad guy." Michael pleaded, wanting to reach out and hold her, but knowing better.

"Then stop acting like one."

"I'm trying to fix this!' He insisted, eyes widening a fraction.

"Fix this?" She questioned, eyebrows arched and mouth settled into a solid line.

"Yes."

"I'm not fucking broken, Michael!" She yelled, holding herself tigher as the pieces threatened to fall. "I'm a person with thoughts and feelings and you're so quick to replace m-"

"I'm not replacing you." He insisted through a heavy breath, tangling his fingers in his tied up hair.

"The second you found out I was infertile, you started imagining another women pregnant with your baby."

"That's not what happened." He shook his head.

"Then tell me how it started."

He said nothing. Not a single word and somehow, that was worse. A look of guilt etched against the soft features his face, something he could probably mask from anyone else, but she had spent ten years loving him. She knew every face and up until now, this one had never really been directed towards her.

Like a stone sinking in her gut, dread filled her from the inside out. He didn't have to say a word. She knew.

"Oh my God." She gasped, hand falling to her mouth. "I'm an idiot."

"What? Don't say that." His voice dropping in tone, quiet and sympathic in a way it hadn't been the entire conversation. "You're not."

The room fell silent for a moment, until she found the courage to speak up.

"You were talking to her before the diagnosis, weren't you?"

The heavy weight of her words only paralleled by the heavy ache in her heart. Her lips quivered and all the while, she watched as he refused eye contact, looking anywhere but at her.

"W-what?" He stuttered. "Of course not."

"Don't stand there and lie to me!"

"I just..." The words trailed off, he couldn't finish the sentence.

"You just what, Michael?" She snapped, tears falling freely now and she had no intentions of wiping them away. He could see exactly what he'd done to her. "Finish the sentence."

Here, he looked less like the legendary pop star the world had come to know and more like a scared little boy, hiding from the bad things that go bump in the night.

Only, he wasn't a child anymore. He was her husband and she could hardly look at him without seeing an act of betrayal as it played out so plainly in front of her.

With a heavy sigh of defeat, he gave in. Tired eyes lifted and the look of anguish on her face was enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

He stepped forward, knowing that if she just let him hold her, he could fix this, but with every step he took upwards her, she took one back. No longer wanting to feel like a predator hunting its prey, he stood still and answered with a guilty nod.

"I was worried, okay?" And he had been, it was just never meant to go this far. "We'd been trying for over a year and the tests... they all came back negative."

A year of failed attempts was enough to exhaust anyone, that she understood. What she would never understand was rushing off to a friend the moment things get bad and planning a whole other life so carelessly.

Her heart cracked inside her chest, breathing became a difficult task. She'd never imagined the person she loved the most would be the one the ruin her so deeply.

"So you already had a backup plan?" She spat.

"No!" Michael combed his fingers through his hair, groaning in frustration.

"You already had her!" She yelled and with a look of shame, neither of them could deny it anymore. The color drained from her face and with the last of her energy, she managed to whisper. "You did."

He knew what he'd done was wrong, but some part of him refused to acknowledge it. Michael wasn't dumb, there was a reason why up until now he'd kept this whole thing under wraps, but it wasn't how she was thinking.

"It wasn't like that." He spoke, eyes locking into hers, just willing her to take a leap of faith and believe in him. "I just needed to know this could happen for me... that I could have children."

"Yeah..." She whispered into the void, wishing for nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare. "you had her waiting in the wings, preparing for the perfect moment to spring this on me."

"Stop."

His usually soft eyed look had hardened. He couldn't take this anymore. The constant back and fourth was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity. Every second that moved between them, he could feel the agonising weight of their love story resting on his shoulder. Shallow breathing falling from his rounded lips just to keep him from toppling over and falling to the ground.

"While I was praying." She started, her voice cracking with sadness bleeding into her words.

"Stop!" He repeated, only this was a painfully curated plea more than a soft request.

"Hoping... sitting in waiting rooms." She continued, only torturing herself more as the conversation lingered like dead weight in the air.

"Please, baby..."

"And it only took you two fucking weeks to picture a different women carrying your child." If something heavy had been sitting near by, she would have thrown it across the room just to rid herself of the anger she felt bubbling to the surface. "You couldn't even give me a month."

Scratching the back of his neck, Michael felt the moment his cheeks flushed as embarrassment began to rise to the surface. "That's not fair."

"A fucking month!" She continued, in that same aggressive tone. Frustration lingering like an unwanted compainion, threatening to break free and destroy all that they had built between them.

"Baby-" His fingers flexed on instinct, reaching for her hand and then deciding against it.

Staring at nothing in particular, feet planted to the floor. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, chewing on the delicate flesh, unable to process the absolute mess that had become of them.

Worry flooded Michael. Seeing her angry, that was something he could work with. At least then, he knew what she was thinking, how she was feeling and could give her space until she calmed down enough to talk rationality about whatever issues were clouding her judgement.

"Ten years." The words left her mouth, but she barley registered it. All the fight leaving her body now she'd been presented with all the facts.

"What?" Genuinely perplexed, brows furrowed and mouth downturned into a deep frown.

"I've loved you for ten years." She clarified, chest heaving and voice wrecked from the earlier shouting. Utterly defeated as she thought back to a simpler time in life when she truly believed they could get through anything so long as they stayed united. "Yeah, it took us some time to get here, but I thought once we got married, that would be it. We were bound together. Ten years in the making..." crying felt redundant, but she had nothing more to give. "and it took you fourteen days to imagine a future without me in it."

Panic began to set in as he watched the women he'd vowed to protect crumble before him. Her nose pink, eyes unfocused, like if she chanced a glance in his direction, she'd fail to exist within the scrutiny of his gaze.

"I never imagined a future without you." His voice barley that of a whisper, but his eyes urged her to look back and show some sign that she understood his point of view.

"No?" She let out a small laugh, fingers wrapped around the golden pendant sat between collarbones. "Just one where another women plays the part I can't."

Michael physcially recoiled like she's burnt him. He hadn't meant to make her feel like she was easy to replace, but it was obvious he had. Intentions didn't matter when the person you cared for the most suddenly began to look at you like you were a stranger.

"I still want you." He confessed, struggling to understand why she wouldn't see reason.

"No!" She shook her head in protest. "You'll tolerate me. You want the kids more."

"That's not true." But even as he said it, he knew it to be a lie.

"And if Debbie disappeared tomorrow... or I didn't want to go through with surrogacy or adoption. If children were completely off the table forever..." stepping forward, she could finally feel the heat of his body. So close, she could touch him, but couldn't convince herself she should. "would you still choose me?"

The question hung between them and suddenly the air started to feel stale. Her eyes finally found his, his lack of communication prolonging a hefty silence between them.

She didn't need him to say anything. Funnily enough, the words he didn't say communicated more than he ever could.

"Oh." The word fell from her lips without permission and she recoiled, creating more distance between them as she stepped back because finally, she understood.

This wasn't going to work.

As he stood, partially paralysed, watching the life leave her eyes. He knew she was only seconds away from allowing his dumb need to always control the world around ruin everything they'd built in the past decade of life.

"Baby, don't-"

"You're acting liie this is something I want." She scoffed, arms winding around her waist, eyes cast down to the floor.

"I did this for us!" Michael snapped, though his anger was completely misplaced. His desperation to keep her near provoking a side of himself he never wanted to show.

"No." She didn't yell. Her voice perfectly still. "You did this for you."

"Why does it matter? You want kids to. You've always said you couldn't wait to be a mom." Each word spoke with perfect diction, clear and precise. Hands held outwardly to get his point across further and desperation clinging to him like a second skin. "Why are you making this an issue now?"

"Because I needed time to heal... to understand what's going on with me and how to move forward." She wasn't even angry more, crying for the life thought she'd be living instead of the hell she was faced with. "I wanted some input into these huge, life altering decision. I get to decide what's right for me, for our marriage and you just... fuck." A sob broke free and cracked her open. "You took that away from me and maybe it wouldn't hurt as much if you'd been thinking about surrogacy with a stranger, but Debbie?"

"Come on." Michael sighed, tired of repeating himself. "It's not like that."

She said nothing, she barley flinched at the harsh tone of his voice. The world moved around her, but she didn't notice. Feeling like a ghost in her own home, she could no longer deny the distance between them.

Two weeks might has well have been two decades. He didn't see her the way he used to. She wasn't some new, shiny thing he saw for himself in the future. She was something worn down and broken that he was willing to drag along.

For a second, she remained perfectly still, hand held out in front of her and eyes fixed on the beautiful rings decorating her finger. Two bands that had once made her feel so warm and cared for now felt foreign on her skin, a reminder of all the things she could no longer have and the lengths her husband would go to in order to continue living the live he envisioned for himself.

They weren't a unit anymore. They hadn't been the moment he stepped back and discussed plans of impregnating another women behind her back, long before either of them had been tested for any infertility issues.

Having been with him through the good and the bad, she'd seen him at his lowest, sobbing over the vindictive rumours tabloids so carelessly threw his way. She'd seen him overjoyed, his beaming grin so bright it rivaled the light of the sun. She'd held him when he was lonely and cried with him when he was sad. His victories had become her own and his losses hurt her soul so deeply, you'd have thought they were one.

Now standing in front of him, listening to his act of betrayal, she no longer felt like they were bound as man and wife. Physcially, he was in reach. If was wanted to, she could push forward and hold his hand. Emotionally, he'd never felt so distant.

A heavy sigh of defeat past her lips and with a decision made, she watched herself slide the gold engagement and wedding band off her finger.

"No." Michael gasped in a panic, eyes wide and heart thumping frantically in his chest. "No! Don't do that."

"I can't do this." She whispered, placing the rings in his plam, flinching subtly as their fingers made contact and pulling away fast like his touch had scolded her flesh.

"Put them back on." He urged, trying to hand them back, but she moved away, backing herself into a corner just to prevent any further touch. His face fell, crippled with an emotion he couldn't name.

"I can't stay married to a man who makes decisions like this without me." She insisted, her voice so matter of fact, it scared him.

Michael's eyebrows raised high, teeth worrying his lower lip. "I wasn't making a decision. I was enquiring with a friend."

"You found a surrogate... you're planning on having a baby with a women who knows you intimately." She scoffed, eyes wet and unfocused.

"You're making it sound dirty. I'm not trying to hurt you." And he sounded so sincere, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it anymore.

Crossing the line into her personal space, Michael no longer cared about valuing her comfort as he desperately pulled her arm up and placed the wedding band back into her hand.

"Don't do this. Put it on." He persisted, eyes wild and voice raw. "Don't leave."

"Take it back." She uttered.

"No. I don't want it." Michael argued, holding her fingers over the ring in a desperate act to make her reconsider. "I brought this for you. To show you what you mean to me, to show the world you're mine... in every way that matters."

"That's doesn't mean anything right now."

Michael felt the wetness on his cheek before he realised what it was. Crying at the thought of losing her and aching because he knew on some level, he already had.

"It should." His voice cracked, doe eyes wide with terror. "You're my wife."

"I was your wife." She corrected, pulling her wrist from his grasp, the weight of the rings feeling heavier than ever.

Michael's eyes pooled with tears, mouth opened in horror at the subtle correction. He could feel his heart giving out, the loss of physical contact no longer the only barrier between them.

"No." He shook his head, breathing heavy and crying right alongside her. "Please. No. Don't- don't do this to me."

Ignoring his request, she continued to talk as though those particular words hadn't left his lips at all.

"You know what hurts the most?" She asked, but didn't want for answers. "Not that you talked to Debbie, or that you even found a surrogate. It's the fact that it never, not once, occurred to you to ask me. You didn't come up to me and ask 'what should we do now.' You just decided what you wanted and thought I'd go along with it."

"I thought I knew best." He whispered, staring at her face under the florescent bedroom lighting.

"That's your problem... you always think you know what's right, but you never stop before you jump ahead."

"We can still start a family." Michael desperately clinging to the dream had to try just once more.

She laughed bitterly, wiping under her eyes with the back of her plam. "Listen to yourself." She mocked. "This isn't working."

"I love you." He uttered in blind hope that it might make her stay.

"Stop saying that like it's going to fix anything." She spoke, eyes rimmed red and irritated from the steady flow of tears.

"I made a mistake." He finally admitted with a firm nod. "I understand that."

"A mistake is forgetting our anniversary, or forgetting to call while you're on the road." She clarified, refusing to be moved by those big Bambi eyes looking at her in fear. "You made an active choice here and it's not something easy to forgive."

"I can fix it." He promised, taking her hand and watching as it fell limp in his desperate hold. "I'll tell Debbie we're not doing it. I'll stop talking to her all together if that's what you want... just tell me what to do."

His pleas were earth shattering and part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay, they could figure this out together. They'd been through a lot in their realtionship and this was just another obstacle life had thrown there way.

But it wasn't that easy. It wasn't a vase he'd broke, but her trust and that was an entirely different conversation he wasn't ready to have.

"You can't undo this." She ignored the soft whisper of her name as it fell from his lips, looking over at where his hand clutched her own in a move of solid desperation, her skin sunken in from his harsh grasp.

"After my diagnosis..." she began, looking him straight in the eye even if it hurt to do so. "I looked over at you in the doctors office. It killed me, but I thought to myself, 'at least I have Michael.' Turns out, you weren't thinking that way about me, because if you were, you would've held my hand and let me grieve, you would've asked me what I wanted."

"I know." His shoulders slumped and he wiped his face as a result of the onslaught of tears. "I was wrong, but please don't go."

"I have to." She told him straight, not wanting to prolong this painful heartbreak further.

"We can get through this." Michael promised, squeezing her hand with his own.

"Maybe." She watched as hope flashed across his face, but she couldn't focus on that while pulling her hand out of his tight hold. "But not today."

His face crumpled, awful and pale like he was about to throw up if she took another step from him. For her own sanity, she had to.

Stepping away, she ignored his cries as she crossed the room, placing the rings he'd tried to give her back on the nightstand beside the lamp he used for some late night reading.

She didn't look back, she couldn't. She considered herself to be a strong women, but for Michael, she was weak as a kitten. If she chanced a glance over her shoulder, she ran the risk of turning back and allowing him the victory of winning her back.

Wasting no time, she left the room with the door closing tight behind her.

Michael stood, head in his hand, sobbing over his own mistakes and wondering if he would ever be able to make this up to her or if he really had just lost the only women he'd ever truly loved.

"Mike, they're gone." Bill said it steadily, just like the doctors instructed him.

"What?" Michael paused, reality settling back into his bones.

"You're having another episode, buddy. You got to go to sleep so this doesn't keep happening. Remember, the doctor told you those meds were going to help you sleep better."

Michael slumped onto the bed, eyes distant as he remembered the truth.

You were gone, you had been for almost 6 months now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The accident had happened while Michael was in New York for some award show. You had been driving home from your parents house, the weather was nasty.

Your parents had told you to stay the night, to wait until the storm cleared up, but you had refused, saying that you needed to be at home when Michael called.

Michael wished more than anything that you had listened to your mom. He wished you hadn't gotten in the car, he wished you hadn't gotten on the highway when it was dark and you could barely see two feet in front of you because of the rain. And he wished more than anything in the world that the man who t-boned your side of the car was the one to die, not you, and not the baby in your belly.

Michael was rushed out of the award ceremony and onto his private jet the second your mother called. He didn't care that it would take him hours to get to you, he truthfully didn't care that the conditions weren't good enough for the plane to take off. He needed to be there for you.

By the time the plane landed and he had gotten to the emergency room it was too late. He saw your parents holding each other in the waiting room, and he knew the worst had happened.

You were gone. His darling angel, the light of his life, was gone forever.

People said that the day you had left was the day Michaels soul left too.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Things never really got better for Michael. It didn't matter how many hit songs he made, how many tours he went on, how many fans loved him, everything felt empty.

The following month of your passing, Michael was put under close surveillance by his doctors. He barely spoke, let alone do anything else. He moved around like a ghost.

When Janet came to visit she would find him sitting silently on the couch, holding one of your shirts. Other times she would find him sitting at the dining room table writing feverishly. She asked him what he was doing and he would say he was writing letters to you.

The entire family was worried, so they got him a doctor that specializes in grief. They quickly and quietly put him on a combination of different medications, trying desperately to find ones that worked. They were looking for the medicine that would lock away any and all parts of you.

But Michael didn't want to lock you away, he didn't want the feeling of your touch to fade away, he didn't want your scent to just be another smell in the world.

You took his days, his nights, his hopes, his dreams, his life, his world. All of it taken away with you.

He started having episodes the longer he went without sleeping. But he couldn't sleep. He couldn't fall asleep because you weren't holding him, and when he took enough medicine to finally knock him out cold he had violent dreams about you.

His dreams taunted him, showing him the life that he should've been living with you, forcing him to see what could've been.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It was growing closer to being a full year without you. Some people used the word anniversary, but Michael couldn't. That word made him think of happy occasions, and your death date was anything but that.

He went longer stretches without sleeping, his episodes getting worse. Once, Bill had found him sitting alone in the nursery he had refused to get rid of. Michael sat in the rocking chair with a book, reading it aloud to the baby in his arms as you smiled from across the room at the adorable sight. Except there was no baby, and there was no you. Only Michael.

Janet came over to stay with him the week of that terrible day. She didn't want him to be alone in the house with nothing but doctors and security. She couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't stand to see him in so much pain, and no one was doing anything real about it. So she gathered all the letters he had written to you and put them on the coffee table before dragging Michael out of his room and sitting him down in front of them.

"Michael, this has to stop. You're driving yourself into the ground and I can't sit here and watch it happen anymore." She grabbed his hands.

He was silent for a moment, staring at the letters before speaking, "The first doctor told me that grief that continues past 6 months is pathological and should be medicated. 6 months for the life of my wife and child." His eyes glossed over.

Janet didn't know what to say. She just wanted her brother back, "Michael, it's like she took everything with her. Like she took you with her."

"She did." He answered simply.

"But you let her. Michael, we both know she wouldn't want you living like this. You know that she's worried sick watching over you. And I know as badly as you want to be with her, she doesn't want that yet. It's not your time, and you can't keep trying to speed things up to get to her. She's always going to be waiting for you, she has the patience of a saint, I mean she had to in order to be with you." Janet squeezed his hand.

Michael let out a small laugh, a real laugh. He looked at Janet, "I can't sleep, it's like every time I close my eyes I see everything that I'm missing. You can't possibly ask me to move on from her."

"I'm not asking you to move on, I'm asking for you to live for her."

Michael slowly looked at Janet, something soft in his eyes. For the first time in a year, Janet felt like she had finally seen a small glimpse of her brother.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Michael did as Janet said, he tried to live for you. And he did so for a long time. But his sleeping never really got better. He stopped having visions of you still being alive, but it still pained him to close his eyes at night.

Michael did all the things he thought you would have wanted him to do, he continued making people happy, caring for children, spreading love and joy. In the face of ridiculous accusations and horrible rumors he continued on for you.

But after 13 years, God had finally put an end to the distance. Michael went to sleep, and for the first time it was peaceful. And when he opened his eyes he felt your arms around his waist, and saw your beautiful face looking up at him. Your sweet baby laid gently on your chest as you welcomed him home.

"We missed you, darling."

the bass was vibrating right through the stadium floor, shaking her chest with every single beat. everywhere around her, thousands of people were screaming, waving their hands, and completely losing their minds, but she could barely focus on anything else except the stage. the energy in the air was absolutely electric, thick with sweat, excitement, and pure euphoria. this was it. it didn't feel real. it felt like a total dream, a moment she had replayed in her head a million times over, but actually being here in the crowd was entirely different.

then, the lights shifted, casting a deep, dramatic glow across the stage, and there he was. michael. right there in front of her own eyes. he moved with so much effortless grace, commanding the entire stadium without even trying. her heart skipped a beat, and for a second, the deafening noise of the crowd completely faded into the background. looking at him, she felt an unbelievable wave of happiness wash over her, a feeling so intense it made her eyes sting with tears. she was actually sharing the same space as him, watching him perform live, and nothing else in the world mattered.

the music kept building, and she exchanged a wild, disbelief-filled look with her friend next to her. both of them were in absolute ecstasy, jumping up and down and holding onto each other's arms just to stay grounded. they were so incredibly proud of themselves for actually making it here, completely overwhelmed by the sheer joy of the moment. her friend screamed something over the noise, her face lit up with a massive smile, and they both just laughed, completely swept away by the magic of the night. they had actually done it; they were standing right in front of the king of pop, and the feeling of pure happiness was completely unmatched.

the soft, familiar intro of "you are not alone" suddenly started playing through the massive speakers, and both of them instantly froze before letting out the loudest screams yet. they were absolutely ecstatic, clutching each other's hands as a wave of pure excitement rushed over them. it was their absolute favorite song, the one they always listened to together, and hearing those first few chords live felt completely surreal. their hearts melted as michael's soft voice filled the stadium, and they looked at each other with wide, emotional eyes, unable to believe they were actually about to watch him perform it right in front of them.

they were right there in the pit, standing at the very front of the crowd directly against the barricade. being all the way at the front meant they had an absolutely flawless view, with nothing and no one blocking their sight of the stage. they could see every single detail so much better now—the sweat glistening on his skin, the intricate details of his outfit, and the intense emotion in his eyes as he looked out at the crowd. being this close made the whole experience feel insanely personal, as if he was singing just for them, and they couldn't take their eyes off him for even a second.

as the song finally reached the iconic chorus, the atmosphere in the stadium shifted into something even more intense and magical. right at that exact moment, a few burly security guards and crew members started stepping down into the small gap between the stage and the front barricade, right in front of the pit. she watched them attentively, her heart pounding against her ribs as she realized what was happening. they were searching the crowd, scanning the faces of the frantic fans at the very front to find the one lucky girl who would get to go up on stage with michael for the song.

at first, she felt a sudden wave of skepticism wash over her. she looked at the sea of beautiful, screaming girls surrounding her, all of them waving their arms desperately, crying, and begging to be noticed. there was absolutely no way it would be her. she told herself to stop dreaming, mentally forcing herself to stay grounded because the odds felt completely impossible. she was just one face in a crowd of thousands, and she didn't want to get her hopes up only to be crushed.

but then, out of nowhere, a man from the production crew walked straight down the line and stopped right in front of her section. his eyes locked onto her face, cutting right through her doubts. he leaned over the barricade, shouting slightly over the roaring music and michael's powerful vocals, and asked her directly if she wanted to go up on stage.

her breath hitched, her mind going completely blank for a split second as the reality of the question hit her. all of her skepticism vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by pure, adrenaline-fueled excitement. a massive, ecstatic smile broke across her face, and without a single shred of hesitation, she leaned forward and yelled back, "hell yeah!"

her friend standing right next to her completely froze, her jaw dropping open in utter shock as she processed what had just happened. for a split second, she looked absolutely stunned, unable to believe that the crew member had actually picked her best friend out of the entire crowd. but within a heartbeat, that disbelief turned into pure, unadulterated joy. she started jumping up and down even crazier than before, screaming at the top of her lungs and shoving her forward toward the security guard with a massive, ecstatic smile. she was so incredibly happy for her, totally thrilled that her friend's ultimate dream was coming true right before her eyes, and she gave her one last frantic, encouraging squeeze on the arm as the guard reached out to help her over the barricade.

the second her hands gripped the cold metal of the barricade, a massive rush of pure adrenaline surged through her veins, making her heart beat so fast it felt deafening in her ears. as the security guard grabbed her waist to help pull her over, her feet left the ground and her stomach completely flipped with a mix of intense excitement and disbelief. the roaring crowd behind her suddenly sounded like a distant blur, and her entire body was tingling with a wild, electric energy as she stepped into the gap and made her way toward the stairs.

and then, she saw him. michael was standing right there at the edge of the stage, waiting for her eagerly with his hand extended and a warm, welcoming smile on his face. he was looking directly at her, completely ready to welcome her into his world for the next few minutes. she absolutely could not believe her eyes. seeing him from the pit was one thing, but seeing him stand there specifically waiting for her made her brain completely short-circuit. it felt totally surreal, like a movie playing out in slow motion, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing as she took those last few steps toward his outstretched hand.

the moment her sneakers hit the smooth stage floor, all her remaining restraint completely vanished. instead of walking nervously, she broke into a full-on sprint straight toward him, her face lit up with the biggest, brightest smile. as she ran, she lifted her hand and gave him a rapid, super cute, and incredibly excited little wave, her whole body practically radiating pure joy.

michael watched her rush toward him, and a huge, genuine smile broke out across his face. he let out a soft, delighted laugh, completely charmed by how sweet and energetic her reaction was. he found her bursting excitement absolutely adorable, and his eyes crinkled with pure amusement as he opened his arms wide, ready to catch her.

she didn't stop her sprint until she completely collided with him, burying herself straight into his arms for a super soft, incredibly warm hug. she wrapped her arms securely around his torso, hiding her face against his shoulder and just breathing in the moment, completely melting into his embrace. it wasn't a frantic or aggressive pull; it was a deeply gentle, tender embrace that showed just how much this moment truly meant to her.

michael immediately wrapped his long arms around her in return, holding her close with a protective, soothing grip. he swayed slightly with her from side to side on the massive stage, his touch incredibly soft as he leaned his head down near hers. the fabric of his stage jacket felt real against her hands, and the warmth radiating from him instantly made all the chaos of the stadium disappear. she squeezed him gently, pouring all her love and happiness into the hug, while he just held her securely, giving her all the time she needed to realize that she was finally safe in his arms.

she pulled back just a tiny bit, looking up at him with a wide, starstruck look, and asked him comically, "are you actually even real?"

michael let out another soft, melodic laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners because he found her absolutely adorable. she didn't stop there, though; she kept going, looking at him with a playfully suspicious expression and asking him if he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure that he was real and not just a figment of her imagination. michael's shoulders shook with amusement as he looked down at her, completely charmed by her sweet banter. he chuckled warmly, tightening his grip on her waist just a little bit to prove his point, and told her, "yes, i'm really real, i promise," laughing softly at how incredibly cute she was being.

"are you actually even real?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly with a mix of laughter and complete disbelief as she looked up into his eyes.

michael let out a soft, melodious chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "yes, i am completely real," he replied, his voice incredibly gentle as he looked down at her.

"no, but are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure?" she pressed on, looking at him with a comically suspicious expression, her hands still resting on his shoulders. "because i feel like i'm definitely dreaming right now and i'm gonna wake up in my bed any second."

michael's shoulders shook with amusement, a bright, genuine smile breaking across his face because he found her reaction so incredibly cute. he tightened his grip around her waist just a little bit, swaying her slightly on the massive stage. "i promise you, you're not dreaming. feel this? i'm right here," he laughed softly, his voice warm and reassuring.

she let out a breathless little laugh, finally accepting that the king of pop was actually holding her. her expression turned completely soft, full of pure emotion as she looked at him. "i just... i need you to know how much you mean to me," she whispered, her voice full of sincerity. "i love you so incredibly much, michael. but really, truly with all of my heart. your music, your heart, everything you do... it changed my life."

michael stopped swaying for a moment, his entire face softening as her heartfelt words sank in. the playful laughter in his eyes turned into something deeply touched and emotional. he looked at her with so much warmth, genuinely affected by how pure and sweet she was being. "thank you so much, sweetheart," he murmured softly, leaning his head down slightly closer to hers. "that means the world to me. truly. it's because of beautiful souls like you that i do this."

"your music is just so beautiful," she continued, her eyes shining as she looked at him, completely unbothered by the thousands of people watching them. "the way you create melodies, the lyrics, the energy... it's like you put your whole soul into every single song. there's literally no one else in the world who can make people feel the way you do."

michael smiled warmly, his cheeks flushing slightly at her words. "thank you, genuinely. i really do try to put all my love into it," he whispered back.

"but it's not even just the music," she pressed on, her voice filled with deep admiration. "it's your whole way of being. you are just so incredibly kind, gentle, and humble, even though you're the biggest star on earth. the way you treat people, your generosity, your heart... you're just a truly beautiful person inside and out, michael."

michael's eyes softened even more, completely overwhelmed by her sweet sincerity. he pressed a hand to his chest, looking down at her with immense gratitude. "you're going to make me cry up here," he chuckled softly, his voice thick with emotion. "thank you so much, sweetheart. your words mean more to me than you'll ever know."

down at the edge of the stage, one of the security guards was watching them closely, waiting for the right moment to intervene. he finally caught michael's eye, subtly lifting his hand and making a quick, questioning gesture to ask if he should step up and escort her back down to the pit.

michael glanced over at the guard, but instead of nodding, he quickly shook his head. he lifted his hand, flashing a subtle, reassuring gesture that clearly communicated *give us five more minutes.*

he turned his attention right back to her, a genuine smile still plastered across his face. truth was, he was completely captivated by her sweet energy and honesty. he was genuinely beginning to enjoy her company, finding her presence incredibly refreshing and comforting amidst the chaos of the massive stadium, and he wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

down in the front row of the pit, her friend was absolutely losing her mind. she was screaming like a complete lunatic, her hands pressed against her cheeks as she watched the entire interaction unfold right in front of her. she was completely shocked, her eyes wide with total disbelief as she looked back and forth between her best friend and michael jackson.

every time michael laughed or leaned in closer to listen, her friend would let out another frantic shriek, jumping up and down and grabbing the arms of the random fans standing next to her because she literally couldn't contain her excitement. she couldn't believe her own eyes; her actual best friend was up there completely charming the king of pop, staying on stage way longer than anyone else ever did, and she was so overwhelmingly hyped and proud she felt like she might faint right there against the barricade.

michael smiled down at her, the warmth in his eyes growing as he gently kept his hand on her shoulder. "i've been so swept away by everything you're saying," he murmured softly, his voice full of genuine curiosity. "but i don't even know who this beautiful soul is. what is your name, sweetheart?"

"my name is y/n," she replied, her voice soft but filled with absolute joy as she looked up at him.

michael's smile widened, and he repeated her name slowly, letting the syllables roll off his tongue with a gentle, melodic tone. "y/n... that is such a beautiful name," he murmured softly, his eyes filled with pure warmth.

hearing her own name spoken by his iconic voice made her heart completely swell, and before she could even think about it, she wrapped her arms around him once more. she threw herself into another huge, tight hug, burying her face into his chest and holding onto him with everything she had, completely overwhelmed by how sweet and perfect the entire moment was.

michael held her tight for a few more seconds, but unfortunately, the time had finally come for her to return to the crowd. the security guard stepped back up onto the stage, approaching them gently since michael had already made it clear she was special. michael looked a little disappointed, a subtle shadow of sadness crossing his face because he was genuinely enjoying her company so much. as the guard reached them, michael looked the man straight in the eyes and gave a firm, protective nod, signaling for the crew to be incredibly gentle with her as they escorted her back down.

she felt a little pang of sadness in her chest too, knowing the dream was coming to an end, but the overwhelming happiness completely outshone it. she backed away slowly, looking at him with shining eyes, and began blowing him a flurry of sweet little kisses through the air. she didn't cause a scene or try to cling to him; she left the stage just as respectfully as she had arrived, waving one last time. michael watched her go, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across his face as he blew a kiss right back, completely captivated by her grace and sweetness until she disappeared into the front row.

just before she dropped back down into the crowd, she turned around one last time, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled out, "bye mike!" over the roaring music.

hearing the sweet, casual nickname made michael's smile grow even wider, his eyes crinkling with absolute delight. he gave her one final, enthusiastic wave, completely charmed by her until the very last second.

as the music swelled and the heavy bass kicked back in, michael turned back toward the center of the stage, but his heart was beating wildly in his chest—not just from the intense choreography, but from the lingering rush of that beautiful encounter. he felt an overwhelming wave of pure happiness wash over him, a deep, radiant joy that completely energized his entire body.

a massive, unstoppable smile stayed glued to his face as he launched back into the performance, his movements lighter and more electric than ever. every spin, every sharp glide, and every note he sang felt infused with the sweet, genuine love he had just received from y/n. he kept glancing back toward her section of the crowd, his heart completely full, feeling incredibly grateful for the beautiful reminder of exactly why he loved being on that stage.

the second the final curtain dropped and the roar of the stadium began to fade, michael hurried off the stage, his heart still buzzing from the incredible night. as he walked down the dimly lit backstage corridor, sweat glistening on his face, he wasn't just thinking about the show—his mind was completely fixed on y/n.

as soon as his styling team and managers converged on him with towels and water bottles, he looked around at everyone, his expression intense but filled with a hopeful energy.

"listen, the girl from earlier—the one i kept on stage during the performance," michael started quickly, his voice urgent as he wiped his face. "y/n. did anyone catch which section she went back to? we have to find her."

his main manager blinked, surprised by how determined michael looked. "michael, there were eighty thousand people out there. she just went back into the pit."

"no, please, you don't understand," michael pressed, turning to his head of security who was walking right beside him. "she was so incredibly sweet, so genuine. it wasn't just a regular fan moment. i really, truly want to talk to her again. can we check the front row barricade? her friend was right there with her, screaming and wearing..." he paused, trying to recall every detail. "we have to look. please check with the gate staff or see if she's still near the venue. i really want to find her before she leaves tonight."

he was practically pacing up and down the dressing room now, his hands moving frantically as he tried to explain. "no, you don't understand, you guys aren't listening to me! please, we can't just let her walk away into the city. she’s going to leave, and then she’ll be gone forever!"

his manager tried to calm him down, putting a hand on his shoulder. "michael, the concert ended twenty minutes ago. the stadium is already clearing out. it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"i don't care about the haystack, find the needle!" michael pleaded, his voice cracking slightly with a desperate, heavy sigh. he looked at his head of security with wide, almost begging eyes. "please, frank, you saw her! she was right by the center barricade. her friend was wearing a bright outfit, they were right there in the front row. can't you send a team out to the parking lots? or the subway gates? she calls me 'mike'—just ask the staff if they saw a girl named y/n who was just on stage!"

he pressed his hands against his face, feeling a sudden wave of panic that he had missed his only chance. "she told me she loved me with all her heart, and she was so gentle... i can't just let that be a two-minute memory. please, do something, call the stadium security, check the cameras, anything! I just... i really, really need to find her tonight."

seeing how frantic and genuinely desperate he was, his security team realized this wasn't just a fleeting thought—michael was completely consumed by the need to find her. frank immediately grabbed his radio, his voice sharp and urgent as he started barking orders to the entire stadium security network.

"all units, all exits, listen up," frank spoke quickly into the mic, pacing the hallway. "we are looking for a female fan named y/n. she was the one on stage tonight. she was in the front row center barricade, likely accompanied by a female friend. check the vip exits, the main gates, and the parking lots immediately. if you spot her, do not let her leave the premises. hold her politely and notify me right away."

back in the dressing room, michael couldn't even sit down to have his makeup wiped off. he was standing by the door, chewing on his lip, his eyes darting back and forth every time the radio crackled with static.

"did they find her? what are they saying?" michael asked, his voice breathless and trembling slightly as he gripped the edge of the table. "please tell me they didn't lose her already."

"they're checking the main plaza right now, michael," his manager said, trying to soothe him while frantically texting the venue coordinators to check the closed-circuit security cameras near the stage. "the crowd is massive, it takes time to filter out, but we have guys at every major bottleneck."

"tell them to hurry, please," michael whispered, his hands shaking slightly as he pressed them together in a silent prayer. "she has to still be out there. she just has to be."

meanwhile, out in the concrete exit tunnels of the stadium, y/n and her best friend were shuffling along with the rest of the exhausted crowd, completely trapped in their own little bubble of pure euphoria. they were practically leaning on each other for support, laughing so hard they could barely breathe as the sheer shock of the night finally started to hit them.

"i’m literally going to throw up, y/n, i am not kidding!" her friend shrieked, slapping y/n's arm repeatedly as they walked. "you were up there for like, a whole lifetime! he literally told his security to back off for you! do you understand that?! michael jackson looked at the guards and went 'no, she stays'!"

y/n let out a breathless, dizzy laugh, her hands flying up to cover her face as her cheeks burned red. "i don't even know what happened! my brain is completely melted. when he repeated my name, his voice sounded so close, and he was just... he was so incredibly soft and gentle..."

"you called him mike!" her friend yelled, drawing stares from a few nearby fans who were also shuffling toward the subway gates. "you literally cupped your hands and yelled 'bye mike' like you guys went to high school together! and he smiled so huge! oh my god, y/n, your life is officially peak. it’s never getting better than this."

"i didn't know what else to say!" y/n squealed, hiding her face in her friend's shoulder as they walked past a row of stadium pillars, completely unaware that just a few hundred yards away, the entire backstage security force was frantically looking for them.

back in the dressing room, the walls felt like they were closing in on him. michael couldn't sit still. he paced the floor frantically in his loafers and white socks, his hands trembling as he ran them through his damp hair.

"anything? frank, please, tell me someone saw her," he pleaded, his voice sounding small and breathless as he turned to his head of security. he hated feeling this completely helpless. eighty thousand people had been out there, and the only soul he desperately wanted to connect with was slipping away into the dark.

every time the walkie-talkie on frank's belt crackled, michael's heart leaped straight into his throat. but it was just static and random chatter. nothing.

"michael, the outer gates are almost clear," frank said, looking at him with a heavy, sympathetic sigh. "most of the crowd is already in the tunnels heading toward the subways. it's complete chaos out there right now."

"no, she wouldn't just disappear, she's with a friend," michael insisted, stepping closer to the large man, his wide eyes practically begging. "they're probably still walking slowly, laughing, talking about the show... she called me mike, frank. nobody just calls me mike on stage like that. she was so real. please, tell your guys to check the concrete corridors. the exit tunnels. if she gets to the subway station, i'll never see her again."

michael pressed his forehead against the cool surface of the dressing room mirror, staring at his own reflection but only seeing her shining eyes, hearing her soft voice say *y/n*. he felt a physical ache in his chest, a desperate, nagging panic that he had let something incredibly rare and beautiful just walk right out of his life.

"dear god, please," he whispered under his breath, closing his eyes tightly and pressing his hands together in a fervent prayer. "just let them find her. don't let her leave yet."

deep in the crowded exit tunnels, y/n and her friend were still laughing when three massive, heavily built men in dark clothing suddenly stepped directly into their path, cutting them off from the rest of the moving crowd.

y/n's heart instantly dropped into her stomach. her friend froze right beside her, her laughter cutting off in a sharp gasp. for a terrifying second, they both thought they were in massive trouble—maybe they had broken a stadium rule, or maybe yelling "bye mike" had crossed a line and they were about to get kicked out or worse. y/n's mind raced, completely convinced they had done something completely wrong.

but before either of them could stammer out an apology, the largest of the three men stepped forward, his expression serious but his tone surprisingly polite.

"are you y/n?" he asked, checking a small note in his hand.

y/n blinked, completely stunned, and nodded slowly. "yes... why?"

the three big guys exchanged a quick, relieved look, and the man nodded back toward the restricted backstage doors. "mr. jackson is looking for you. you need to come with us right now, please."

back in the dressing room, the tension was so thick it was almost suffocating. michael was still pacing, chewing on his thumbnail, his eyes locked onto frank’s walkie-talkie as if he could force it to speak through sheer willpower.

suddenly, the radio burst to life with a sharp crackle of static.

"alpha unit to base, we have a visual. repeat, we have the target."

frank immediately snatched the radio off his belt, pressing the button. "alpha, confirm. did you secure y/n?"

"affirmative. center exit tunnel. she’s with a friend. we have them both, and we’re escorting them back to the secure dressing area now. they are cooperating."

the second those words echoed through the small room, michael stopped dead in his tracks. the suffocating panic that had been twisting his stomach for the last half-hour vanished instantly, replaced by a rush of pure, dizzying relief. a breathless laugh escaped his lips, and he threw his head back, running both hands through his hair as a massive, ecstatic smile broke across his face.

"oh thank god," michael breathed out, his voice cracking with pure emotion. he looked at frank, his eyes shining with absolute gratitude. "thank you, frank. thank you so much."

he didn't even wait for them to arrive. michael immediately rushed over to the door, opening it just a crack so he could peer down the hallway, his heart hammering against his ribs in frantic anticipation as he waited to see her face appear around the corner.

down the long, quiet backstage corridor, the heavy footsteps of the three security guards echoed against the concrete walls. locked in the middle of them, y/n and her friend walked in a state of absolute, dazed shock, their eyes wide as they were led deeper and deeper into the restricted area. y/n’s heart was hammering so loudly she was certain the guards could hear it.

michael was practically glued to the door crack, his breathing shallow, his eyes scanning the empty hallway. and then, there she was.

the moment her small figure rounded the corner, michael didn't even care about keeping his distance. he threw the door wide open and stepped out into the hallway.

"y/n!" he called out softly, his voice a mix of breathlessness and pure, unfiltered joy.

she stopped dead in her tracks. she looked up, and her breath completely caught in her throat. standing just a few yards away was michael, completely out of his stage jacket, wearing just his simple white shirt, black trousers, and those iconic white socks. the frantic, worried look that had been on his face all night completely melted away, replaced by the biggest, most radiant smile she had ever seen.

"you found her," michael breathed out to the guards, his eyes never leaving y/n's face as he took a few hurried, eager steps toward her. "thank you so much, you guys. you can leave us now."

the large guards nodded and stepped back, leaving y/n and her friend standing there in the middle of the hallway. y/n looked at michael, her mouth slightly open, completely unable to process that the biggest superstar in the world had literally deployed his entire security team just to find her.

seeing them standing there, michael gently gestured toward his private dressing room, giving a warm, welcoming nod. "would you... would you like to come in? just for a little bit?"

y/n stood frozen, her mind completely blank, but her friend suddenly nudged her hard in the ribs. her friend leaned in close, her eyes wide with frantic excitement, and whispered fiercely in her ear, "girl this is your moment ! go, i'll wait right here!"

with one last encouraging push, her friend stepped back, grinning from ear to ear and signaling to the security guards that she was perfectly fine staying in the hallway.

she took a hesitant step forward, and michael’s smile softened into something incredibly sweet. he escorted her inside, gently closing the door behind them and shutting out the rest of the chaotic world. Suddenly, the massive stadium felt miles away, leaving just the two of them in the quiet room.

"i am so, so glad they found you," michael said, his voice dropping to that famously soft, gentle whisper. he walked over to a small couch, turning back to look at her with complete undivided attention. "i was so worried i’d never see you again. when you left the stage, i just... i couldn't stop thinking about how sweet you were. you really had my heart beating wildly out there."

y/n swallowed hard, trying to find her voice as she looked at him. "i... i can't believe you looked for me. i thought i was in trouble when the big guys stopped us!"

michael let out a soft, melodic laugh, shaking his head quickly. "oh, no! no, never. i’m so sorry if they scared you. i was just desperate to talk to you. you called me 'mike' right before you left, didn't you?" his eyes crinkled with absolute delight at the memory. "nobody ever does that. it felt so real. so genuine. i just really wanted to know who you were, y/n."

she flushed a little, looking down at her hands as she realized what she had actually yelled out in front of thousands of people.

"i'm so sorry," she stammered softly, her voice trailing off a bit. "i think i just got so caught up in the moment... it was probably way too familiar of me to just shout 'mike' like that."

michael immediately shook his head, stepping a little closer to her with an incredibly warm, reassuring look on his face.

"oh, no, please don't apologize!" he said quickly, his voice filled with genuine sincerity as he reached out to gently touch her arm. "you have no idea how much i loved it. honestly, everyone always calls me 'mr. jackson' or 'michael' like i'm this untouchable thing, you know? but when you said 'mike,' it felt so warm. it felt like you actually saw me, not just the performer on stage."

he smiled softly, his eyes completely locking onto hers. "it made me feel like we were already friends. so please, don't ever feel bad about it. i want you to call me mike."

y/n smiled, her eyes lighting up as she looked at him. "i've actually been a fan of yours for a really long time. i've always, always loved your music. it's just so incredible."

michael’s hand moved to his chest, his fingers pressing against his white shirt right over his heart. a soft, incredibly touched expression washed over his face, his dark eyes softening completely as he looked at her.

y/n chuckled softly, the last of her nerves completely evaporating. "honestly? it's so hard to choose just one. but there's this one song... every single time it plays, my mom and i just burst into song together, no matter what we're doing."

michael’s eyes lit up with absolute delight, and he let out that soft, melodic laugh of his. "oh, really? that is beautiful! which one is it? you have to tell me!"

"i can't help it, we sing it every single time!" she laughed, waving her hands in the air.

"i love that so much," michael said, his smile spreading so wide his cheeks cracked. he shifted on the couch, pulling one leg up under himself and completely abandoning any formal posture. it was like a switch had flipped; the superstar persona was entirely gone, replaced by a warm, familiar energy. "you know, that’s exactly how it should be. music is supposed to bring family together like that."

they ended up losing all track of time after that. the minutes bled into a full, beautiful hour as they just sat there talking about absolutely everything. the huge stadium outside was completely silent by now, but inside the dressing room, it felt like their own private world where the conversation never hit a single dry spell.

they talked about the sheer madness of the history tour, and y/n found herself teasing him about his dramatic stage entrances, making him bury his face in his hands while giggling uncontrollably.

they were sitting close now, gesturing wildly, interrupting each other, and sharing inside jokes as if they had known each other since childhood. michael looked at her, his expression deeply content and incredibly relaxed, completely forgetting about his managers or the time. he just felt an instant, deep connection, completely comfortable in her presence.

but eventually, the ticking clock pulled them back to reality. the sheer exhaustion of such an emotional night was slowly starting to catch up with them, and michael glanced down at his watch. his expression softened with a touch of gentle regret. it was getting incredibly late.

"i can't believe a whole hour has passed already," he whispered, a slightly sad but sweet smile playing on his lips as he turned to face her. "i really hate to admit this, y/n, but i think it’s getting late.."

he stood up gracefully, offering his hand to help her up. a deep, protective look filled his eyes; he wanted nothing more than to ensure she made it back home completely safe and sound, without taking any risks at such an incredibly late hour.

"the streets are going to be so empty, and the subways aren't safe this late," he added, his voice dropping to a concerned, gentle murmur as he lightly held her hands. "i need to know that you're safe, okay? that's the most important thing to me. i’m going to have frank and my security team drive you and your friend directly back to your house in a private car. please, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

y/n looked up at him, her heart swelling at how genuinely worried he was about her. she smiled softly, her voice dipping into a very sweet, tender tone as she squeezed his hands back.

"it's you who should be taking care of yourself, mike," she said softly, a playful but deeply caring glint in her eyes. "you just gave everything you had to eighty thousand people out there, and here you are, still worrying about me. promise me you'll get some rest, too."

michael's eyes widened slightly, completely melting at her words. a soft, incredibly touched blush crept up his cheeks, and he let out a shy, breathless little giggle, ducking his head for a second before looking back at her with absolute fondness.

"i promise," he whispered, his smile warmer than ever.

she looked at his sweet, blushing face, and before she could let her overthinking mind stop her, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder.

michael gasped softly in surprise, but within a split second, his long arms wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. he held her so tightly, his chin resting against the top of her head as he breathed in the scent of her hair. the hug was warm, desperate, and filled with a deep, silent understanding.

"i'm so scared for this to end," she whispered into the fabric of his shirt, her voice cracking slightly as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. she squeezed him even tighter, completely letting go of her filters. "i wish i could just stay with you like this for the rest of my life."

michael’s grip on her tightened instantly at her words, his heart hammering wildly against her chest. he closed his eyes, a wave of intense emotion washing over him as he rocked her gently back and forth in the quiet dressing room, wishing with everything he had that he could make time stop completely.

still clinging to him, her voice muffled against his shoulder, she took a soft, shaky breath and looked up just enough to meet his eyes.

"do you... do you think it would ever be possible?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his face. "for us to just meet up and talk like this again? like real friends, without all the madness around us?"

michael's eyes softened completely, filled with a deep, quiet sincerity. he reached up, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his touch incredibly tender.

"i want that more than anything, y/n," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "i don't want this to be just for tonight. to me, we are real friends now."

he tightened his grip on her, pulling her even closer into the hug as a wave of pure relief washed over the both of them. the lingering sadness of having to say goodbye completely dissolved, replaced by this intense, overwhelming happiness. knowing that this wasn't just a fleeting moment—that they were actually going to stay in each other's lives—changed everything.

michael buried his face into the crook of her neck, letting out a long, contented breath that he felt like he’d been holding all night. y/n wrapped her arms even tighter around him, the warmth of his chest pressing against hers making her feel completely safe, grounded, and incredibly reassured.

when they finally, slowly pulled back, neither of them could stop smiling. michael’s dark eyes were absolutely glowing, his cheeks flushed with a bright, joyful energy that completely erased all his exhaustion. she looked up at him, her heart bursting with happiness, feeling a profound sense of peace knowing that their connection was completely mutual and real.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

And you hated that immediately.

Because you could tell right away this was a man who had already grown used to minimizing his own pain for the comfort of everybody around him.

You remember asking him quietly if he could remove the sunglasses so you could properly examine him and the hesitation that crossed his face for a split second before he obeyed. Almost shy about it. Like he was embarrassed.

And when you finally examined the damage to his scalp up close, your chest tightened.

Because the injury itself was serious enough, but what angered you more was how exhausted he looked overall. dark circles beneath his eyes barely concealed beneath makeup. How sluggish some of his reactions were. How he kept rubbing at his temples whenever he thought you weren’t looking. Even the way he sat told you enough , stiff posture, subtle tension in his shoulders, somebody constantly bracing for discomfort.

And the moment you asked to see his medical records and the list of medications his doctors currently had him taking, everything only got worse.

You still remember sitting there in your office flipping slowly through paperwork while michael watched you carefully from across the room. And the quieter you became, the more nervous he started looking.

Because your expression kept changing the further you read.