Heyyy :) I absolutely adore your work and was wondering if you could do smth with Micheal based off of the lyrics of locked out of heaven by Bruno mars? Thankssss!
synopsis — 𓍼ོ.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆ : after a difficult period in his life, michael throws himself into rehearsals to cope. when a new dancer, joins the studio, their partnership in practice slowly brings him out of isolation and helps him start reconnecting with people again.
themes — 𓍼ོ.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆ : grief, healing, connection, hope
wanna see more? here’s my masterlist! ݁ ˖Ი𐑼ֶָ֢
request = open 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
rehearsals had always been michael’s favorite part of the day. once everyone else packed their bags and headed home, he’d still be there, sitting cross-legged on the studio floor with a notebook balanced against his knee, chasing melodies that only existed in fragments. he’d ask dancers if they wanted to run a section one more time, joke with the crew while they wrapped cables, thank every musician individually before finally leaving long after sunset.
now, the music stopped, and so did he. he was always the first one out the door. people whispered about it when they thought he couldn’t hear.
“he hasn’t been himself.”
time. everyone said it like it was something you could simply wait through, as though grief quietly packed its bags one morning and decided it had overstayed its welcome.
they didn’t see the nights.
they didn’t see him lying awake until five in the morning, staring at the ceiling because every time he closed his eyes, his mind wandered somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. they didn’t hear the silence that greeted him every time he walked through the front door of his house.
so he worked. work had always made sense. music never promised forever, music never changed its mind. if he poured enough of himself into rehearsals, maybe there wouldn’t be enough left over to miss someone who was already gone.
the warehouse buzzed with energy by the time he arrived. somewhere down the corridor, dancers stretched against mirrored walls while choreographers shouted counts over music.
it felt alive and he wished he did too.
“morning.” his choreographer fell into step beside him. michael offered a tired smile.
“sleep?” he let out a quiet laugh.
“something like it.” the older man studied him for a second before deciding not to push. instead, he clapped loudly enough for the room to settle.
“before we start, i’ve got someone new.”
a handful of conversations faded and dancers wandered toward the middle of the room.
michael barely looked up. new people joined productions all the time, some stayed, some disappeared after a week.
he’d learned years ago not to build opinions before the music even started.
“…everyone, this is y/n.” he looked anyway.
you stood near the front of the room with your dance bag resting against one leg, fingers nervously twisting the strap while thirty unfamiliar faces looked back at you.
you smiled. there was something honest about it. you didn’t carry yourself like someone trying to impress anybody. if anything, you looked slightly overwhelmed, your eyes quietly wandering around the studio as though you couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.
he recognized that look, he had worn it once years ago before stages became familiar, before cameras stopped making him nervous, before people expected him to know exactly what he was doing every second of every day.
“…she’ll be with us for rehearsals starting today.”
you introduced yourself quietly, earning a few welcoming smiles before everyone returned to warming up. the room immediately filled with movement again.
music flooded through the speakers and counts echoed against the mirrors.
rehearsals settled into their usual rhythm. michael had never struggled to focus before. he was the kind of performer who disappeared into choreography the second the music started. everything else faded until there was nothing left except movement.
today, his concentration kept slipping. it happened so subtly at first that he barely noticed. during water breaks, his eyes wandered across the room.
while waiting for music cues, he’d glance toward the mirrors, and every single time they landed on you. you learned choreography the way people solved puzzles. carefully and patiently. if a section gave you trouble, you repeated it quietly to yourself instead of asking someone else to slow down. your lips moved beneath your breath while you counted, feet marking steps against the floor long after everyone else had stopped.
he watched you celebrate tiny victories nobody else noticed such as finally landing a difficult turn or finding the timing on a complicated sequence. your smile every time something clicked into place wasn’t performative.
without realizing it, he smiled too.
“michael.” his head lifted.
the choreographer stood across the room with folded arms.
“you joining us?” a ripple of laughter moved through the studio.
only then did he realize everyone had already reset into formation and he hadn’t.
he rubbed the back of his neck.
“you feeling alright?” he nodded automatically.
it wasn’t entirely convincing. still, the rehearsal continued. you happened to glance over just as he stepped back into place. for a brief second, your eyes met. instead of looking away awkwardly, you smiled a small, friendly smile.
he found himself looking for you again ten minutes later.
by lunchtime, someone dramatically collapsed onto the floor, earning laughter from the rest of the dancers. the room emptied surprisingly fast, and within minutes, only a handful of people remained.
michael wandered toward the loading dock outside, carrying an unopened sandwich he wasn’t particularly interested in eating. first time all day it was quiet.
he welcomed it, or at least he thought he did. his thoughts returned almost immediately and he hated that.
he hated how quickly silence became memory. how every quiet moment somehow circled back to the same place, the same person, the same ending. he stared absentmindedly across the parking lot until footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
you paused when you noticed him sitting there.
“oh.” your voice was softer than he’d expected.
“i didn’t know anyone was out here.”
you glanced back toward the hallway.
“i can go somewhere else.”
“you don’t have to.” the words came quicker than he intended. he then shifted slightly, making room beside him.
“there’s plenty of space.” you hesitated for only a second before walking over.
a comfortable distance remained between the two of you as you sat down. for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence didn’t feel awkward.
a breeze drifted through the open lot, carrying the distant sound of traffic. you took a sip from your water before quietly laughing to yourself.
“didn’t sound like nothing.” another small laugh escaped you.
you looked down at your shoes.
“…i’ve wanted to dance here for years.”
“my teacher used to make us watch videos of your rehearsals.”
your smile turned almost sheepish.
“i never thought i’d actually end up in one.”
something softened in his expression.
“how’s your first day?” you let out a long breath.
he laughed, a real one this time.
you covered your face for a second.
“i thought i was hiding it.”
“pretty well actually.” the nervousness eased from your shoulders.
another silence settled between you, this one somehow lighter than the first.
he realized, with quiet surprise, that it was the longest conversation he’d had in weeks that wasn’t about schedules, choreography, or work. for the first time since his breakup, he hadn’t thought about the past once while you were talking.
that realization stayed with him long after lunch ended, because as everyone slowly filtered back into the rehearsal room, michael found himself doing something he hadn’t done in months, which was looking forward to the rest of the day.
the afternoon pasted faster than the morning ever had. once the music started again, the warehouse slipped back into its rhythm. counts echoed across the studio, sneakers skimmed against the polished floor.
you found yourself relaxing into it. the knot that had been sitting in your stomach since you walked through the doors that morning had slowly started to unravel. you still made mistakes, but they no longer felt like the end of the world. every correction was another chance to learn, and somehow that made the room feel smaller. friendlier.
across the studio, michael noticed. he wasn’t trying to watch you. he’d actually made a quiet promise to himself after lunch that he’d stop letting his attention drift your way every few minutes. the conversation outside had been nice, but that was all it had been. you were a dancer joining rehearsals, nothing more.
he had spent months trying to convince himself that letting people in only ended one way.
he wasn’t about to forget that now. yet somehow, every time the music stopped, his eyes found you before he even realized he was looking.
you practiced the same way you spoke, which was patiently.
if something didn’t feel right, you didn’t get frustrated. you simply tried again. and again. and again, until eventually your face lit up with that same quiet smile he’d already seen a dozen times that day. it wasn’t for anyone else’s benefit, you smiled because you’d finally gotten it.
he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone enjoy improving more than being impressive. it was… refreshing.
“alright.” the choreographer’s voice cut through the music.
“we’re changing formations.”
a few dancers groaned dramatically.
“don’t complain,” he laughed. “you’re young. you’ll recover.”
the room shuffled around as everyone moved into new places. papers rustled in his hands while he glanced down the list before looking up again.
“you’re with y/n for this section.”
you looked just as surprised as he felt. your eyes met his for only a second before you made your way across the room, adjusting the strap of your dance bag where it rested against the wall before stepping into position beside him.
“hi again.” you said with an awkward little smile.
for a moment, neither of you said anything else. then the choreographer clapped his hands before the silence had time to grow.
music filled the room again.
the combination wasn’t especially difficult, but it relied on trust.
every turn ended with the two of you crossing paths. every transition depended on perfect timing. if one person was even half a second too early, the entire sequence fell apart. the first attempt ended with your shoulder bumping lightly against his.
you both spoke at exactly the same time.
you blinked, then laughed, and so did he. the sound escaped him before he even thought about it, quiet but genuine.
“again!” the choreographer called.
the second run went better, and by the fourth, the awkwardness had disappeared completely.
michael found himself explaining little things without thinking.
“wait half a beat longer.”
the next time, you did exactly that.
there wasn’t a trace of defensiveness in you, no embarrassment over needing help. you simply wanted to get it right, and he admired that.
another break was called not long after.
music faded into scattered conversations as dancers reached for water bottles, towels draped around tired shoulders while a few people collapsed dramatically onto the floor.
you wandered toward the mirrors and you stood in front of your reflection, quietly marking through the section the two of you had just finished. your lips moved beneath your breath as you counted each step, stopping every so often before shaking your head and starting over.
he stood across the room for a moment, watching without really meaning to.
it reminded him of another rehearsal years ago. he’d been younger then, still convinced perfection was only one more practice away.
everyone else had gone home while he’d stayed behind repeating the same spin until his feet hurt too much to continue.
he’d forgotten that version of himself somewhere along the way. watching you now felt strangely familiar, like finding an old photograph tucked inside a drawer you hadn’t opened in years.
he walked over before he could talk himself out of it. you caught his reflection in the mirror and turned.
“i thought everyone was taking a break.”
you glanced toward the movement you’d been practicing.
“i just wanted to get this one part.”
without another word, you stepped back into position. he watched carefully as you danced through the combination.
when you finished, he waited a second before speaking.
“you’re rushing because you’re listening to the count.”
“isn’t that what i’m supposed to do?”
“but don’t chase the numbers.”
he demonstrated the movement once, slower than before.
“listen to where the music breathes.” you watched him carefully. he noticed how focused you became whenever someone explained something to you, like the rest of the room simply disappeared.
when he finished, you tried it again.
this time everything landed exactly where it was supposed to.
your face lit up almost instantly.
a quiet laugh escaped you.
“that feels completely different.”
he couldn’t help smiling.
“because you stopped thinking.”
“a lot?” he laughed softly.
you groaned, covering your face for a second.
“it’s not a bad thing.” you lowered your hands.
“it just means you care.”
the words settled between you. for some reason, they meant more coming from him. you smiled to yourself before looking back at the mirror.
he looked at your reflection instead of answering.
people thanked him all the time, for opportunities, for songs, for performances, but this, this felt different. you weren’t thanking michael jackson.
you were thanking the person standing beside you because he’d taken a few extra minutes to help. he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed something that simple.
outside, the sun had started to sink behind the buildings, casting warm streaks of gold through the studio windows.
for the first time in months when rehearsals ended, michael didn’t find himself thinking about leaving. instead, he found himself wondering if tomorrow’s rehearsal would put the two of you together again.
and that thought alone was enough to make him quietly shake his head at himself. this was exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do.
yet as he packed away his notebook, he couldn’t ignore the feeling settling somewhere deep inside his chest.
it wasn’t love, it wasn’t even a crush, it was smaller than that. quieter.
and after everything he’d spent the last few months trying to outrun, hope almost frightened him more than heartbreak ever had.
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