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Hayvenhurst had become considerably more dangerous since everyone learned about the baby. Not traditional danger, the danger came in the form of food. Specifically, food being placed in your hands against your will by Jackson women. 

You had arrived two hours ago. Since then, you had been handed one plate of barbecue, two helpings of macaroni and cheese, a bowl of fruit, sweet tea, and three separate slices of cake. You knew because you had counted once you felt a stomachache coming on.

At the picnic table beside you, Janet looked entirely too entertained.

"You better eat it."

You stared at the newest plate that had somehow appeared in front of you. 

"Jan, if I eat any more I’m gonna be sick."

She shrugged. 

"Don’t look at me."

You narrowed your eyes. 

"You literally handed it to me."

"I was acting under orders."

Your gaze drifted toward the patio, toward the true mastermind, Ms. Katherine. She was speaking to Rebbie near the grill while somehow keeping one eye on your plate from thirty feet away.

"She can see everything," Janet whispered. "I swear she got eyes in the back of her head."

You laughed quietly. Ever since Katherine found out you were expecting, she immediately began fulfilling grandmotherly duties as if the baby was already here. 

A familiar warm presence settled behind you. Michael’s hand slid across your back, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. Another to your temple, and one to the top of your head. His lips stayed there for a second longer as he breathed you in.

"You eat?" he murmured against your hair, voice low and warm. You tilted your head back to look at him. His free hand came up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone. Janet immediately burst into laughter across the table.

You closed your eyes. 

"There it is."

Michael blinked. 

"What?"

Janet covered her face. 

"Oh, he doesn’t even realize he does it anymore."

Michael’s brows pulled together in confusion, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his hand still resting protectively on your stomach as he crouched beside your chair. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over the swell there, something he did all too often now.

You reached up and threaded your fingers through his, squeezing gently. 

"This is my fourth plate, I’ve been eatin’ all day, I’m about to pop."  you told him, half-laughing. His eyes widened 

"That’s good," he said softly, leaning in to press a kiss just below your ear. His nose brushed your jaw as he added, 

"Our baby needs to eat."

Before you could respond, Katherine appeared beside the table carrying yet another plate.

"Ms. Katherine—"

"No arguments." She set it down carefully, then placed a soft hand over yours. Her smile was warm, maternal. 

"You take care of yourself, baby." 

Her gaze dropped to your stomach, softening further. 

"My grandbaby needs you."

The words choked you up. These days you were so emotional, and Michael felt it. He rose up just enough to be able wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you back gently against chest.

Rebbie took the seat across from you, already sharing advice about swollen feet. Janet announced her plans to be the rich auntie. La Toya declared herself the fun aunt. Laughter rose around the table like music.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Katherine smiled into her glass of tea and asked, as casually as if discussing the weather: "So when’s the wedding?"

Silence fell across the table. It wasn’t awkward, just surprising. Instantly you looked over at Michael. Janet’s head snapped up, and Rebbie’s smile froze. 

Beside you, Michael went very still. His arm tightened around your shoulders.  You felt his heartbeat pick up against your back. 

The backyard suddenly seemed louder. Children laughing. Music drifting from the speakers. Someone near the grill arguing about barbecue sauce.

Life continuing as though Katherine Jackson hadn't just casually altered the trajectory of your entire evening.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Surprisingly, for perhaps the first time in your life, you had absolutely no idea what to say. Janet recovered first. 

Her eyes widened with delight. "Mother!"

"What?" Katherine looked genuinely confused. "I'm asking."

Janet immediately burst into laughter.

"You know exactly what you're doing."

"Pardon? What do you mean?"

She absolutely knew what Janet meant. Rebbie hid a smile behind her cup. You looked toward Michael. Surely, the man who had sold out stadiums and performed in front of millions would have an answer. 

Michael was staring at his plate. He did not have an answer. Which was concerning, Michael only stared at food when he was thinking, deeply. His hand remained spread across your stomach, protective and instinctive. Absentmindedly rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your dress. 

Katherine's eyes softened. The kind of soft only mothers possessed.

"You've already made a family."

Her gaze drifted to your stomach. Now unmistakably round beneath your dress.

Then back to both of you.

"So I was just wondering."

Simple and matter-of-factly. There was no pressure or judgement in her statement, just curiosity. The kind only mothers seemed allowed to have.

Your face warmed. Because when Katherine looked at you, there was no scrutiny. Only affection. An even more terrifying expectation. As though she had quietly accepted you long ago.

Across the table, Janet grinned. She was elated.

"I volunteer to plan the baby shower."

"La Toya already called dibs on decorations," Rebbie added.

Janet gasped dramatically.

"She what?"

The conversation immediately descended into sibling chaos, as Jackson conversations often did. Someone argued about colors, someone else argued about themes.

Everyone moved on, except Michael that is. You could feel it before you saw it.  He was quietly lost in thought.

The kind that always meant Michael had disappeared somewhere inside his own head. You looked over and his eyes weren't on the conversation. They were on your hand.

Specifically, on your engagement ring finger, which was bare. Uh-oh.

Instantly, you recognized the look on his face. It was the look he got when he was building something in his head. A song. A new idea for a short film. A dream.

The expression of a man quietly arranging the future.

He raised his eyes, meeting yours. Judging by the tenderness in his eyes, you had a feeling you knew what he was building.

The drive home from Hayvenhurst was quiet. The kind of quiet that lulls over you after a day so good it leaves your heart full. A day full of laughs, shared plates, and family time.

Streetlights reflected off the windows as rain drops fell heavily. The engine was humming quietly, and Stevie Wonder was playing on the radio. The leather seat was cool against your back, but Michael’s hand on your thigh radiated steady heat through the thin fabric of your dress.

It had been there for most of the drive. His thumb moved in slow, absent circles, the same rhythm he used on your belly. Lately, Michael touched you constantly. A hand at your lower back. Your stomach. The nape of your neck or your cheek. 

Always gentle and present. As though reassurance had become his new love-language.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the seatbelt over your growing belly. Immediately, his eyes flicked toward you.

“What’s wrong baby? You comfortable?” he asked, voice low and warm like melted honey. 

There it was. The question you’d heard seventeen times today. You smiled “Yes, Michael. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” His fingers flexed gently on your thigh, a protective little squeeze.

“Michael,” you laughed quietly.

“What? Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” The innocence in his tone was so genuine. His hand drifted higher, sliding tenderly over the full curve of your stomach. The warmth of his palm soaked through your clothes, grounding you. 

Michael had gone quiet again. Not distracted. Thinking. You knew the difference by now. His thumb had stopped its gentle circling. You covered his hand with yours, threading your fingers between his.

“What’re you thinkin’ about? Talk to me.”

He blinked, returning to you. A breathy little laugh escaped him and his shoulders rose and fell with a soft sigh.

“My mother surprised me today. I knew she would bring it up soon…”

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

“What, the wedding comment?” His face scrunched up in that boyish way that always made you fall in love with him a little harder. It was something he often did when a topic made him uncomfortable.

The city lights played across his high cheekbones as he drove. You watched the way his lashes cast shadows, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. 

“She meant well, baby. That’s just how mamas are. You know how important family is to her.” you said gently.

“I know.” His voice was quiet. Thoughtful. “I always wanted to be married before I had children.” The words landed softly between you, heavy with old dreams. 

Then, Michael laughed to himself at an uninvited memory.

“I knew I wanted to marry you after our first date…Wanted to propose to you after the first month, but I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes” The world narrowed to the space between you. 

The low music, the hum of the tires, the glow of the city, all of it faded. There was only Michael, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

You felt him exhale, shaky and relieved. He turned his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to the center of your palm, lips soft and reverent.

“The baby didn’t change my mind,” he murmured against your skin. His free hand never left your belly, thumb resuming those slow, sacred circles. “It just gave me a reason not to wait anymore.”

His hand spread wider across your belly, fingers splayed in quiet wonder, as if he could feel the baby’s heartbeat through your skin. He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice dropped to something even softer, raw and honest, the private Michael no one else ever got to hear. 

Three days later, you woke up alone. That part wasn’t unusual. Michael had always been an early riser. But the steady, distant sound of hammering echoing through the house was very unusual.

You blinked awake slowly, then pushed yourself up with a soft groan, one hand braced against your lower back and the other cradling the gentle curve of your stomach. At five months, the weight was still new enough to make every movement feel deliberate.

By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room looked like a hardware store had gently exploded. Outlet covers, cabinet locks, foam corner guards—every sharp edge in sight had already been softened. Corner guards on tables your baby wouldn’t reach for years.

You stopped in the doorway, staring. Michael noticed you immediately. He looked up from where he was kneeling by an electrical outlet, and his whole face brightened like sunrise. 

“Baby,” he breathed, setting the hammer down so fast it nearly clattered. The warm excited smile he gave you made you instantly forget the annoyance you’d had from being woken up.

He crossed the room in seconds, long strides eating up the distance. Before you could say anything about the ruckus he had been making, his arms were around you. Carefully, one hand settled at the small of your back, supporting the chronic ache that lived there now. His other hand slid tenderly over your belly, palm spreading wide as if greeting the baby and holding you both at once. 

He leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, his nose brushing your hair.

“How’d you sleep, my love?” he murmured against your skin, voice still soft with morning. You rubbed your eyes, glancing around again. 

“Michael… You know how I don’t play about my sleep.”

He tilted his head, thumb already drawing those familiar slow circles over your stomach. 

“Hm?” You gestured helplessly at the chaos. “What is all this?” 

His expression stayed completely earnest. 

“Preparin’.”

You looked down at your stomach, then back at him. 

“For what, exactly?”

He smiled, small, shy, and so full of love it made your chest ache. 

“For the baby, of course.” 

Before you could tease him, he stepped closer, wrapping you more fully in his arms. His chin rested gently on top of your head as he held you against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sawdust.

“I’m only five months along,” you said, half-laughing into his shirt.

“Time flies,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. Then lower, to the bridge of your nose. Then the corner of your mouth. Each one feather-light and full of adoration. 

Your eyes caught on the coffee table: a stack of parenting books, a thick binder labeled Baby in neat handwriting, and What to Expect When You’re Expecting lying open with colorful sticky tabs.

“Have you been studying?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look at him. Michael scratched the back of his neck and bit down on his bottom lip. His expression softened with quiet pride. 

“A little bit.” He reached down and took your hand, guiding it to rest beside his on your belly. 

“The book says spinach is really good for keeping your iron levels up. I asked the chef to make sure he adds it to our grocery lists from now on.”

You stared at him like he was talking about rocket science. The man who performs for millions, was installing outlet covers in the wee hours of the morning and falling asleep reading pregnancy books with his glasses on.

You stared at him, and laughter bubbled up, helpless and teary. Michael’s brows drew together instantly. Concern flooded his eyes. 

“Baby?” His hands moved to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away the moisture gathering at your lashes. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting? Is it your back again?” 

You shook your head, still laughing softly as you leaned into his touch. 

“I’m okay. I’m more than okay.”

He searched your face for another second, then pulled you back against him, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while the other stayed protectively over your stomach. His lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“I just…” His voice dropped, shy and vulnerable. “I waited my whole life to be somebody’s daddy. I don’t wanna mess it up. I wanna be ready.” 

The tenderness in his words hit you square in the chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tighter, pressing your cheek to his chest.

“You’re not going to mess it up,” you whispered. “Look at all this. You’re already the best daddy this baby could ever have.”

Michael exhaled shakily, then tilted your chin up with gentle fingers so he could kiss you properly, slow and deep. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.

“I love you,” he murmured. “Both of you. I just want to make sure that you both have everything you need. It’s my job as a father, a provider and importantly, your man.” His hand never left your belly. The house was quiet, filled with the certainty that this man would move heaven and earth for the family he was building.

By month six, Michael had become impossible. Not difficult or moody. Just impossible, in the most loving, all-consuming way. You had known Michael for years. Long enough to understand that when he loved something, he loved it with his entire being. No half measures. No moderation. Once it claimed his heart, he wrapped both hands around it and held on with quiet ferocity.

Pregnancy was no exception.

“Baby.”

You froze, eyes closing slowly. You already knew that tone. Michael stood in the kitchen doorway holding a fresh glass of water, condensation sliding down the sides. Not one you’d poured. One he had. His brows lifted expectantly, soft brown eyes full of gentle concern.

“You haven’t finished this one.”

You glanced at the half-full glass beside you from twenty minutes ago, then back at him. “Michael…” His expression softened instantly, not because he was backing down, but because he thought you might be tired. He crossed to you with that careful stride he used now, as if the floor itself might shift beneath your feet.

He set the new glass down, then crouched in front of you without a word. His hands reached for your shoes and began untying them with patient care. His fingers brushed your ankles, warm and sure. You blinked. 

“Michael… what are you doing?”

“Hm?” He looked up, completely sincere. “You shouldn’t bend over, baby. Your center of gravity is changing.” The words were so earnestly delivered, and steeped in all the books he’d devoured, that a helpless laugh escaped you. 

He finished removing your shoes, then stayed there, gently rubbing your calves with slow, soothing strokes. His thumbs pressed into the tired muscles in exactly the right places, the kind of touch that came from months of learning your body.

“Better?” he asked softly, voice low and warm. He pressed a tender kiss just below your knee before rising again. You swallowed. Yes. It was better. You hated how much better it felt. 

Before you could answer, the phone rang. It sat on the receiver near the end of the counter, only a few feet away. You instinctively leaned slightly to reach for it.

Instantly, Michael’s hand was at your waist, steady, grounding, protective. His palm splayed wide across your lower back. His other hand found your belly, cradling the round swell.

“Careful,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as he leaned in close. You could smell the faint trace of his cologne and the warmth of his skin. For a moment his cheek rested against your hair, breathing you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was that the constant physical affection had suddenly become overstimulating. Maybe it was the feeling that you were losing some of your independence.

You didn’t know. But, something inside you snapped. He was so right, so constant and so loving, that you felt like your body no longer belonged to you alone. You pulled away, not harshly, but enough.

“Michael.” You said sharply.

His hands lingered for half a second before falling gently away. Concern flooded his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

You exhaled shakily. “I’m pregnant. I’m not made of glass.”

The words landed heavier than you meant them to. Silence settled between you. Michael blinked once, the soft light from the kitchen window catching the sudden vulnerability in his face. The concern in his eyes didn’t vanish, it simply shifted, growing quieter, smaller, more fragile. 

His hand lifted halfway toward you, then stopped. He lowered it.

“So I shouldn’t help you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. There was no defensiveness in it. Only quiet hurt and genuine confusion. Like a little boy who’d been trying his very best and still got it wrong. The guilt hit you instantly. 

You watched him lower his gaze for a moment, thinking, Then he gave a small nod, accepting. Adjusting. Making room for what you needed even when it stung.

“Okay,” he said softly. No argument. No guilt trip. Just Michael, trying so hard to love you and the baby right that it made your chest ache. You stepped forward before you could overthink it. 

“Michael, wait”

He looked up, and you reached for him, sliding your arms around his waist. He melted into the embrace immediately, wrapping you up with infinite care. One hand returned to your back, the other cradling the side of your belly as he tucked you against his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, and you felt him press a lingering kiss into your hair, then another to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his shirt. “I know you’re just trying to take care of us.”

His arms tightened gently. You felt the slow, soothing circles of his thumb over your stomach. The gesture that had become your shared language. His voice was quiet, warm, and full of emotion when he finally spoke.

“I just love you both so much,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Sometimes I don’t know how to hold it all without… holding you.” 

You closed your eyes and leaned deeper into him, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart surround you. His hand never left your belly. Even now, even in this small moment of friction, he held you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever been given. 

And in his arms, frustrated and emotional and deeply loved, you understood once again: this impossible man was going to be the most incredible father.

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Or rather, as quietly as life with Michael ever really allowed. True to his word, he had given you real space. No hovering. No soft footsteps near the doorway every few minutes. Just… absence. 

And somehow that made you feel worse. By evening, the house had grown still. Golden sunlight stretched long and warm across the hardwood floors. The television murmured faintly downstairs, a low, comforting hum. 

You were sitting alone in your bedroom, one hand resting on the firm curve of your six-month belly, when you realized something deeply inconvenient: You missed him. The baby shifted beneath your palm, just a soft flutter, not quite a kick yet. You gasped, Michael was missing this. Instantly. You were emotional.

Pregnancy had turned your emotions into a minefield; tears came whether you wanted them or not. You replayed the kitchen scene again and again. The way his hands had fallen away from you. That small, quiet hurt in his eyes. The soft sting of someone who was trying so hard and still got it wrong.

Your throat tightened. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He loved with his whole body, his whole heart, the way he did everything. And beneath all the books and the outlet covers and the endless glasses of water, you understood why.

Michael had waited his entire life to become somebody’s daddy. You pushed yourself up from the bed slowly, one hand braced on your lower back as you waddled toward the hallway. At six months, grace had officially left the chat. 

Downstairs, the den glowed with the soft flicker of the television. You paused in the doorway, and your heart folded in on itself. 

Michael was asleep on the couch, curled into the corner like he’d tried to make himself smaller. One arm rested across his chest, reading glasses slightly askew on his nose. A pregnancy book lay open against his stomach, a colorful sticky note peeking out. The golden light painted gentle shadows across his face. 

Without stage lights or makeup, he looked younger. Softer. Just Michael. Your Michael. You crossed the room quietly. Curiosity, and love, won. You lifted the edge of the page with careful fingers. His neat, tiny handwriting stared back at you: Ask doctor about back pain.

Buy more ginger tea.  And below that, written even smaller,: Tell baby and mama I love them every day. The tears came instantly. Hot, fast, and completely unstoppable. You blinked hard, but it was useless. Pregnancy had turned you into a watering can.

As if he could sense you even in sleep, Michael stirred. His lashes fluttered. The moment his sleepy eyes found you, his whole face changed, a look he saved only for you. 

“Baby?” His voice was rough with sleep, warm and concerned all at once.

That was all it took. Fresh tears spilled over. You crossed the last few steps and curled into him without a word. Michael sat up immediately, arms wrapping around you with instinctive tenderness. 

One hand found the small of your back, gently pressing his fingertips into the chronic ache that lived there. As always, his palm found your belly. His palm spreading wide as if to hold both of you at once. He tucked you against his chest, cheek resting on top of your head, breathing you in.

“You okay? Tell me how I can help.” he whispered, lips brushing your hair.

You shook your head against him, voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

He went still for half a second, then his hand began slow, soothing circles on your back. His other thumb traced the same gentle rhythm over your belly.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, your temple, the bridge of your nose. “You don’t ever gotta apologize for how you feel.”

You sniffled, curling tighter into his warmth. He smelled like home, faint cologne, laundry softener, and the subtle sweetness of the ginger tea he’d probably been drinking. His arms tightened around you, careful but sure, like he was holding the most precious thing he’d ever been given.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” you whispered.

His lips found your forehead again, lingering there. 

“I know.”

Michael exhaled shakily, then kissed you again, deeper this time, full of relief and love and all the things he didn’t know how to say. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, one hand still cradling your stomach like it was the center of his universe.

he noticed it then. watched as you tried to pay attention to whoever was talking to you, watched how your legs were jittery. noticed your soft thighs pressing together every time your eyes managed to rake over to him. oh.

poor baby.

it took everything in him to find the confidence to finally act on it though. he’d never initiated anything like this in public, especially not when he was the focus of the entire session. but he found a loophole, anxiety churning in his gut as he watched what was essentially the entire crew take a break for lunch. that’s when he grabbed you

“—mike, what ‘ryou” you said, stunned as a fingerless glove clad hand grabbed your wrist and tugged you away from your company. he shushed you immediately, tugging you close to his side as he whispered down at you, “shh, sh baby, please — just gimme a sec”

it didn’t take long until he found the bathroom.

the mirrors had long since fogged up since he’d dragged you in here, pushed you against the sink with his hips. he towered over you, big black combat boots making him taller than his already tall stature, muscles strengthened from years of throwing himself into dance boxing you against the sink.

his hand down your pants.

his fingers had first tentatively brushed against your clif, boxing you in with a hand on the other side of the sink beside you, pushing you until you bent over — trying to quieten you, thumb dusting over your clit as you mewled, he simply responded with, “no i know, i know baby,, shhh”

he could feel himself growing hard behind you, the friction of your hips bucking into his hand causing you to brush against his throbbing length confined by his tight pants. but all he could focus on was the way you were already falling apart in his hands, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead — entirely aware of the location, “please honey” he whispered, voice laboured by lust as he knocked his forehead against yours from behind, “go-gotta be quiet mama, please” he urged, so desperate

but it was really his fault you were making the noises you were, he got so scared by the fact he could hear footsteps just past the door, he jumped! shoving his fingers deep into your pussy. he flushed when you cried out, immediately clamping a hand over your mouth and pulling you back into him, the warmth surrounding his fingers making him falter as he dropped his lips to your hair, slightly sweaty from the exertion he was putting your body under as he curled his long fingers against that spongey spot inside, he almost couldn’t take it when you keened a pretty little “michael” from behind his hand, pushing his hand tighter against your lips, groaning at the feeling of your spit wetting his palm as he kissed the top of your head, “i know, i know — ‘m- ‘m sorry mama, cmon for me baby”

his fingers slipped into your mouth, moving in unconscious tandem with his fingers shoved knuckle deep into your pussy, working you open from both ends, growing impossibly redder himself as he fucked you on his hand, getting all shy and hiding his face when you let out a garbled little whimper against his hands, “ff-fuck” he muttered, head knocking against your spine between your shoulder blades.

and he couldn’t stop fucking his own hips against your ass, pushing you both further towards release as he let his hand slip out of your cunt, circling your clit impossibly fast as he fucked against your ass.

and as you both came, he crashed his lips against yours, fingers hooking in your hair as he spines you, pushing his pelvis against your wet core to dry hump you both through it as he spilled into his too tight pants, and you dripped down your legs

and poor baby :( he was so embarrassed after, shaky hands pruned from your wetness wiping the slick off your legs, pressing hurried little kisses to your lips — “feels good? yeah? yeah? that felt good? oh—“ he gets all jittery, looking down at his pants, unsure what to do, “y-yeah i felt good too mama”

you have to sit him down on the toilet seat with a little chuckle, stroke his face gently until he calms down with a little, “what’s the matter?”

“everybody’s gonna know i—“ he points down to his pants, “y’know” and it seems like he interrupts himself mentally? brows furrowing as he looks up at you with those big bambi eyes — “but — just saw how needy you were, wanted to help you mama i—“

you cut him off with a kiss

Michael was obsessed with you.

His obsession was so intense that it scared him.

He loved how your skin glistened in the sunlight, how your hair fell down your back, how your nails were always polished pink, how you smelled like vanilla every time you walked past him, how your gloss was always intact on your lips.

He dreamt about smudging it. With his fingers, his lips.

He knew he was gone the second you had walked through Hayvenhurst’s door hand in hand with Janet, giggling about something together.

He felt guilty for fantasising about his little sister’s best friend but he couldn’t help it. He was mesmerised by your smile, your scent, your eyes. He was obsessed.

It wasn’t long before you caught onto his little crush. He barely ever had the courage to lock eyes with you but you still caught him staring one too many times.

“I like your sweater”

Michael froze, he recognised the sound of your voice. Velvet.

He slowly turned around and saw you taking out a tub of ice cream from the fridge. He had sneaked into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich at 1am.

“We are watching a movie” you said, a wicked smile on your lips, “Janet and I”

You knew you had him in a chokehold when you saw the look in his big bambi eyes. This was the first conversation and his face was pale, oh he was starstuck.

“You don’t speak?” you laughed softly.

Michael cleared his throat then, “I do”

He internally giggled at the words that just left his mouth, god knows he was already writing his wedding vows in his little notebook that was tucked away under his pillows.

“Good, someone’s gotta sing” you smiled, leaving the kitchen. You didn’t look behind but you knew he was looking at you.

This first encounter was 3 weeks ago. Long, painful 3 weeks for Michael. Small talks were made but he was always at a loss of words when he would converse with you.

You teased him a lot. Wearing short skirts whenever you visited Janet, biting your lips mid conversation with Michael, complimenting his hair. You mostly did it because it made his checks red and because you enjoyed making him stumble over his words, a broken ‘thank you’ leaving his mouth with every flirty compliment you passed on.

“I thought you liked me” you said, once again crossing paths with Michael in the kitchen in the middle of the night.

“I do” he said quickly, almost dropping the bread.

“Then why haven’t you asked me out yet?”

The question caught him off guard. His mouth opened but no words escaped it.

You slowly walked over to him, biting your lips making him melt. He was a puddle in your hand.

“I think you should take me out to dinner” you stated softly, your eyes flickering to his lips just for a second.

“Please” he whispered.

You raised your eyebrows, a confused look on your face.

“I mean, yes, yes I will” he said, straightening up his posture.

He was red in the face, short of breath and his palms were sweaty. He wanted to die, in your arms.

The first date was now 5 weeks ago. Lovely, blissful 5 weeks for Michael.

And you.

Sneaking around, hand in hand, running up the stairs so no one can see you two together. Soft kisses pressed against your lips, giggles passing mouth to mouth.

He loved the way you held him, the way you touched him, the way you kissed him. He was shy but needy. Timid but whiny. Needed you to guide him but as soon as he was hot enough, he would relish you.

He was gentle and generous, would make you cum with his mouth before you would even have the chance to unbuckle his belt.

He was possessive. No one knew you were with your best friend’s older brother so every time you came over to meet Janet, all the other Jackson brothers would come by and say hello in the most flirty way.

Michael hated it. He made sure you knew who you belonged to that very night.

“Why can’t we tell them” he whined as his fingers softly brushed your entrance.

He had almost started crying when you entered his room. He hated his brothers for flirting with you and he hated the fact that he couldn’t tell them to back off.

Before you could answer, his fingers were dipping in you. And they were rough, he wanted you bad.

“You’re mine” he said through clenched teeth as his eyes watered from frustration, almost making it sound like a threat.

You held his face in your palm, your thumb quick to wipe the tear that escaped his waterline, “I’m yours, Michael” you breathed out, struggling to keep up because that’s just how good his fingers felt inside you.

As you threw your head back, he realised that he loved the way you moaned his name like it was a prayer. You were his goddess and your body a religion that he worshiped every chance he got.

God, he truly was obsessed.

A/N: wanted to make this a blur with like 500 words and it still stretched out to 800+ words oof.

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Also, I’m looking for my MJ moots so you know what to do mwah mwah

Thank you so much <3

Bereavement has a funny way of uniting people. From families to strangers, gathering in attendance mourn the loss, yet celebrate the life of someone held dear.

Cultures across the globe had their own form of celebration, separate ways of respecting their deceased, but they all had the same result because the losing someone is never easy, regardless of geography.

In The United States, wearing black was seen a common sign of respect ― a way to honor those that passed by downplaying your own appearance to keep the focus on funeral.

This was how she found herself sitting in a unfamiliar church, legs crossed delicately at the ankle, in a obsidian dress that fell to mid calf. Not her typical attire, but well, circumstances dictate and who was she to fight tradition?

The California sun beamed bright through the stained glass window, casting a rainbow hue against the tired, brick floor and commanding the room, right at the front of the service stood a priest ― a short, well mannered man with salt and pepper hair, talking passionately about the creation of man.

Aching cries could be heard, soft with the attempts of thoughtful people desperately resisting falling apart in the midst of pain.

It was beautiful in a way. Not death, but the careful consideration people showed in moment of true sadness.

Not knowing many people here, she found herself sitting in relative isolation, a chair between her own body and the next person, but that was okay. She was here to pay her respects and knew she wouldn't stick around after the service. There was no need.

As a gentle prayer reverberated off the tall, stone walls, she couldn't help but feel an impending sense of concern ― a burning, warning sensation, intuition screaming that she was being watched.

In a desperate attempt to not draw focus, with a subtle shift of her body, her head turned. The change of perspective allowed more access to the room and tired eyes lingered, searching the space of gathered grief.

Each person sorrowful, not knowing what to with their hands. Some cried openly, while others forced themselves into heavy silence. Even in a state of unknowing, children in attendance seemed to understand something irreversible had taken place and she silently wondered why anyone would submit their child to such misery.

After scanning the vicinity and finding nothing suspicious, she was about to turn back to the front.

Whatever that feeling was, she must have imagined it and maybe that was partly her fault. Death made her uneasy and as she grew, she found herself believe more and more in the supernatural.

Shaking the ridiculous thoughts aside, her body began to move, placid and with caution, but just before the priest could regain the full cusp of her attention, her body froze like that of a statue ― unwavering and solid.

In the not too far distance, her eyes caught a glimpse of the person causing such inner conflict. Suddenly, her stomach dropped and she could feel the frantic ache of her heart hammering in her chest.

There, right at the back, desperate to stay hidden, dressed in same dark shade the rest of the attendees donned, yet somehow standing out like a sore thumb ― the way he stood, the curl of his hair, maybe it was the flashy watch or the way his clothes were just a little too embellished for every day society.

But the thing that got her, truly throughly hit like an arrow though the heart, had to be those damn aviator sunglasses, the one's she could recognise a mile off. Despite the shade of darkness covering his eyes, she knew the searing heat of a familiar gaze staring back. Resisting the urge to roll her own, she turned back to the service and tried to give very little thought to the other spectator  ― a practice which seemed far easier in theory.

As the funeral continued, she tried to best to focus, but the newfound distraction was persistent, like a mold that festered and refused to go away. The feeling lingered, her face flamed and for the first time that day, she wished that the burial site recently dug for the newly deceased would swallow her up instead.

Once closing prayers were shared, an assemblage of people stood at once. Those that knew one another shook hends and shared polite hugs, comforting the pain with heartfelt gestures of love. What proved to be a sweet sight was also the thing that prompted her to leave on account of not know most of people in the room. Watching their shared grief felt a touch intrusive.

Purse in hand, with a graceful turn on her heel, she followed the steps that would lead her outdoors. The shining beams of lights in the sky almost felt too happy for what she'd witnessed, or maybe it was the universes way of proving that even on the worst days, hope still lingered. Whatever the world was trying to say, all she knew was that she needed to leave.

The desire to get her car had been the driving force propelling her forward, the distinct click of her shoes meeting the sidewalk as she lead the charge, most people opting to stay inside for a little while longer. Peaceful in nature, until the sudden sound of a low, flat heel joined her own.

Of course she knew who it was. How could she not? Those footsteps had been part of the soundtrack of her life for an entire year. She recognised the pace, the echo, the growing crescendo as they drew nearer.

She should've known better by now.

He didn't track, he stalked and so as her feet came to an abrupt halt, so did the echoed movement behind her.

Like the buzz of a humming bird, the beat of her heart increased. The air around them had already changed and she could smell the scent of his cologne without so much as seeing his face.

Bal ã Vaersailles if she wasn't mistsken ― a French fragrance usually targeted to a female audience, but he'd fallen in love with the scent after catching wind of it on Elizabeth Taylor.

With her back to him and her eyes closed painfully, she finally let out a shuddered breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"If you're trying to keep a low profile, you're doing a terrible job."

The first words she'd uttered in his direction since the disastrous phone call of 1984, the very same one that broke the foundations on which they built their realtionship and she wished more than anything, she'd thought of something wittier to reintroduce herself into his orbit.

Like he hadn't yet registered the sound of her voice, it took a moment, but eventually she heard the familiar sound of him clearing his throat and then that frustratingly gentle tone.

"Well, I must be doing better than you think." He started, tilting his head to look at her from head to toe even if she wasn't facing him. "No one else noticed me."

With no direct line of sight regarding his face, she could still somehow picture the cocky smirk edged against his lips and found herself rolling her eyes at the imagery.

"Maybe that's because you weren't burning a hole into the side of their heads the entire service." She muttered, folding her arms across her chest like a form of protection.

"You don't know that." He laughed.

"Yes I do."

Her stubborn inability to look in his direction caused a flare of irritation to form within and he knew it was entirely irrational.

She had every right to avoid him and if he was really honest, he found himself surprised she's taken it upon herself to start a conversation. That same honey tone he once compared to that of a bird song had felt so pure once.

Now it hurt to hear that voice linger with traces of disdain.

Shuffling awkwardly on his feet, he found himself desperately resisting the urge to tug at her upper arm and turn her himself.

"Will you face me?" He asked and once she failed to meet his request, he muttered a final blow. "Please?"

With a subtle rise of her shoulders, she breathed out a heavy sigh she'd been holding and told herself it didn't mean much. It had been three years since they were this close, since she heard him pleading for her outside the apartment door. It had been long enough that he should no longer have any effect over her and so with her fist cletched, she followed his request.

Slow, but sure, her movements fell in line and soon her feet had made a full half a turn. The painfully familiar coutures of his ridiculously perfectly face came into view and her beath caught in an instant.

The vitiligo now presented itself to a magnitude impossible to ignore, but he was still handsome. He still had that dazzling smile, those sparkling eyes and an air of childhood whimsy etched into the very fabric of his being. The reality of seeing him so close somehow still felt comforting and she hated him for it. Not because of who he was, but because it was difficult to see all the beauty when the act of betrayal still clouded the picture of the man she knew.

Tucked into the collar of a black buttoned shirt, she found the same aviators he had been wearing inside the church and could help but think how ironic it was that he'd worn them inside only to remove them the second he stepped out in the sun.

"What do you want, Michael?" Feeling no need to beat around the bush, she barley flinched at the wide eyed reaction provoked by her words.

"I uh..." Scratching the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn't kicked, Michael's gaze fell downwards. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Even as he said it, she knew it to be true.

Why would he have thought he'd see her here? Frankly, she was shocked to see him too. Not because she didn't think he cared enough to attend, God no. One thing about Michael, he felt enough emotion to cover a thousand people, but he was a busy man.

While she didn't keep a close eye on his career these days, it was impossible to ignore with the giant success that came from the Bad album.

"Just because I stopped talking to you doesn't mean I stopped talking to everyone I met through you." She shrugged, unwavering against his pitiful glance. "Oscar was my friend."

"Yeah... I know." And the nod he gave said more than the sorrowful words.

Oscar Roberts had been an elderly man Michael had introduced her to only a couple months into dating. He had been a friendly, happy person, who often got a thrill out of proving his intelligence by beating her in crossword puzzles from the morning papers.

From the moment they had met, a connection bloomed, like suddenly her family had expanded to make room for a grandfather she didn't know she had.

But before all of that, before he had become her friend, he had been a vocal coach who encountered Michael in his youth.

As a young boy fronting one of the most popular pop groups in the world, Michael craved a steady foundation. One his own home life had never provided.

For a while, he latched onto the stability that came from Oscar and then that later transfered to Bill the moment he was hired by his father. Although the dymanics shifted, he never forgot about Oscar and the care he showed to a young child when he needed it the most.

It had been a while since he had last seen his friend, but upon learning of his death, Michael, of course, dropped everything he could to make it to the funeral. One final goodbye to a friend who saw him as a person rather than an image.

He realised quickly, he shouldn't have been surprised to find her here there at all. She must have continued to visit the elderly man long after the demise of their realtionship.

"He was a good guy."

"The best." She agreeded.

A heavy pause fell between them, silence broken only by the distant chatter of a mournful group still stood in the church.

Michael chanced a gaze while she looked past him. Still so pretty, but her eyes were ever so lightly tinged with a red hue that indicated she'd been crying earlier and if it were possible, he felt his heart break for her.

"You look beautiful." He complimented, the words falling from his tongue before he realised what he'd said.

That black dress fell against her body like it had been made for her, precisely crafted to her exact measurements. There was an air of confidence about her, despite the unfortunate set of circumstances surrounding them and his heart skipped a beat every time her eyes found his own.

"Don't." She warned.

"Don't what?" He asked, stepping closer, into in charted territory.

On instinct, she found herself stepping back, keeping the distance that felt safe. "Act like everything is normal between us."

"That's not what I'm doing." Michael spoke, brows arched.

"That's exactly what you're doing and it's bullshit." She scoffed in frustration.

Her reaction provoked one of his own and Michael found himself sighing in debelif, scrubbing a large hand over his face in irritation. "Why are you acting like this?"

"I'm not acting like anything." She insisted, eyes narrowed into slits as the anger swelled. "You followed me out here, for what? So we could have this awkward conversation and you could throw shitty compliments at me."

"That's not what I'm doing." He repeated.

"That's exactly what you're doing."

Bickering with an ex had been the last thing she had wanted to do, especially today of all days.

Like the world mocked her misery, ths sun hid itself rays behind dark clouds, the warm air vanishing and leaving behind a grey chill.

In front of her, he stood as though he could hardly believe this was happening and maybe it wasn't the conversation that had thrown him off at all, maybe it had been her presence.

If that were the case, she felt a twinge of sympathy. She finally found she could relate to him in some manner.

"Can we not do this here?" His voice grew gentle, more akin to that he would use to present a version of himself to the public. "Please. I don't want to argue at a funeral."

At that, the harsh glare of her eyes softened and she felt the exact moment her shoulders dropped, laying her defences down. "Me neither."

"So..." awkwardly shuffling on his feet, Michael bit down on his lower lip and then held out a shaky hand. "truce?"

Time froze as she stared at his peace offering. The same hand she had once held in loving moments of devoted bliss. Where his long fingers had slotted against her own perfectly, like he'd been crafted just for her.

The same hand that had once caressed her body, worshipped her skin or tugged at her hair during particularly passionate nights.

Nauseated with nostalgia, her instincts kicked in. Fight or flight and this time, she spoke before really processing the situation at head.

"I'm have to go."

She stepped back, refusing the hand shake, turning her back and stepping away.

Only she didn't get far when a warm force wrapped around the fragile bones of her wrist, not harsh, but enough to keep her still.

"Wait." His voice a broken plea. "I'm sorry."

With the particular intensity of the situation at hand, neither of them had noticed the figure slowly inching closer nor the desperate look of anxiety clawing at his senses. That was until a secure hand fell on Michael's shoulder and scared the man back into reality.

Allowing her wrist to fall from his grasp, he turned to find his well loved bodyguard and though he cared a for the man a great deal, he couldn't help but silently curse the intrusion.

"Yes Bill?"

"People are starting to leave the church." He acknowledged. "We should go, Mister Jackson."

Mister Jackson. So professional. If only they knew the world knew how close they were when they weren't in a professional setting.

"One moment please." Michael pleading.

Chancing a glance over her shoulder, it wasn't long until her gaze met that of the newcomer, his eyes flickering with a sense of familiairy as a hint of a smile curved against his lips.

"Well, hello again." Bill laughed like he was witnessing the impossible. "I wondered if we'd ever see you again."

"Hi." Finding it impossible to resist, she smiled back. "It's really good to see you, Bill. You're looking well."

"You too kid."

Before further pleasantries could be exchanged, the church doors opened and with that, the face of reality broke through the fragile structure of isolation they'd built moments before.

"I should go." She muttered, not wanting a crowd to form and see them together, even if logic told her no one would notice her when Michael Jackson was around.

Still, she retreated, not so much as rasing a hand to wave goodbye as she returned back to her own vehicle.

Once inside, gathering her emotions in a desperate attempt to calm her racing heart, she couldn't help but curse Oscar Roberts despite his death.

Even from beyond the grave, that old man still found ways to torment her.

Unable to linger on thoughts of a love past, a week later, work began to pile up. When she first started illustrating children's books, it had never occurred to her just how demanding the process would be.

Between reading the books and poems, starting the beginning sketches and getting the green light to go ahead and create the final product, life never felt boring.

As busy as she always found herself to be, she would be lying if she said she didn't love it.

Art was a form of escapism and she understood how fortunate she was to have made a name for herself in a field that was so obscure.

She'd worked hard for it, but that didn't mean she'd grown ignorant to the advantages it provided her. There had been a time straight out of college where she had struggled to find work in her profession and she told herself never to forget just how difficult that had been.

A huge perk to living alone came in the form of the spare room she owned. Most people would have used it as a guest bedroom, but she'd spent days renovating it into a studio so she could focus on her work in peace, separate from the rest of the home where she could escape to when she needed a break from painting.

With tentative brush strokes, the picturesque watercolor scene bloomed to life beneath her hands. Two, mischievous bunnies forging their way through the forest in search for their lost friend.

This particular project had taken a lot to secure. With so much back and fourth between herself, the publishing company and the author. It had been her job to make their tale come to life. After a lot of finessing, they'd finally all agreed on a snippet of concept art and now she had fully immersed herself in the piece.

How much time had passed since she sat down at her desk early morning? She had no clue. Time seemed to slip away whenever she found herself working and the only indication the day had moved without her came from the sunlight peaking through her window.

The sky had darkened a hue, but the sun had yet to set. Blending a particular tricky shade of green, she had been prepared for another couple hours of painting at least, but then a swift bang on her front door broke the creative focus.

Jumping in her seat, she found herself lowering the paint brush into a glass of water and slowly rising to her feet.

Not expecting any visitors, it only made sense to check who stood on the doorstep by looking through the peep hole and when she did so, she really wished she hadn't.

Wearing an entirely too charming smile, hands folded innocently behind his back as he tipped on the balls of his feet and straight back down. There was something so unique to him as a person, qualities she had never found in another.

Michael Jackson.

Of course. Because when had her life ever been normal?

Ripping the door open quick enough, she feared the state of the hinges once they'd settled. Her body crowded the frame, leaning against the wooden panel with her arms crossed.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded, narrowing her eyes on instict.

If he'd been shocked by her cold welcome, he didn't acknowledge it. If anything, the subtle curve sitting at the corners of his lips showed her that he was entirely too thrilled to see her face.

With an innocent shrug, he finally stood still. "I was in the neighborhood."

"You're never 'just in the neighborhood.'" She scoffed in disbelief. "You live forty five minutes away."

Not too far, but far enough to make this journey entirely futile on his part. She didn't know what game he was playing, but she did know it made her nervous.

"So a man can't travel for work?" He asked, as if that explained everything.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she realised fairly quickly, Michael wasn't going to make this easy. "How did you even know I still lived here?"

It had been years since he'd been had access to her personal space, since he saw her and knew for sure she still was still a resident in the same apartment building.

Years since that final night where he had knocked on her door with so much vigor, tearfully apologising for the biggest sin he'd ever committed ― a mistake which had cost him the love of a good women and the companionship of a great friend.

"I didn't, but I hoped." Awkwaedly straightening out the white t-shirt he wrote beneath a black dress shirt, glimpses of the shy man she once knew surfaced, even as he tried to play it off with a soft laugh. "If a stranger answered, I was going to tell them this was all some elaborate competition and they'd won tickets to my first show or something."

And she knew he was telling her truth. Had someone else opened the door, he would have to explain his presence with some ungodly tale. She wouldn't put it past him to sweetest the story with tickets to the tour that was supposed to start later this year.

"You're an idiot."

"So you say―" he spoke with a playful gleam in the depth of his eyes. "but you haven't slammed the door in my face yet."

Like he had just reminded himself that was a possibility, Michael made quick work to barge past, his shoulder hitting against hers, the touch smoldering as he entered the apartment he once knew like the back of his hand.

From her mouth fell a small gasp in reaction not only in reaction the unexpected contact, but also the audacity he held. If he noticed, he didn't seem to care. Instead, Michael walked around like he owned the place and allowed that damn soft, obsidian gaze of his to fall on their surroundings.

Things were different from the last time he'd been inside the safety of these particular four walls. She'd painted to them from the uninviting beige to a pale shade of dusky blue, the trimmings matched in color while the elaborate framed artworks stood out in a bold, golden hue. The vintage carpet sat on top of the hardwood floors looked like it could've been sold at an antique store and the white sofas and decorative chairs made the space feel larger in size than he knew it to be.

Transformed from a small caterpillar to an extravagant butterfly, her tastes had changed. For a moment, he found it jarring, that perhaps he no longer knew this women at all.

Then his eyes locked onto the large bookshelf standing in the far right corner of the room, overspilling with novels of every genre and that alone comforted him with the knowledge that she wasn't that different after all.

"Hope I'm not intruding." He called over his shoulder once he heard her close the door behind him.

"You are." She muttered in annoyance.

Her words either slid right off him or he chose to ignore them. Either way, he practically danced around the space, plucking a decorative cushion between his palms and expecting the strange patterns. "So, what were you doing before I arrived?" He asked absentmindly, as though this was a regular occurrence for the two of them.

"Well, I was painting..." She huffed, gazing over at the gold clock sitting on the faux fireplace she never used, eyes growing large when her eyes followed the hands. "but I didn't realise what the time was. I should probably make dinner."

"Great." He clapped, rubbing his palms together with a trace of a smirk. "What are we having?"

"I have got to be dreaming."

The words left her mouth before she fully registered what she said exactly, but Michael seemed elated. A prance in his step as he moved close towards her.

"Dream of me often, do you?" He cackled.

"Yeah." She spoke sarcastically. "You pop up in my nightmares."

"You're so mean to me." But even as he said it, his tone held a trace of amusement before he carried the conversation along. "Seriously, what are we eating? I'm starving."

"Well, since I was cooking for myself and hadn't expected such a picky guest, I was going to make spaghet-"

The words hadn't even properly left mouth when Michael suddenly screwed up his face in a manner you would usually only see in a child.

"Yuck!"

Rolling her eyes to the back of her skull, she wondered for a second if she'd woken up in a parallel universe where all of this made sense, but the paint splatter staining her jeans and fingertips told another story.

"Where's Bill?" She found herself asking. "Do I have to call him to drag your ass out of here?"

"Oh, Bill's downstairs." Micahel confessed, rather nonchalant, waving her off before opening up kitchen cupboards and rummaging through her belongings with little care. "Waiting in the car under strict orders not to intrupt."

"Of course he is." She sighed.

People from all different walks of life found it incredibly easy to get lost in the enigma that was Michael Jackson. The stories, the false narratives and the ridiculously malicious rumours that the media spread. He was a myth to some, a legend to others.

But as she observed him from her living room, eagel eyed as he made a mess she would be forced to clean up later, she was reminded that this man wasn't even thirty yet. And like all people in their late twenties, he was restless.

Slamming a cupboard shut, he turned with a scowl, a harsh contrast against his delicate features. "Your kitchen is stocked terribly."

"Excuse me?" She scoffed, eyes wide.

The more he spoke, the easier it was to grow frustrated at his presence. As if him intruding like this, storming the place without so much as a 'can i come in?' wasn't bad enough, now he was insulting the state of her living conditions.

The sound of utensils russling, metal on metal broke her from her thoughts and the view of her former lover rustling through a pile of paper takeout menus felt too real. A sense of deja vu washed over once he turned with a cheeky, dimpled grin.

"I knew you kept it." He practically cheered, triumphantly holding a menu in the air like some kind of grand trophy. "Boy, I haven't eaten from here in years."

Michael wasn't the biggest eater and he was generally pretty picky in day to day life. There were a few exceptions here and there. KFC was was big one. During sints of his life where he would dip into vegetarianism, the chicken you could buy from KFC was his one weakness. He was also a sucker for sweet treats like donuts or maple cookies. He'd eat until he felt sick and still ask for another. But amongst all this, the one thing he craved when in need of actual substance usually came in the form of Mexican cuisine.

His favourite being that of a small family owned restaurant only a block away from the apartment building she called home.

They'd found it once while driving back from a gallery opening and Michael had insisted Bill stop there. They hadn't entered themselves, Michael not wanting to be hounded and unwilling to let her leave his side while he had her, but he did place an order via Bill.

The dishes had been a hit and after their first taste, they'd become frequent patrons while they had been dating.

Since they broken up, she hadn't had the heart to go back.

"What do you say? Shall I give them a call?" Despite asking, he hadn't waited for an answer as his feet crossed the floor so he could reach for the landline.

Probably for the best. She never did have the heart to say no when he looked at her with those large doe eyes.

Half an hour later, the two of them sat opposite one another at her kitchen table and she watched in mild concern as he demolished a dish of spicy red chilie enchiladas like he feared the food would be snatched away if he wasn't quick enough. He stopped only to sip from a glass of orange juice, smiled sheepishly at the women across from him and then returned to his meal.

Through a half hearted bite of her burrito, she couldn't stop herself from asking a question she'd been wondering since she found him at her door.

"Why are you here, Michael?"

He paused momentarily, doe eyed gaze turned towards her pretty face while picking up a napkin to wipe the grease from his fingers and mouth. He coughed once and then leaned back against the chair.

"The other day, I realised something with clarity I've been lacking for years." He admitted, fingers tips tapping a catchy tune against grain of the wooden table top.

"Yes?" She encouraged, pushing her plate away to sip at her glass of water.

"I've surrounded myself with a bunch of people that agree with me."

"Okay." She nodded because that was never a secret.

There were two kind of people in Michael's life. Those that wanted something from him, not caring how it would effect him in the long run. They would overwork and demand more from him until he hit a wall of exhaustion. Vipers, sucking the soul from his very essence without so much as flinching.

Then there were the 'yes men.' Those in his inner circle who agreed and encourage every outlandish idea he ever had, in fear of being ostracised from the holy land, even if saying yes caused harm.

She's always hated both types.

"Don't you get it? I could say the grass is red and they'd nod their heads just to keep me happy." He laughed, though it was devoid of any humour.

Leaning across the table, the tapping never once seizing. With great determination, Michael made sure to keep eye contact with the women across from him, even as she tried her best to avoid it.

"Then there's you." His tone softened. "The moment you told me off for calling you beautiful was so surreal... I wasn't used to it."

That took her by surprise and as she stared at the man she once loved, she caught glimpses as to reasons why.

Before the infidelity, he trusted her entirely, enough to bare his soul as she'd bared her own.

Now it seemed he was hoping to do exactly that, only three years later.

"Okay?" She questioned, brows furrowed.

"I liked it." He laughed and this time he was amused. "And I figured if you're comfortable telling me off at a funeral, you're probably comfortable being honest with me about everything."

From the outside looking in, it would be easy to assume Michael Jackson had it all. The star power and the talent behind to back it up. He had money and status, he could physically buy whatever he desired.

Unless that thing he desired required honesty.

A twinge of sympathy bit at her consciousness, crafting tales of abandonment at her hands after their break up. It was nonsense, of course, staying would have harmed her, but seeing him so vulnerable reminded her that he needed people and sometimes, the company he kept only seemed out to harm him.

If she could help him during this tumultuous spout of conflict then she would.

Wasn't that the right thing to do?

"What do you need an honest opinion for right now?" Reaching over, her hand fell flat against his, stopping the rhythmic tapping he'd absentmindly created.

Michael felt the clenching ache of his own heart.

The physical contact was enough to draw a breath, but the fact that she'd been the one to initiate it was the thing that really sent him over the edge.

As she pulled her hand back, Michael felt a heavy need to resist the impossible urge to physically whimper at the loss of warmth that came from her lack of touch and instead focused on the conversation at hand.

"Tour." The words settled on the tip of his tongue.

A vague flicker of confusion sat across her face. "What about tour?"

"Is it a good idea?" Dropping his gaze, Michael could feel a source of vunerality rising.

Taking a moment to contemplate, a comfortable kind of silence fell over the pair. Her eyes flickered down, catching the slight of Michael nervously tapping his feet ― he never could say still. Eventually her gaze returned to his face, watching the crumbling embers of a fire once ignited struggling to stay ablaze.

"I don't know."

The frustrated sigh he let out wasn't directed towards her, but it still echoed through her apartment and struck deep within.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" He questioned, finally meeting her gaze.

"I mean, the last time we were... close..." She awkwardly started, the idea of their realtionship feeling too taboo to speak of out right. "a solo world tour was your dream." Her voice soft as though approaching a wild animal. "You were so pissed at your brothers and Joseph for making you do that Victory tour."

Michael exhaled softly and then a quite chuckle passed his lips. "Yeah."

There had been a time where he'd been desperate for this opportunity. Now as the dates grew nearer, the rising pressure felt like it had the potential to break him.

"But I know it's a lot. Not just the travel, or the energy it's going to use, but the weight of responsibility that will fall on your shoulders." She continued quietly, not trying to scare him, but not wanting to sugarcoat things either. "That's not even factoring in you lupus nor your insomnia."

The words fell heavy in the room because as much as he wanted to be, Michael had never and would never be able to live like a normal guy his age. There was so much to contemplate and big decisions haunted his darkest night.

Michael let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he spoke. "Wow, you really are honest."

"I'm not saying it to be cruel, but you have a lot to consider." She looked at him properly, seeing fear flicker on his face. "I think you're a natural born performer, but I also think you give a lot of yourself to others and barley leave enough pieces to keep yourself sustained."

No one had ever had the balls to say it like that and Michael knew it to be true. Saying 'no' had never felt like an option and maybe that's why he felt so conflicted.

Refusing to break the fragility of their joint gaze, he felt his fingers pull at a loose thread of his shirt while his heart beat a rapid rhythm against his chest.

"Are you saying I shouldn't do it?"

All she wanted was to help, to give him an answer that would actually spare him anymore torment. He'd dealt with more than she could ever possibly understand and she wanted to protect him, truly she did, but he had to want to protect himself too.

Regardless of how their situation ended, she still found herself caring a great deal about Michael. She probably always would and rather than letting that thought scare her away, she felt oddly at peace with the direction of their realtionship.

"Well, that's for you to decide." She spoke with a soft smile. "I think it would help for you to weigh the pros and cons and decide what's right for you." Her words strong as she tried to ensure what she said would get through to him. "All these people whispering in your ear, I know it's hard to hear, but they don't care about Michael the person. They care about Michael Jackson the brand... but you're more than a selling point."

And that was the crux of it.

Regardless of anything else, the fame, the notoriety or any of the music, he was a human above all else.

She saw that.

She always had.

Michael couldn't prevent the awe-struck look he gave her from settling on his features, the subtle movement of his chest rising slowly beneath layers of clothing being the only thing reminding him that he hadn't conjured this whole thing up in his mind.

There was always this internal conflict Michael found himself facing.

While he hated the repercussions that came with fame, he needed the celebrity status. He craved it for so many reasons, but one stood out amongst the others.

He hated that he grew up in a world where such prejudice run rampant.

As a black man in the industry, he'd seen it first hand, how they were always treated like a novelty act, stolen and stripped of their work and inhibitions. It had sparked something in him and the flames grew bigger as he became older and processed information different.

He could remember it vividly. Sitting down and watching a news segment where he witnessed a group of white kids being raised and welcomed into the KKK. It had made him sick to his stomach. Who would allow this for their children? He couldn't imagine, but he didn't have to because he had saw it happening with his own eyes.

What had really been the kicker came to him when he realised all that had happened on Martin Luther King Jr's birthday and that alone felt like a sick, ironic twist of fate - a real kick in the teeth for not just him, but every black person breathing the same air.

How was it possible he lived in a world like that?

Micahel loved all races and in a mission to prove his own deserved to be treated with the same respect his white counter parts were given by simply existing, his ambition clawed it's way to the forefront and never quite let go.

Thriller became the best selling album of all time, not on a whim, but by design. The anger had been the fuel to drive him forward. No black artist had ever been allowed to make it on MTV, so he made an album impossible to ignore with music videos to captivate an eager audience. Eventually, they had no choice but to air his work and slowly, he inched the door open for other acts to follow his lead.

If white people hadn't saw black heros before, they certainly would now.

But as the fame festefed, his ambition grew. It wasn't enough. He wanted to be the biggest star on the planet and he wanted to better himself with each album cycle.

Maybe the tour wouldn't be so bad after all.

"I want to prove myself, to be great." He admitted. "I want to do shows and have people leave saying, 'wow, I've never seen anything like that before. He's a real star.'"

The smile she gave in return to his confession beamed brighter than any star he'd ever seen before.

She was proud of him and knew he had it in himself to show the world what a true showman he could be, if that's something he really wanted to do.

"Then do it, but do it for yourself not these creeps using you for God knows what."

And what happened next in the slow moments filled with the sound melodic laughter he gifted her was enough to bloom a whole garden of flowers.

"You think I can do it?"

"Yes." She replied instantly. "I know you can."

It was the way in which she said it, no hesitation, just utter belief in him as a person. A trust of likes he'd always longed for.

Observing her up close, completely still as the beginning navy blues of night began to creep through the windows, he found himself lost in time, where she had once been his and he would never have to worry about distance between them.

As the years passed by, the memories of their time together faded, not completely, but consistent. There had been moments shortly after their break up where Michael would cry himself to sleep, knowing he'd lost someone who loved him without exceptions.

But like they say, time really does heal all wounds.

The tears eventually stopped and as life got busy, he barley thought about the plethora of memories he shared with this women.

Then she just had to attend that funeral, didn't she?

Damn it, Oscar. Why'd you do this to him?

Upon seeing her, a hoard of memories surfaced like a crescendo, impossible to ignore and far too beautiful to pretend he hadn't noticed.

Looking at her now, he was reminded of his betrayal, the pain he'd caused and the cracking ache of her voice over the phone asking him if it was true.

Guilt swarmed.

So much so that he knew needed to say something if there was any chance of keeping her in his life for good this time.

"You know, I've made a bunch of mistakes..." His voice soft as he broke through the silence. "I've made a lot of dumb decisions and put my trust in the wrong kind of people," understatement of the century. "but I have to say, what I did to you haunts me the most."

Eyes growing wide, she very quickly caught on to where this conversation was heading and began to shake her head in a desperate attempt to stop it.

"Mike... let's not do this."

"No, I have to say it." He argued, looking down where his hands sat folded in his lap. "We never really got closure... you never let me talk to you after the phone call."

And it was true.

After that faithful phone call that sealed the breakdown of their relationship, he'd shown up at her door six hours later, but Michael's stubbornness hadn't let him stop there.

He'd called, left letters, had tried to catch her at work. Somehow, she had managed to expertly dodge every attempt.

After a while, he got the message: she didn't want to see him anymore.

Shaking her head, her eyes narrowed in his direction. "That's not fair."

"Hey, I'm not blaming you." He promised, holding his hands out in surrender. "I underatand why you didn't, but... I guess I've always wanted to see you face to face and tell you that, you never deserved it." Honesty laced every word. He needed her to understand. "You were good to me, maybe too good and I didn't appreciate it enough at the time."

If only she knew how much he valued it now.

Bravely lifting his gaze, he found her already looking at him with a somewhat mournful expression. "That's my fault. I never want you to look back at what happened between us and think that you weren't enough for me because truthfully, I think I might not have been enough for you."

"That's not true." She said in an instant, head shaking in disbelief that he would ever consider that as a possibility.

"I'm sorry." Michael spoke with such earnest. He finally had the opportunity to say it in person and he'd be damned if she didn't feel the weight of his regret. "I'm so sorry for the entire thing. You're one of the few people that never wanted anything from me... I think the most you asked for was a stupid postcard while I was touring." Humming with a soft laugh, his brows softened. "You have to know, the time I spent with you was some of the happiest of my life. I was so lucky back then. Hell, I'm lucky now that you're even letting me sit here."

"You kinda gave me no choice." She quirked, the beginnings of a smile cruved against her mouth. "You barged past me."

"Yeah." He laughed, cheeks turning pink. "I guess I did."

With the sound of his laughter trailing off, they were left in a beat of silence, the only sound breaking it being the familiar ticking of a clock.

She could see it now. The sorrow that plagued his eyes ― big, sad and wide.

Back then, part of the reason she hadn't wanted to see him in person to hear him out was due to the unfair upper hand he always had whenever he looked at her.

Just a brief glance and she was putty in his hand.

She cut off contact, not to be cruel, but in a desperate attempt to protect herself and maybe that had been selfish, but she wouldn't apologise for doing what she needed to do in order to survive.

After a minute of silence, she finally found the courage to break it.

"Thank you."

"Huh?" Michael breathed, head tilted.

"For what you said." She hummed innocently, hands wrapping around her water glass. "I appreciate it."

"It's the least I could do."

Taking a generous gulp of water, she watched as Michael did the same with his orange juice and wondered if much like her, he'd only taken a sip to have something to do with his hands.

Letting her glass touch back down on the table, she leaned forward, arms to the wood grain while his eyebrows pulled together.

"For what it's worth, I never thought you were a bad person."

"No?" He spoke shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

"No." She found herself repeating. "Misguided? Definitely, but you care about everything. I think that's why you're so sad."

"I'm not sad." He snapped.

The thing with Michael was, if he felt like he was being called out or attacked, he would immediately enter defence mode. It was the only way he knew to protect himself.

Leaning back against her chair, eyes narrowed, but not unkind, she sighed a heavy sigh and shrugged.

"Yes, you are." She persisted and watched as Michael rolled his eyes back. "And you're lonely. You're so scared of being used or of getting hurt, so you don't let people know the real you."

"You know me." He muttered softly, holding onto the words like a lifeline.

"I think I did..." she nodded. "once."

And it hurt to hear.

"What?" Michael scoffed bitterly. "You think I've changed?"

The very idea made his skin crawl. He didn't want to be different, didn't want to get older. He hated every reminder that he was.

"Everyone changes." She spoke, rising to her feet and making her way into the living room. "That's the nature of being human."

"I'm scared." His voice soft low, he wondered if she heard.

With little thought, he found himself following her actions as he walked across the apartment and sat beside her on the sofa, shoulders brushing in close proximity.

"Scared of what?" Her voice a whisper as she turned her face.

"Everything." He simply confessed. "People around me keep saying that these are the best years of my life."

"You don't think agree?"

"I don't know." Laughing without really meaning it, Michael felt sick with all he carried. "Every day it seems like there's a new story about me. That I want to be white, or that I sleep in some kind of hyperbaric chamber. They say I'm obsessed with Elizabeth Taylor and even that Janet and I are the same person."

"I can attest there's definitely nothing womanly about you." She teased, playfully nudging her elbow into his rib.

"Shut up."

That pretty laugh of his rose, inflicting a giggle of her own. For a moment they were at peace, alone in her apartment where nothing scary could touch either of them.

Childishly, Michael picked up one of the many pillows off the sofa and hit her with it, laughing harder as she gapsed, snatching the cushion from his grasp to whack him back.

"Truce!" He pleaded, hands held out, hoping for mercy.

"Okay, truce." She chuckled, throwing the pillow back down and then atmosphere turned serious once more. "Okay, I'm sorry, you were saying?"

The sudden weight of heavy conversation came rushing back and with a dismissive sigh, Michael threw himself backwards. The view of the white ceiling doing nothing to quell the tention in his shoulders.

"It's just a lot, I guess." Shurgging, he didn't know what else to say.

"I'm never going to fully understand, Mike, but I know you're suffering. Art shouldn't require sacrifice despite what all the greats say." She spoke quietly. "You don't deserve this."

"Sometimes I consider running away." Michael sat up, looking towards her to see her reaction.

"I understand why you would." She spoke like it was simple. "Though, it would be a shame."

"What makes you say that?"

She took a moment, a brief pause to fully evaluate what she would say next. Breathing in deep, she found herself looking at him properly.

So much had changed over the years, but he still felt every bit as real as he always had.

"I don't know. Los Angeles is full of opportunists. Everyone is out for what they can get, not caring who they hurt in the process." She began. "I guess living here doesn't feel so hopeless when I know someone as caring as you lives close. It would be a shame for you to leave, but I understand why you would want to."

"I've never fully thought it trough."

"If you can dream it, you can do it."

His face softened significantly. She hadn't really said much, but what she had said meant something to him. For the first time in years, he could imagine an existence where the media wasn't constantly beating him down, where he could live a relatively normal existence while simultaneously carving a path for himself if he tried hard enough.

Nightfall descended and while it wasn't too late, the pale silver glow from the moonlight flickered across her face, illuminating her soft features so beautifully, for a moment, he found himself wondering if she was actually real or a figment of imaginination his desperate mind had conjured just to keep him sane.

She smiled over to him and he swore, for a minute, his heart had completely stopped. It wasn't just the familiairy of her anymore, he wanted her in ways he couldn't fathom, so he wasn't really thinking as he leaned in.

Inching closer, feeling her breath against his lips and feeling like a man dying of thrist, finally being granted a huge sip of water. Gaze falling to the soft pillows of her lips, he let his eyes flutter close while closing the gap.

Right as his lips were about to meet the sweet, heavenly taste of her, he felt a force pushing him back.

Snapping out of the haze, his eyes flew open and landed on the face of anger, her hands still against his chest where she'd forced him away.

She could hardly believe it.

Was he really going to kiss her just like that?

Frustration grew.

She knew she shouldn't have trusted him. Give a man an inch and he takes a mile. She should've known he was up to no good the moment he charged in uninvited.

"What are you doing?" She hissed, jumping to her feet in an attempt to create as much distance between them as she possibly could. Her heart beating so fast, she could hear her pulse in her ear.

"Nothing." Michael panicked, rising to his feet as he tried to step towards her, face falling when she immediately stepped back. "I'm sorry."

The irony hearing him say this for the second time in such a short time frame shouldn't have amused her the way it did.

"You can't just kiss me and pretend everything is okay."

"Okay, I know. I'm sorry." His eyes wide, pleading for a forgiveness he wasn't sure he deserved.

"You're sorry?" She scoffed.

"I am."

This whole thing was a disaster from beginning to end. He had come here for a conversation and how he'd realised what a mess he'd created and there was no way for him to clean it up.

"What am I to you?" Running shaking fingers haphazardly through her hair, she found it hard to seperate what had just happened to the breakdown of what had been their realtionship. "Am I some sort of temporary distraction you use when the world gets too loud?"

"No-"

He tried, she could give him that. He really had attempted to speak up, but she couldn't hear anymore excuses and cut him off before he could say anything else.

"You should go."

The words were cold.

Final.

Unwilling to let it fade so easily, Michael called her name so soft, she almost caved. He looked so pitiful, devastated at the prospect of leaving and never seeing her again. It was almost enough to make her forgive him.

But she couldn't do this anymore.

"Please, go."

Crestfallen and full of regret, Michael looked around the room, his breathing shaky and knees feeling weak.

He didn't want this, but he also didn't want to upset her more than he already had.

With a final apology falling from his lips, he stepped back and walked straight out her door, down the stairs and back the car where Bill was waiting.

"You were gone a while." His bodyguard joked. "I guess that's a good sign."

Michael didn't so much as smile back.

He simply lifted a pair of black aviators over his eyes and crawled into the back seat.

"Take me home, please."

A couple days passed since the almost kiss and her simmering anger quietly faded into a wall of uncertainty.

Had she have known that was how the night ended, she would've never entertained Michael in the first place. She wasn't totally innocent here. She'd let him in and perhaps old emotions had surfaced.

It was hard to expell a feeling when it never fully disappeared in the first place.

What they had and what they'd shared had been a monumental step in adult life. Her first real taste of an adult realtionship and if she were being honest with herself, it was the one she compared every other relationship she'd to.

Until the whole Diana incident, they'd been happy.

Michael, while not always fully able to physcially be in the same state as her, never failed to smothered her with love and affection. She'd never felt so valued or cared for until he came along to sweep her off her feet.

He'd made it easy to love him and she was all but too happy to fall.

Maybe that's why she hadn't protested when he walked in her apartment.

Whatever inner conflict she had, she'd decided to ignore it. He was gone now and it was probably for the best.

With her legs tucked beneath her, she found herself sitting comfortable on her sofa, book in hand as she felt herself submitting to another world.

In literature, there were no worries. If a book stressed her out too much, she could put it down and pick up another that fit her needs. She liked that, the ease in which she could find peace in the words of an author she's never even met.

Her latest watercolor scenes for the children's bunny novel had been sent for approval and now she had to wait, so she distracted herself with unfamiliar titles and found herself wondering why particular writers failed to gain the notoriety they deserved.

The fantasy genre still called her name and she found herself clinging to every word as a delicate balance of another life formed around her.

She wasn't aware how long she had been reading, but she knew she was close to the end, the climax building, the tensions high and she'd placed her bets on how the story would close once she'd finished the second chapter.

Flicking the page, her eyes carefully scanned the text with an intensity that grew with the promise of a final chapter nearing.

Before she got there, a deverstating knock kicked her out of the enchanted land and back to the mundane apartment she called home.

Frustration came in waves, but deciding not to let it ruin her mood, she placed the book down where she'd sat and moved to the door.

Checking the peep hole, mild confusion settled across her features when the sight of an unfamiliar person greeted her.

A man, standing at 5'9, 5'10 at a push, silm but strong dressed in layers. A white t-shirt peaked out from underneath red flannel shirt and over the top of that sat a dark bomber style jacket. He wore a dark wash of jeans, some beat up sneakers and had a pair of oversized, brown sunglasses covering his eyes.

In terms of face, the glasses did a good job at hiding most of it, but she could see the grown out attempt of a mustache, a set of crooked teeth and a vague idea of an afro tucked beneath a cap with a set of overgrown sideburns spilling out the sides.

An irrational part of her mind told her not to answer, that she could pretend not to be home, she didn't know this man or his intentions.

But a kinder, more polite side of her brain rationalised that this might be a neighbour she hadn't met yet and that thought had been the driving force to make her open the door.

"Hello." She smiled politely, keeping the door open only a slither so she could quickly close it if she felt uncomfortable. "Can I help you?"

Shuffling on his feet, the man easily kept his hands behind his back but offered a toothy grin. "Yes, hi." The voice low and with a hint of an accent she couldn't recognise. "I just moved into the building and was wondering, do you know where the laundry room is?"

"The laundry room?" She questioned, but nodded. "Yeah, it's down on the basement floor. You can take the elevator, but honestly, that old thing is so slow, if you can manage, I would just take the stairs."

"Is that right?"

She nodded, finding this whole conversation to be slightly on the strange side since she was sure this would've been convered when he'd settled his lease, but she was far too polite to close the door in his face.

"I'm from a large family you see." Despite the fact she hadn't asked, he started explaining his background. "Lots of brothers and sisters. It's my first time living alone."

"Oh, right." She replied, not really seeing the relevance, but understanding he might just need a friend. "Well, welcome to the building."

"Thank you very much." He beamed.

"I'll see you around?"

Without answering, he shuffled on his feet and then stopped still. "Just one more question?"

"Okay." Her voice soft as she clung to the edge of her door, peaking out from behind. "Shoot."

"Do they allow pets here?"

"Oh no. I'm sorry, Sir, this building is particularly strict about that." She confessed with a slight pout of her own, the rule having always seemed particularly harsh to her.

"Oh, 'cause you see... I have this uh... this chimpanzee, and well, I can't leave him unattended."

At that her body froze. Suddenly her eyes zoned in, attempting her hardest to bypass the shadow the glasses left, behind the mustache and those ridiculous mutton chops.

A gasp tore through her throat and then she let out a long, shaky breath, whispering as she spoke. "Michael, is that you?"

There was silence for moment.

Then a distinct chuckle, bending slightly at the hip, no longer able to keep his compsure. Looking through the orange hued lenses, he stepped forward and nodded to confirm her suspicions.

"Yeah... it's me." He dropped the accent and his normal voice suddenly returned.

She rolled her eyes back, lips settled into a firm line. "You're so annoying!" She huffed. "Why are you here? Dressed like that, no less."

"Sorry." Spurts of laughter continued to fall. "I got you good, right? I should venture into acting next."

"Yeah, you try that." She huffed, moving to close the door.

"Wait!" He called in desperation, all traces of humour wiped off his unrecognisable face. "I'm sorry. I came to apologise and well, it's hard sneaking out in daylight, so I'm trying out to new disguise."

With the arch of a brow, she looked him over one last time. "You're telling me you came here alone?"

"Lord, no." He replied easily. "Bill's downstairs in case things get dicey."

"Right."

Tention hung between them, uncomfortable but not entirely unbearable.

Clearing his throat, Michael finally brought his hands back in front of him to show a bouquet of beautiful peonies, ranging from bright purples to brilliant pinks, clutched between his fingers.

"I wanted to apologise for the other night. I know I went too far, I got carried away and I'm truly, very sorry about the whole thing." He sounded sincere, nervous almost as he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Do you... uh... accept my apology?"

She contemplated for a only a moment, but it was enough for her to see the inner conflict happening in his mind. With a dramatic sigh, she opened her door wider and reached for the pretty bouquet.

"I guess... just this once." She smiled, leaning in to get a good smell of the sweet florals. "Thank you for the flowers. I love them."

"I knew you would." He smiled and she was taken back by how weird it was to talk to Michael face to face and not have those pearly whites beaming in her direction. Whatever false teeth he wore were extremely convcing.

"You know, it's a pity you live in an apartment. I know how much you enjoy nature. You deserve a huge garden where you could plant whatever flowers you want." He mused outloud, not really thinking before he spoke.

"Now, that would be quite the life, wouldn't it?" She hummed and stepped back. "Do you... want to come in?"

Hesitation formed, a hint of surprise lingered, like he wasn't sure if she'd meant it or not.

Once he realised she hadn't taken it back, he nodded fast and stepped forward. "Uh... yeah, that'd be great."

Stepping back into her space, Michael found himself once again looking at her blue walls, listening carefully to her feet shuffling through the space to find a vase to home her new flowers.

"By the way, you really need to be more cautious about strange men walking up to your door, girl." The thought hit him suddenly and then he couldn't stop himself from talking. "What were you doing, opening up to this?" He indicated to himself, disbelief painting his words.

Filling the vase with water, she looked over her shoulder with a dramatic huff. "Don't judge me. You're the idiot who knocked. I thought you might have needed help."

He paused for a moment, watching her with a flicker of a grin teasing his lips. She'd barley spoke and he already felt lighter.

After a busy day juggling his management drama, tour conflicts and finalising a set list, speaking with someone about something so simple eased the tention from his shoulders.

"Didn't we watch hundreds of horror movies together?" He hummed, eyes following her as she moved across the room. "You know what usually happens to the pretty girl who's foolish enough to open the door."

"Uh-Huh." She laughed, leaning back against her kitchen counter with her legs crossed and arms folded over her chest. "They usually have this really dull monologue or they stare for about five minutes straight before getting the sense to run, but by that point, it's far too late."

"Exactly." He snapped his fingers. "Are you trying to be like one of those girl?"

"Well, no. My monologue would be so enticing, the killer would change his mind and ask me to tell him other worldy tales instead."

A scoff of disbelief passed his lips, eyes narrowed behind his lenses. "You play too much."

"Well, not everything has to be so serious." She shrugged, enjoying the lighthearted nature of the conversation compared to how things ended a few nights before.

Using her hands to push herself forwards, she softly approached the vague figure she knew to be Michael, but recognised to be someone completely different.

No one had prepared her for how trippy it would be to hear his voice and see a complete stranger looking back.

"So, what's with the get up." She nodded towards him and smiled as Michael jokingly twirled, giving her a full 360 view of the generic outfit laying flat against his body.

For someone who usually dressed like he could be called to a runway any moment, it was hard to imagine him picking through this particular set clothes, but then again, she understood that was the point.

Rubbing his hands together, Michael leaned back on the balls of his feet, rocking in exciement. "There's this music store a few blocks over I've been wanted to check out." He spoke happily. "Thought this would stop people from recognising me and well, you didn't, so it much be pretty great."

"Oh, so you're not using this disguise as a poor attempt to seduce me then." She teased, a playful smirk matching the gleam in her eyes.

Michael felt his eyes widen, his mouth fall open and the heat rise against his flesh. The tips of his ears had turned pink and he shyly stuttered through his reply. "W-well... n-no. Of course not." Casting a glance downward, Michael tried to preserve whatever dignity he had left.

If it were possible, the smirk she wore grew wider as she unashamedly stared right at him. Watching in mild amusement as the nervous boy she had once known began surface. Flustered and refusing to meet her gaze, you would never think this to be the man to get up on stages and wow crowds of people with his intoxicating voice and erotic dance moves.

She nodded as though she believed him and felt the small laugh rise out her throat. "Right." She muttered, a casual mocking tone lingered.

"Stop looking at me like that." Micahel muttered, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

She laughed again and the sound was so pretty, he finally chanced a glance up and offered a crooked smile as a fair trade.

"Anyway..." Michael began, cautiously stepping towards her, not wanting to overstep boundaries like he had a couple nights prior. "did you want to, maybe, come with me?"

"To the music store?"

Michael eagerly nodded, assuring her that he walked around in disguise from time to time and no one usually spotted him. They'd be totally safe. Bill would drive them and stay relatively close by on the off chance things got out of hand.

Hands on hips, she analysed the situation.

On one hand, they were playing in uncharted territory. Whatever existed between them still lingered and maybe it wasn't wise to spend so much time with Michael. Still finding it hard to fully place her trust in him despite her emotions clawing at her to relax and let go.

On the other hand, she had always felt at ease in his company. She enjoyed the light hearted conversation, the way he could make her laugh with minimal effort and all the hardships life threw their way would fade as soon as they spent any time together.

She'd made up her mind.

A soft hum passed her lips, eyeing Michael in temporary amusement. "You're not going to try and kiss me again, are you?" She teased.

Michael let out a shy laugh, rubbing his jaw with his long fingers. "I'll try my best to resist."

Despite not saying much, those words said everything.

Not that he didn't want to or promised that he wouldn't, but he'd try and keep himself from doing it. Which lead her to believe, he would very much consider kissing her again if the moment felt right.

With the rapid beating of her heart, she suddenly realised, she didn't know if she should be elated or terrified by that idea.

With the sound of her pulse thudding in her ears, her smile softened into something sweet. "Yeah, well, you better keep those nasty teeth away from me."

As she moved to grab a jacket off the coat stand she kept near the door, Michael's eyes followed her steps, analysing every miniscule movement like a biologist with a microscope.

It wasn't often he was taken back by the motion of another. Being as fluid as he was, it took a lot to impress him. But this wasn't just anyone, this was her and she didn't simply move, she glided like she could take off any moment and fly if she really wanted to.

Eyes lingering, catching faint splotches of browns and reds staining the light wash jeans. He chuckled, mainly because he knew her and this wasn't out of the ordinary.

"Girl, don't you wanna change before you leave?" He hummed in amusement. "You're covered in paint."

With a faux expression of insult, she let out a small scoff. "Oh, I know you did not just say that when you look like you're moments away from selling cattle to a meat market."

Micahel's jaw dropped and soon a euphoric laugh followed, shaking his head as he followed her out the door.

"I'll have you know, that's against my code now." He hummed and he watched her lock the door. "I'm trying the whole vegetarian thing out again."

"Nobel." She muttered, turning the key and then moving to stand in front of Michael, gently pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to cover those distinctive eyes. Too recognisable. Too risky. "Let's see how long that lasts when you realise there's a KFC across the street from this store you want to visit so bad."

She was right of course and he knew it. But rather than giving her the glory of admitting it, Michael stayed quite.

Eyes growing wide as she walked past, he quickly followed down the stairs, vaguely remembering what she'd said about the elevator and how slow it was. For as long as he's known her, she had always opted to take the stairs and up until now, he's never thought much about it.

Once outside, she seemed fairly confident in her footsteps.

Crossing the lot in long strides, she walked straight towards the burgundy, 1985 Mercedes Benz. A flashy car, but she supposed it made sense for the kind of person who played passenger in the back seat despite having his own drivers licence.

"How'd you know it was this one?" Michael found himself asking, absentmindly he reached out to open the back door and nodding as a way to encourage her to get in.

"Are you kidding me?" She laughed, eyeing the other cars surrounding them. "Do you see anyone else in this building driving anything this expensive?' She didn't wait for a reply, instead she ducked her head and slid inside knowing he would immediately follow.

Which he did.

Rolling his eyes, Michael closed the door behind him after sliding into the backseat, finding her already leaning forward to greet his bodyguard with a kind grin.

"Hello again, Bill." She chimed, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the cold air. "We really have to stop meeting like this. People will start talking."

Bill chuckled, turning his head and showing her a kind grin. "Tell him that, kid." He nodded towards Michael, sitting against the leather seats in that ridiculous disguise. "He'd convince me to drive through hell if he thought you might be there."

"Now that's a scary thought."

"Bill, stop." Michael groaned, hands covering his face, hiding his rosey cheeks from indulgent eyes. "You're embarrassing me."

"Sorry, Mike." Informal now they were in a safe space, like they were close, because they were. Bill chuckled, not sorry at all as he began to pull out of the parking lot. "Still wanna see that music store?"

Michael hummed in acknowledgment, huffing back in his seat when he caught her eye and noticed the spark of mischief he'd always adored.

The drive was smooth despite the LA traffic, filled with mainly idle chatter and the brief pause of conversation when Michael got carried away, humming captivating melodies along to the radio. Unable to sit still, he either tapped a tune against this thigh or moved his foot to the rhythm.

It made a fascinating watch. He'd always been this way inclined. Like music flowed through him. He didn't have to be in the studio to appreciate a hymn and he didn't need to scribble down lyrics to create a session. He simply was all of the above.

The drive passed relatively quick, but in that time she found herself eyeing the man beside her more and more and thought to herself how lucky she was to be trusted enough to see Michael Jackson in such a relaxed state, even if that same Michael Jackson was wearing a fake mustache and a pair of buck teeth.

As the car came to a smooth stop, the three of them opened individual doors and stepped forward. Michael moved towards Bill while straightening out one of his many layers.

"Can you stay back a little please, Bill?" He muttered, not wanting to draw attention.

"Of course, Mister Jackson. You won't even know I'm there."

With a sniff nod, Michael gave the older man a grateful smile and then rounded the car to walk besides the girl currently occupied, reading flyers in the store window.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Bill's company. On the contrary, he adored the man. In a world where his biological father caused so much misery, Bill was the one to fill the void. After all the years they's spent side by side, Bill had never one broke his trust, sold a story or looked at Michael like he was anything more than human. Truthfully, he didn't know what he would do without him.

But like all men, he didn't want a fatherly figure looming over his shoulder while he made a desperate attempt to try and to reconnect with a women who changed his entire world.

"What are you looking at?" He found himself muttering, following her gaze to a small pink advertisement for guitar lessons. "You looking to become the next Van Halen or something?"

"Nah." She laughed. "I thought maybe you could actually learn how to play an instrument or two." She teased, giggling softly when Michael's face turned stoic. In a swift movement, he turned towards her and nudged her shoulder with the a single finger. "I'm kidding." Though the laugh persisted. "The name caught me off guard is all. 'Guitar guru.' How humble."

Michael chuckled and stepped forward, casually offering an elbow, half expecting her to deny the gesture. Instead, she spared him a soft grin and looped her arm through his as he opened the store door and they stepped inside.

The smell of vinyl filled the air, colorful posters and pristine records lined the walls and shelves. To keep the intimate ambience, the store played an old Lionel Richie track and the man working his shift looked towards them once the bell above the door chimed. For a painful moment, she thought the worst when he gaze became more intense.

He must have recognised Michael.

They were seconds way from this trip becoming a whole spectacle and they'd be forced to run as fast as their legs could carry them back to the car.

She held her breath, waiting for the shoe to drop.

Only it never came.

The young man simply nodded in a simple greeting and then went back to counting money in the cash register.

Sighing in relief, she hadn't noticed Michael's amused grin, but she did feel the pull when he directed her through the aisles. Despite never stepping foot in the space before, he seemed to know his away around.

Keeping his promise, Bill flanked the pair from a distance and with the speed of an olympian, Michael b-lined straight towards the stacked 'M' section.

Slender fingers flickered through the albums, stopping only as they found the ones detailing his own name.

"You're such a narcissist." She spoke quietly against his ear with a small scoff, not quite believing this was the reason he dragged her here.

"I'm just checking they're here." Michael hummed, not paying much attention with gaze turned downward, looking down at his own face staring back against a white background.

In fact, he hadn't noticed much of anything until he felt the sudden loss of her warmth from his arm.

Head snapping up, he quickly caught sight of her only a few paces away, fingers pressed against the 'Madonna' section.

"Girl, what are you doing?" He huffed, stepping closer to inspect the album cover. The sepia coloring and intense seductive gaze of Like A Virgin greeted him and Michael fought back an impolite grimace. "What you looking at this for? You should really have more refined taste by now."

"I'm sorry, 'refined taste?'" She laughed, looking over her shoulder with her lips curved into a small grin. "Wasn't she sitting on your lap in '84 after one of the Victory tour shows?" Her voice quite to not draw attention to other shoppers, but Michael heard it well enough.

Behind his glasses, his eyes grew wider and he didn't need to look in a mirror to know he was blushing.

"W-what?" He suttered.

"Yeah." She mused in amusement. "I remember seeing it in all the papers the next day."

At the time, it hadn't been very long since their break up. The image of him with another woman opened a still raw wound and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't regretfully wished ill will on the pop superstar at the time.

In fact, she could vividly remember crumpeling that exact page in the palm of her hands before tossing it in the trash like the photograph had personally offended her.

As irrational as it had been, she was angry. Michael seemed completely fine filling the void she'd left with other, more established women while she'd been at home, trying not to cry every time one of his songs haunted her through the radio.

What had been her own personal hell now came back round, but not to haunt her. Instead it terrorised him and she took great delight in the distraught look the reminder had brought upon his face.

"That was nothing." Michael insisted, his voice dropping an octave as if to get his point across.

"Sure." She gave a less than believable smile and the nodded, fingering the titles of albums she'd never listened to. "Whatever you say."

With a huff, Michael pinched her waist provoking a small gasp, one she tried to hide with her hand as she stepped back from him, her eyes narrowed dangerously like she was warning him she was only seconds away from retaliating.

"I'm being serious." He huffed. "Don't go spreading that around."

"Right, because I'm known for going to the tabloids." She rolled her eyes, words dripping in sarcasm.

In reality, she'd never so much as had her name out there.

Even while she had been dating Michael during the height of Thriller, she'd stayed relatively out of sight. There might have been a photo of two floating around in some trashy, celebrity magazine with her standing close to the enigmatic star the world had fallen in love with, but her name was never mentioned.

Michael had been careful. He wanted keep her safe, his label wanted her to remain a secret for the sake of selling the single image and frankly, she just wanted her privacy.

She had no interest in becoming front page news and she definitely wasn't about to selling someone out for a quick buck.

"No, I know you aren't." Michael stepped closer, hand resting on her shoulder, soft but grounding. "I wasn't insinuating that."

Time stood still, his touch still burnt like it had all those years ago. Not in a way that made her flinch, but in a manner that warmed her from the inside out.

If she was honest, it pissed her off that even after all the time that had passed, he still had some kind of hold over her.

With a sniff nod, she stepped back, but offered a smile as compensation once his hand fell back to his side.

"Lets look for something else." She mused, trying to steer the conversation into a safer direction. "I wonder if they have any Tchaikovsky or Debussy around here."

Michael's love for their compositions were of little surprise to those who knew him and behind the brown shades, his eyes gleamed in acknowledgment. With a stuble grin, he was actually touched that she remembered so much about him.

They might have only dated a year, but it had certainly made an impression on both of then.

With little thought, his feet followed her direction into the classic section and soon she convinced him they should seperate to cover more ground.

He would search for Tchaikovsky while she's scour the section Debussy should be housed. Seperate mission which would ultimately lead the the same goal where they'd meet up to compare what they'd uncovered.

So engrossed in his own search, Michael had been far too distracted to look at his surroundings. For once he felt safe with the knowledge that no one would discover him, elbows deep in vinyl records and it was nice feeling.

With his focus somewhere else, he lost track of the women he's entered the store with. He wasn't worried. He knew she was okay, she wouldn't have wandered too far, but then he heard a familiar laugh that his nerves on end.

Head rising at the speed of lightening, he was quick to evaluate his surroundings and it wasn't long until his eyes found the shape of her body. She looked exactly as she had when she left him, the only difference being the tall, overgrown lummox of a man standing too close, making direct physical contact with a hand pressed against her lower back.

Now Michael tried not to make a habit out of jealousy. It was a terrible, ugly emotion and he hated the way it made him feel.

Living the life he did, most people thought he was exempt from expierencing the green eyed monster, but it couldn't be further from the truth.

As he watched the lingering touch and shared conversation, a pit formed in the depth of his stomach. If he'd eaten anything in the past hour, he was almost certain his body would be regurgitating to rid himself of the toxins that came from witnessing another man invade her personal space.

He couldn't take it.

Michael stepped forward, classic compositions forgotten in the face of envy and as he approached, he only caught the tail end of the conversation.

"... of course. I'm really happy you liked it."

Her smile bright and wide, so deverstatingly beautiful and he absolutely despised not being on the reciving end.

Standing in front of her, a man towered her frame, indulging himself far too much with her company and loving every ounce of attention she gave him.

"Not intruppting anything, am I?" Michael asked, his voice deep in an attempt to conceal his identity.

Turning towards him, wide eyed, but not unwelcome, she flashed Michael a small grin and shook her head. "No, not at all."

Nodding carefully, Michael stood right beside her, leaving barley a hair width space between them. If she had been uncomfortable with his presence, she certainly didn't show it.

"Oh, sorry. I should introduce the two of you." Hitting her head gently with the heel of her palm, the way she presented herself was always so endearing. Turning towards Michael, her eyes shined bright. "This is Rick. He's the author of the children's book I'm currently illustrating."

Rasing a brow, Michael nodded in understanding. Suddenly the familiairy of their conversation made sense, her feeling comfortable in the presence of this man wasn't odd because he wasn't a stranger to her.

Michael had always adored her chosen career path. Not only was she talented, but she used that talent as a way to connect to children, to enrich lives and with her illustrations, a love for the written word was encouraged. He should be happy that she'd been given this opportunity and he was, he really was happy to know she was thriving. Then he looked over at Rick.

And part of him seethed.

Because it wasn't that simple. Illustrating his book meant that they had spent time together before.

"That's... nice." Michael hesitated, but ultimately decided was happy she was doing something she loved. He had always thought she was too talented for her own good.

Besides, the idea of Rick writing children's novels hadn't shadow him in a sense of insecurity. While he was writing cute tales kids would enjoy for a short period of life, Michael had been writing critically acclaimed albums those same kids would remember for decades to come.

They weren't the same.

With a small gasp, she turned to the blonde and Michael suddenly decided no man his age should have hair that bright. They couldn't be trusted.

"Oh, Rick, this is my friend-" her words fell flat, sudden realisation that she couldn't introduce him by his actual name. She stuttered for a moment and from the outside, it might have simply seemed like she's misplaced it, but she soon recovered with a shy kind of smile. "uh, Peter."

At the sound of his favourite characters name falling from her lips, Michael felt a warmth flood through him. To anyone else, it was a simple alias, to him it was a beacon of hope.

"Peter?" Rick questioned, his gaze falling to the figure beside her like he was trying to make sense of something. "It's nice to meet you." He husked, holding out a hand in a friendly greeting.

For a beat too long, Michael simply looked at the man, not moving an inch until suddenly he felt a sharp blow to his ribs. She'd elbowed him and looked over with a sharp glare.

Recovering quick, he cleared his throat and then carelessly shook hands. "Yeah, nice to meet you too... I guess." Eyeing him suspiciously.

Rick's own eyes narrowed in confusion. "Do I know you from somewhere? You look really familiar."

Blood running cold, she immediately tried to close out this conversation. "I brought him to Linda's office once." She lied, sighing in relief as Rick faked recognition. "Sorry, Rick. We have plans for the rest of the day, so we're going to have to go."

"So soon?" He questioned, almost stepping closer like he didn't want to see the back of her.

"Yep." Michael interrupted, circling a possessive arm over her waist. "No time to stay and chat. It was nice to see you. Bye, Dick."

"It's Rick."

Before she could even say goodbye, he found himself pulling her towards the door where Bill stood in wait, suddenly no longer caring for music store he had once been so excited to step into.

Once outside, she ripped herself away from his grasp and pushed against his shoulder. Michael turned to her just as she folded her arms across her chest, seething in disappointment.

"What the hell was that?" She shouted in a whisper, her gaze cold as distant as she turned to face him.

"I don't know what you mean." Michael shrugged, playing innocent while leading the small group of three towards the car. "Who was that schmuck anyway?"

"I told you, I'm working on illustrating his book." She huffed, cheeks pink in humiliation once she realised Bill would be witness to this latest argument.

Sliding into the car, she moved her body as far as she could from Michael and barley registered the vehicle pulling out into the road. Michael didn't even so much as look back at the KFC as they drove past.

"That was so humiliating."

Michael turned towards her, finally removing the stupid hat and glasses, revealing those expressive eyes she suddenly decided she hated, but as he looked at her fully, she knew she was only lying to herself.

"Humiliating?" He scoffed, continuing to remove more and more of his disguise. The wig, the mustache and finally the teeth. "The only thing that was humiliating was the way he threw himself at you."

"He did not!" She seethed, staring out of the window, suddenly feeling far more vulnerable now that Michael was looking like himself.

"Yes he was. He had his hands all over you." He insisted, shaking his head back and fourth. "Tell her, Bill. You saw it, didn't you?"

Snapping her head back to face him, her eyes lit with fire, she snatched the cap he's been toying with from between his palms and tried not to yell. "Don't involve Bill! This is between you and me and the fucking audacity you have. Rick wasn't hitting on me, but even if he was, it's none of your business. I am not your girlfriend!"

There was a finality to her words that hit both of them in different ways.

A heavy silence lingered in the car after that.

The rest of the drive was relatively quiet unless you counted the sound of the tires moving against the road.

Once they reached the familiar path of her apartment building, she waited until the car came to a stop before she thanked Bill, unbuckled her seat belt and rushed inside without so much as looking back.

Sitting in sorrow, Michael looked out the window at her retreating figure and suddenly wished he had the ability to turn back time.

"What are you playing at, Mike?" Though the hazy echo of the door slamming on repeat though his mind, Bill's quiet voice demanded attention.

Blinking once, Michael shuffled forward on his seat, erratically fingers running through his newly exposed curls.

"I don't know." He confessed. "I didn't mean for that to happen... but you saw him, right? He was all up in her personal space."

"Yeah, I saw." Bill confessed with a nod. "But I don't think she thought much of it. Before you came charging on in, she'd been watching you."

Michael's head turned towards him so quick, he feared he had given himself whiplash.

"What did you say?"

"Yeah, that guy appraoched her and she seemed sweet enough, but she kept glancing back over at you. I don't think she even recognised that fella was touching her."

Feeling like the biggest fool, Michael buried his hands in his face and let out a dramatic yell, easing out of his frustrations much to Bill's amusement.

"So, what do I do now?" He asked, sounding entirely too vulnerable much to his own dismay. A lump formed in his throat, but he was much too proud to allow himself to cry with an audience.

This was his fault. He'd driven her away. If only he'd taken a step back and looked at the bigger picture.

He should've known. She was beautiful, yes, even when they had been dating he had known men threw themselves at her, but she had never entertained it.

She valued connection over a cheap thrill. A man approaching her was easy, but she never fell into their trap. Even with Michael himself, it had taken several dates before she fully committed to being his grielfriend. She hadn't simply fallen into his arms that day at the library.

"You need to go up there and apologise." Bill encouraged, hands on the steering wheel.

Michael paused, knowing the older man to be right, but realising an impending sense of deja vu. "That feels like all I do recently." He expressed sadly.

"Well mean it this time!" Bill huffed. "And when she forgives you, which she will, don't screw it up again, kid. She's good people."

'She's good people.'

The simple description played on a loop, encouraging him to get out the car and head straight inside her apartment building.

Bill had the right idea, but he was wrong about one thing: she wasn't good, she was the best humanity had to offer.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Michael no longer cared how much noise he was making or that he was no longer shielded under the covers of a sketchy disguise.

If one of her neighbours were to recognise him, he's not sure he would care all that much so long as it got her to speak to him.

Knocking on her door for the second time that day, Michael counted down the seconds until she opened up, ready to face all that she had, even if all she was willing to give him was anger.

Only, she didn't answer.

Feeling his heart loose rhythm, he tried again, his fist meeting the wood grain with eager precision.

Suddenly it was '84 and he could hear the sound of his own voice calling back out to her, pleading with the women behind the door to let him in.

Last time, he'd given up too easily.

She's slipped from his grasp and he had spent three long years without hearing her voice, seeing her face or watching as she breathed.

He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

With a heavy sigh, he knocked once more with a soft call of her name. "I know you don't want to see me right now, but I'm not leaving until you let me in."

Silence.

"I mean it. I'll say out here all night if that's what it takes." Michael assured, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the doorframe. "I'm sorry. I know I've been saying that a lot recently and you're probably tired of hearing it, but you have to know, I mean it. I know I keep making mistakes and you're finding it hard to know which version of me you should trust. I just- I get so scared of losing you for good, it makes me do all these irrational things."

"That's not your fault. It's mine and I know that. I don't want to make you upset or angry. It's the last thing I want. You mean a lot to me... I think you always will if I'm honest. Losing you was hard. I'll admit, I felt like part of me was left behind with you when things fell apart. Running into you again, it brought that spark back."

Baring his soul, Michael was ready to stay for the long haul and he didn't care if it took days. He would cancel every work related commitment he had if that's what it took. Sure, the logistics would be difficult and his management would hunt him down, but he'd have to be physically carried from her doorstep before he left.

"Do you know what still gets me?" He called through the wood, eyes still closed as he pictured her face. "Through all this, you've remained exactly the same. You told me the other night that everyone changes... but you haven't." He spoke through a humourless chuckle. "You're still the same vibrant, loving, beautiful person I always knew you were and I don't deserve your forgiveness, but God, do I need it. I need you."

When she still didn't answer, as ridiculous as it appeared, Michael began to sing an old Ray Charles song ― obnoxious and purposefully off key. The longer he waited the louder he got until eventually, the sound of the handle turning broke him from the groove.

Inside the apartment, she could hardly believe he'd chosen to do this. Regardless of how purposefully terrible he's opted into singing, if anyone had remotely recognised that voice, a full scale riot would've started on the second floor of her building.

If she hadn't been annoyed at him before, the simmering heat had since grown into a blazing fire.

"What is wrong with you?" She demanded as soon as the door flew open, fist caught in the middle of his layers, practically dragging him into her apartment and rolling her eyes at the sound of his child like laugh.

Slamming the door behind him, she let go of his flannel. With hands on hips, she looked towards him and the laughter fell flat when he noticed how tired she actually looked.

"I'm sorry." Michael spoke softly, stepping forward to plant a firm hand on each of her shoulders. "It was the only way I knew I could convince you to open the door."

"Aren't you tired of saying sorry all the time?" She sighed, heavy with the weight of the day.

"No, not with you." His gaze locked with her own and he gave a warm smile. "I'd say sorry a million times over if that's what it takes."

And she knew he was telling the truth because those eyes never lie.

She asked once, why he wore sunglasses even when he was inside. Michael's response had been a short, but simple one: "I don't want people to see my soul."

At the time, she didn't fully understand, but as she looked at him now, it suddenly all made sense.

"What you did back at the music store was out of line." She spoke carefully, but didn't bother to shake his hands off her shoulders.

"I know." Michael muttered, nodding his head in totally agreement. "I'm an idiot… but I'm working on it."

A brief pause in conversation allowed the heat to die down. The world seemed to fall silent and standing there, just a few inches from her front door, she finally admitted to herself that she was glad he hadn't simply let her walk away.

"It won't happen again." Michael continued in an attempt to get her to understand. "I think seeing another man's hands on you scared me and you're right, you're not my girlfriend, but I think- actually, I know, I want you to be."

Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to talk, but Michael cut her off while he still had the courage to do so.

"Look, I'm going to say it and I don't care how crazy you think it sounds." His eyes found hers, strong and unwavering. "I want to be with you. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I betrayed you like I did and I'm never going to be able to make it up to you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying."

Hand falling to her jaw, Michael's thumb gently traced the familiar structure with a tenderness only he possessed. "You're not ready to be with me right now, I know that." He spoke as a fact. "But one day, I hope maybe you will be… I'm not giving up on that. I'll be here and I don't care how long it takes. I'm not giving up on you."

Butterflies swarmed her stomach, her heart beat rapid in her chest. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. The fact she hadn't forced him out of her apartment said more than simple words ever could.

Instead of responding, she simply asked if he wanted to stay for dinner and Michael eagerly agreed, even going as far as chopping the vegetable to help in the kitchen.

True to his words, Michael stayed a constant presence in her life.

Over the next couple months, when he wasn't rehearsing vigorously for his first solo world tour, or visiting children's hospitals, he found himself at her door. Usually during the evening time, when the sky turned an inky shade of blue, she would hear that familiar knock and be greeted with a charming, dimpled smile once she opened up.

There conversations weren't always that interesting, but each one solidified their bond. They ranged from something as boring as the local weather to more sensationalised gossip.

He's been watching her paint one evening when suddenly, Michael gasped.

"Did I tell you, Jackie's finally getting divorced." He snickered as she dropped her paint brush, faint watercolor splattered against her cheek.

"I'm sorry, what?" With wide eyes, she turned to face Michael, the painting suddenly forgotten. "Enid finally had enough, huh?"

Michael shrugged, throwing a fist full of popcorn into his mouth. "Guess so. They've been rocky for years."

Their realtionship had been at a breaking point for so long now, Michael could barley remember if they'd ever actually been happy. Between his brothers constantly infidelity and Enid's persistent jealousy, they were better apart than they ever were together.

"I just feel bad for the kids, you know?" His voice dropped into a whisper, sorrow etched into each letter.

"Yeah." She nodded, and reached over to give his hand a comforting squeeze. "But sometimes it's better for families to live apart to provide a stable environment. They'll be okay, Mike."

Other days he'd come over in hopes of leaving the stress of his career behind for an hour or two. It was during these particular visit, they'd leave all the seriousness of life at the door and play games all night.

Tetris, Super Mario Bros, Trivial Putsuit, Pictionary ― the latter particular got pretty competitive with both of them yelling insults when they failed to convey the prompt. Despite both of them being able to draw, this game truly tested their limited.

"Man, you're lucky you can sing because there's no way you think that looks like a fire hydrant." She remembered speaking once, throwing herself down on the sofa in frustration.

"I don't want to hear from you." Michael scoffed. "Your mouse looked like some mutant alien."

"It did not!"

"Yes, it did." He huffed. "I didn't know if I should find a new home for it or run from it."

The nights usually ended in a lot of laughter, but her personal favourite game came in the form of something as simple as Guess Who.

"Could your person beat a goose in a fight?" She asked, looking at the board and then Michael with mild interest.

"Hmm..." Michael tilted his head, eyeing the cartoon depictions like he was trying to solve the world's most difficult puzzle. "My person would definitely give it a good try, but ultimately, that goose would peck their eyes out."

"Interesting." She acknowledged, starting to flick names down. "It's obviously not Tom. I don't think he even knows what a goose is."

Michael chuckled, leaning forward to ask a question of his own. "If your person owned a dog, would they dress them up."

"Oh, absolutely."

Quickly making his way through the board, Michael removed faces and then turned with a stuble smirk. "I know who it is."

"No you don't." She narrowed her eyes, calling his bluff.

"Yes, I do." Michael practically giggled. "Is your person Maria?"

"How do you do this every time!"

As she groaned, Michael cheered in victory. There were no prizes for a win, just the gloatful pride of knowing you had was enough for both of them.

Once, Michael arrived at her door carrying a bucket filled with the delicious sent of crispy fried chicken.

"I knew you couldn't last as a vegetarian." She laughed, closing the door behind him and followed as he made his way into the kitchen to grab two plates.

"It's KFC's fault!" He persisted, placing everything down on the kitchen counter. "If it weren't for them, I would be the perfect saint."

A soft laugh fell from her lips, eyebrows arched as she nodded her head. "Sure. I'd believe it." She grinned.

Between bites of chicken, they'd spoke of everything and nothing all at once. It was easy, comfortable and for the first time in a long, she finally felt completely comfortable in his presence.

"I've been meaning to ask," she started with a subtle wide eyed gazed. "how's Bubbles?"

"Oh, Bubbles." Michael practically beamed at the mention of his chimpanzee companion. "He's great. I've been really leaning into learning sign language to communicate with him and he's so smart. You should come over soon. I'm sure he'd remember you."

On days he couldn't see her, he'd call and they'd talk for hours on the phone. He'd recount his day and then ask about hers. In the peaceful moments where they could be completely themselves, she felt something shift.

Suddenly, she wasn't so angry at him.

She'd bravely found the courage to ask one day if he was still in contact with Diana and Michael was honest as he spoke, telling her that he would probably always care for Diana, but they weren't as close as they once were. He barley spoke to her and saw her even less. Whatever had been between them fizzled out and honestly, Michael couldn't really see her without thinking of the pain he'd inflicted three years ago.

He didn't treat her like a fool, he never pushed boundaries and the way he spoke so candidly told her that she could trust him just as he trusted her.

Returning to Hayvenhurst after three years was a surreal expierence. Nothing had really changed, but nothing was the same either. More of Michael's siblings had moved out, so entering was already far quieter than she'd imagined it would be.

Fingers threaded through his, their hands swinging between them as he guided her inside and down the hallway.

The grandeur of the home never failed to leave her speechless. The scale of the property was one thing, but the things housed inside were a complete different kettle of finish. Tall wall and elaborate light fixtures, but somehow, the warm wood tones and bright walls still felt inviting.

Michael had explained on the car ride over that Joseph wasn't around, apparently he was out handling some business in New York. The way he rolled his eyes and clentched his jaw lead her to believe that wasn't the whole truth, but she wasn't about to question him and ruin their fun before it started.

Knowing exactly where he wanted to take her, Michael lead her through the house with ease, humming a familiar tune as he passed through different rooms, he stopped only briefly as the sight of a familiar face standing in the kitchen.

"Hello, Mother." He chimed, unaware of the anxiety building in the girl beside him. Moving through the house, he pressed a gentle kiss to his mom's cheek and then smiled as he turned to reintroduce the pair. "You remember her, don't you?"

"Of course." Katherine Jackson smiled, leaning in barley an inch to bring the young women into a small embrace. "It's great to see you again." She softly spoke, pulling away and eyeing her son still holding her hand. "So this is back on then, is it?"

Unable to form words, she turned to Michael to offer up an explanation only find him vaguely attempting to stutter out a word or two, his cheeks turning pink as his brain finally caught up with the rest of him.

"N-no, Mother. I'm just taking her to see Bubbles again." He muttered, unable to make eye contact with either of them.

"Oh, I see." She laughed the way a knowing mother always does. "Well, you two have fun. I'm heading out with Janet, so you'll have free run of the house. Be sure to behave yourselves."

It didn't matter that Michael was nearering thirty, she still shot him a warning look and he smiled in return.

"Of course, mother." He nodded. "I hope you have fun. I'll see you soon."

Finally finding her voice, she turned her gaze back to Katherine and smiled. "It was nice to see you again, Misses Jackson."

The older women offered her goodbyes and once she was out of sight, Michael began to pull at her hand and tug her further through the house.

He offered explinations for nothing until they finally made it outside and standing there, idly walking by was Bubbles. His soft amber eyes and pristine fur made a sharp contrast against the blue denim of his overalls.

"Oh my God." She gasped, covering her mouth. "I can't believe he's still here."

Michael laughed and carefully brought her closer to the chimp. "Bubbles, hey, come here Buddy."

On hearing his voice, Bubbles turned and immediately began to walk towards them, happy and bright eyed as he approached.

"You remember my friend, don't you?" The chimp rewarded Michael with a small noise, but soon climbed up into his owners arms.

"I don't think it's me he's excited to see." She laughed softly, squeezing his hand and them letting go so he was able to hold on to his friend with both arms. "Can't say I blame him. You always were good with animals."

If it were possible, Bubbles looked at Michael in admiration, arms around his neck like a child being held by their father. Michael beamed a wide grin and shook his head.

"I think animals understand me better than most people sometimes." He admitted.

For the next couple of hours, the two of them entertained not just Bubbles, but various other pets. Muscles the massive boa constrictor had always always been particularly fascinating in her eyes and so when she asked if she could hold him, Michael immediately complied, watching with a fond smile as she bonded with the reptile.

Plenty of people he'd met in life thought him strange for his unwavering love of wild life. It was either seen as too much or like he'd had more money then sense.

In reality, Michael had saved a lot of these animals from various unfortunate circumstances and given them another shot at a good quality of life. His empathy crushed him and he hated the idea of any creature suffering.

These animals had become his friends in isolation and watching her not only tolerate, but actually enjoy the presence of those very same pets filled him with a warmth he couldn't explain.

Sometime later, their hands intertwined once again, Michael walked her back through the house with a specific destination in mind.

"Where are we going?" She huffed, playfully pinching his waist when she earned no reply, only for him to gasp and shove her gently. "Well, answer me."

"Girl, relax! We'll be right there." He laughed, turning a corner that eventually lead them to the faimiliar doorway of his own bedroom.

For a moment, her body froze.

The last time she'd been in his room, they'd been dating and it was a happy time. Things were playful and new, she had felt like she belonged in his space and now she worried that wouldn't be the case.

"Come on." His soft voice spoke against her ear. "I want to show you something."

Gathering the courage, she gave him a small nod and followed as he pushed open the door.

If Michael hadn't been a hoarder before, he certainly was now.

Books piled high, spilling off shelves, paintings hung on walls, but he had so many that some of them were now housed on the floor, there were ranges of records and other musical items she had no idea the names of, but felt so crucial to him.

The lingering smell that was so unique to Michael met her senses the moment she stepped inside and any doubt she felt just seconds ago faded to nothingness.

Seeing him hop over the luxe bed in the center of the room, she resisted the urge to laugh and then before she realised what was going on, Michael was approaching her with a sketch book in his hands.

"What's that?" She asked, closing the space between them.

"This is what I wanted to show you." Michael responded, flicking through the pages until he found the one thing he's been searching for. "Ah, here it is!"

His smile was brighter than any star she had even seen and it took a long minute for her to stop looking at his face and shift her gaze downward to the page he was holding out for her.

What greeted her back took her breath away.

A large scale blue and red sketch, intricate in detail and perfectly symmetrical, not a line out of place and every single pencil mark served a purpose. Some lines curved, but most were straight and there, right at the bottom, like a true artist, Michael had signed his name.

This must have taken him hours.

Sparing a glance in his direction, she offered a kind smile. "This is gorgous, Michael."

She's always known he was a talented artist. It wasn't just music where he excelled, he was creative across the board and more often than not, he always succeeded with whatever he was attempting to convey.

"But, I'm confused." She admitted, gently tracing the intricate patten with the softest touch of her fingertips. "It's a door, right?" Her wide eyed gaze watched as Michael nodded. "Where's does it lead."

"That's the thing..." Michael mused, looking down at his work and then back to her. "it hasn't been built yet."

"It doesn't exist?" She asked, eyebrows pinched in confusion.

"Not yet." He emphasised. "But it will, one day."

"Please elborare. You're making me feel dumb."

His soft laughter reached her ears and warmed her heart.

"I'm moving out." He explained and then quickly fixed his statement. "I mean, probably not this year, but by next year at the latest. I want to buy lots of land and have this amazing house built. This is my idea for the entrance."

Suddenly it all made sense and she found herself grinning back, the idea of Michael getting out from underneath the thumb of his father and finally having a space of his own made more sense than he probably realised.

"I want to call it Neverland." He confessed and then turned to her with the softest look she'd ever seen. "And it's going to be a safe space, you know? For animals, children, myself. I've spent so much time feeling caged in, this could really be my chance to create something that works for me and I know it's going to take time, but I really feel that if I do this, my whole life is going to be so much better. I'll be happier."

"I think it's a great idea, Mike." Her voice so soft, he almost had to strain to hear it.

"Yeah?"

She just nodded in conformation and stepped forward to give him a hug. Michael froze only for a second, as though he hadn't expected it, but fairly quickly he melted against her, his arms falling to her waist as hers lay across his shoulder, her face tucked against his neck so close, he could feel her breath.

"It's going to be amazing." He rambled. "A place so far away from the crazy paparazzi, from the constant barrage of nasty rumours. It'll be a happy place and you'll visit all the time, of course. Peter won't be happy unless he has his Tinkerbell to keep him company."

Lifting her head, she was taken back by just how close their faces were, but made no attempt to back away.

"Tinkerbell? I thought Peter was meant for Wendy." She breathed.

Michael shrugged, keeping her close once he set his sketchbook down. "Maybe in most adaptations, but I don't know, I think he might have been infatuated with Wendy, but she wanted him to change. When you really think about it, Tinkerbell was the only one who accepted him exactly the way he was."

You didn't need to be a genius to catch the meaning of his words.

She had never tried to change Michael, never been cruel or made fun of any of his quirks. As he accepted her for all she was, she'd done the same.

Looking into his eyes, staring back was a depth of brown she had convinced herself had never existed in another human being before. The rich espresso color belonged to Michael and Michael alone.

Unaware of how long they spent breathing each other in, she couldn't deny it anymore. She'd fallen for him again. Maybe she'd never truly gotten over him in the first place. Michael was an enigma, yes, and he'd made mistakes, but he's proved time and time again how much he valued her.

They'd spent months by each others side, laughing, joking and enjoying the simple pleasures that come along with spending quality time with someone you care for. He listened as she complained about work, comforted her when she was upset and even when she was in a bad mood and wanted to shut herself away, he stayed by her side and told her the most ridiculous stories just to see her smile.

Looking at him now, she saw it all and so she didn't need to think as she inched closer and closed the gap between them.

Her lips slotted against his with ease and not only did sparkles fly, the world completely changed from one single kiss.

Shifting out of it, Michael drew his head back though his eyes remained closed, eyelashes falling against his cheeks so delicately, she felt her heart cletch.

"Wait." He whispered, resting his forehead against her own. "Are you sure about this? Because I want to kiss you, God, I want to kiss you, but I can't do it if this is just going to be a temporary thing." Fluttering his eyes open, he could feel her warm breath against his lips. "I don't want a night, I want all of you."

"Then take me. I'm yours."

That was all it took.

In an instant, his lips melded against her own, drawing her in deep and passionate. His hands at her hips squeeze against her flesh and she played carefully with the curls at the back of his neck.

His lips against her own after so long felt like she'd been invited into heaven. The sweet taste of orange juice and something so distinctive to him. There was nothing in the world thst could replicate it.

Teeth tugged against her lower lip and it took zero effort for her to open up, feeling his tongue against her own and still wanting more.

Her hand dragged down against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the erratic beating of his own heart and she hoped he knew how perfectly it mirrored her own.

Time meant nothing as she walked him backwards, her mouth never once letting up until the backs of Michael's knees met the frame of his bed and he fell down on the mattress. For one long moment, she just looked at him. The ragged rising of his chest, the swollen pink of his lips and the way his eyes had hazed over in lust.

Guiding her, his hands at her waist brought her down to his lap, knees straddling his thighs while Michael pressed a series of heated kisses down her jaw and along the column of her throat, nibbling against her soft skin and smoothing the small bites with the wetness of his tongue.

Her breath caught in her throat, only made that much more obvious once his hand slid down and grazed the length of her tight. Slow, seductive, like he had never forgotten the way her body worked.

"You drive me crazy." She uttered, with her hand to his cheek, she guided his face back to hers and pressed their lips together again.

Firm, hungry, but not rushing. Not after all the time they'd spent apart. They needed to cherish this.

So many sleepless nights where they'd only wished the other person had been there to keep them warm. Now, they didn't have to imagine, they could indulge in one another and no outside forces could tell them to stop.

Clothes were slowly removed. Her sweater first, skirt and t-shirt. Michael greedily caressed every piece of flesh available to him, his lips following the path his fingertips made, like he had to worship her or risk losing everything.

"You're so beautiful." He spoke softly, kissing above her collarbone and then shifting so she was laid out on her back. "So fucking perfect." He continued, eyeing her like she was some kind of holy deity blessing him with her presence.

Before she could convey anything, his lips moved lower, down her abdomen, teasing against her tights. Soft breaths and whimpers of excitement only spurred him on.

As carefully as she could, she guided Michael back up and smiled once his face was back in sight. He brushed his lips against hers and then froze for a long beat as she quickly worked the buttons and pushed the blue dress shirt from his shoulder.

Face flushed and shy, he suddenly sat back and looked down, almost like he was embarrassed now.

If only he could turn off the lights.

Michael moved to pick the blue fabric back up, but her hands caught his before he had the chance.

"Don't hide from me." She whispered, resting a hand against his rosey cheek and caressing the supple skin.

Lost in the moment, he didn't know what to say. It was embarrassing. Not only that she was seeing him like this, but how he was acting too.

"I-" Hiz gaze fell down and he took a deep breath before he continued. "I don't look the way you remember." He confessed.

If a heart could physically break, she was sure that in that moment, hers had.

Rising to her knees, she crawled towards Michael and placed a hand against the warmth of his shoulder.

"Mike... you're gorgeous." She confessed, sponging soft kisses to the bare skin of his neck. "You always have been. I know things have changed... that your vitiligo has spread, but that doesn't matter to me." She assured, smiling softly once he moved his head back and let her kiss more of his skin. "You're perfect."

Michael let go then, her hands drifting lower, lingering and caressing parts of his body before pulling down his zipper and riding him of the black pants he'd been sporting all day.

With a soft push, she laid back once again, looking up at him in wanderment, her perfect body on full display and if he hadn't been hard before, he certainly was now.

Within seconds, he was back on her, mouth against hers, finding a rhythm that worked for both of them. Her body grew warm beneath him, and he lost himself the moment her hand began to tug at the waistband of his briefs. Lifting his hips, Michael helped her remove the offending piece item of clothing and didn't miss the way she glance down, awarding herself with the growing sight of him that she'd been denied for years.

A cocky smirk edged against the corners of his mouth at the blown out look that fell across her wild eyes.

He was no better.

As she looked up at him, only a slither of brown could be seen around the dark depth of his wide pupils.

Quickly ridding her of her bra and panties, Michael stopped to appreciate the sight of her bare for a moment or two. Holding himself up, a finger dropped low, sliding through the sticky, sweet wetness he'd been craving for so long now.

"Fuck." He uttered absentmindly, gathering the taste of her on his fingertips and bringing them to his mouth where he sucked her essence away and groaned in delight.

Below him, her mouth fell wide, unable to tear her eyes away from such an erotic sight. As he lowered and claimed her lips once again, she could taste the salty flavour of herself against his tongue and swore she'd never never tasted something so intoxicating.

"Please." She moaned, feeling the hardness of him rutting against her so filthy, but not enough. "Don't tease, baby."

Nodding his head, he tried hard to maintain the messy kiss, but just the idea of being inside her again was too much of a distraction.

Shifting closer, Michael moved at an expert pace to guide his tip against her opening. Synchronised moans filled the room the moment his thick head pressed inside. Lost for words, her vision blurred and as if sensing it, his lips suddenly fell back to hers.

The sensation was more than either of them could have imagined. He filled her so perfectly, it wasn't out of line to consider if they'd been made just for this.

"I'm gonna move, okay?" His words tickled her lips and she nodded almost instantly. "You're so beautiful." He muttered once again, drawing all the way out only to push back in a moment later.

Whining at the feeling, her hips rocked against his, finding a rhythm and working on it as a team. Clawing at his back, her mouth dropped fully as his speed increased, pressing against a sweet spot deep within her to drive her crazy.

"You're so perfect." He confessed, forehead falling against her own. "I missed this, I missed you."

As if to prove a point, Michael rolled through her with such precision, she saw stars. The warm weight of his body pressed to hers protecting her from any outside forces that could threaten to hurt them.

Hand against her thigh, he guided her leg around his slim waist and both of them gasped as the subtle movement had him sinking further into her warmth.

"Please." The word left her mouth as her head fell back against his pillow. "Michael, I need more."

For a moment, he basked in the sight. His lover withering beneath him, begging for more. There had been a time in his life where he thought he'd never have this again, where he'd convinced himself he had lost the best thing to ever happen to him, but here she was and he wasn't about to deny her the pleasure she deserved.

Knowing her like the back of his hand, he reached down and pressed his tumb against her swollen bud, creating perfect circles as his hips snapped against her and rewarded him with the sound of his name falling from her lips.

"Ah- I'm... Mike..." Clenching around him, her breath suttered, so close to falling off the edge as her orgasm built.

Completely at his mercy, she was loud and unbothered, so beautifully her, like she couldn't get enough of him and didn't care if anyone was around to hear it.

"Come on, baby." Michael suttered. "Cum for me, I wanna feel you."

His thrusts gained momentum, thumb pressing perfectly against her clit and with one sharp snap of his hips, she lost it. Crying out in ecstasy, absurd and draw out, she practically chanted his name over and over like a prayer.

Legs spasming beneath him, she somehow impossibly tightened further and Michael lost his focus. The rhythm he'd been holding now sloppy and broken as he worked his way through his own orgasm, loud with the call of her her name on his lips until eventually his sweaty body collapsed against hers.

Their shared, heavy breathing echoed around them for a long time until they eventually calmed. His heat still pouring in his ears, but for all the right reasons.

Pressing a gentle kiss against her neck, Michael liftened himself with one arm once enough time had passed and found himself grinning at the blissed out look of his lover.

"Well, that was something." He slurred, sloppily pressing a kiss to her lips. "You meant what you said, didn't you?" His tone quite, in need of assurance. "You're mine?"

"For as long as you'll have me." She grinned, brushing a curl from his forehead and brushing her nose against his.

The smile he rewarded her with was enough to leave her breathless. She's never met someone so captivating before and seeing him in these small pockets of privacy reminded her how lucky she truly was.

Little did she know, Micahel was thinking the exact same about her.

For the next hour or so, they spent their time frolicking in his sheets, touching, tasting, feeling all that they'd missed out on. They laughed and smiled like nothing else mattered now that they'd fallen back into rhythm and maybe nothing really did.

Eventually, they pulled themselves apart for long enough to clean up and while Michael was busy washing up in his ensuite, she made it her own little mission to look around his room.

Fingers gliding over some of his more endearing possessions: a first edition X-men, a photo of him smiling with Bubbles, a stuffed animal he's brought at Disneyland when he was twenty-one. Tiny details that painted the picture of a man bigger than the sky.

Her curious wandering eventually came to a sudden halt when she found herself standing outside his closet. The temptation too strong to resist and with an innocent shrug of her shoulders, she pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

Michael's closet could've been it's own room. Clothes of varying design went back as far as the eye could see. Sparkling, dazzling spectacles to more subdue items you would find in day to day life. She looked through the items with care, smelling him on each piece of fabric she passed. Fingertips danced over different textures and she hummed in amusement when she realised his hat collection was bigger than her entire wardrobe.

Slinking around, her eyes soon caught sight of his basics and with little room for argument, greedy hands plucked a fresh, white t-shirt off it's hanger and in the next beat, she had tugged it over her head.

No sooner had the hem fallen to her thighs did the closet door open.

Turning her head, she was greeted with the glorious sight of Michael, fresh face, wearing a silk robe of sorts that he kept tucked away near his bed.

"Should've known you'd be in here." He teased, stepping towards her. "You always were a lurker."

"Oh please, like you didn't open every draw and cupboard of my place when you first visited." She laughed as he did and then looked down at the item of clothing she's stolen. "You don't mind, do you?" Insecurities laced in her words.

"Mind?" He muttered, large hands falling to her waist to draw her in close. "Girl, don't be ridiculous. You know I always loved seeing you in my clothes."

It wasn't exactly like the one she had before. It wasn't overly worn and the neckline hadn't been stretched, but it still smelt like him. Warm and new.

If that wasn't a karmic metaphor for their relationship, she didn't know what was.

Weeks later, sitting on the white sofa in her apartment with a book in her lap and her legs resting carelessly across Michael's thighs, she tried to lose herself in the words of her novel.

Really, she did.

But his looming gaze proved to be too much of a distraction for her to keep pace.

She must have reread the same line twelve times before she let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing her book down and turning towards him.

"What's wrong?" She huffed, eyes softening a fraction as he drew delicate lines across her calf with his finger.

"Nothing." He shrugged, but the downturned smile said otherwise.

"There's clearly something." Sitting up, she shifted in her spot, sliding across the sofa and moving her legs from him so she could take his hand in her own, rubbing soothing circles across his knuckles with her thumb. "I can hear you thinking. It's really loud."

That brought a small laugh and eventually he turned his face towards her, eyes dull with thoughts he'd kept to himself.

"Tour starts in two weeks." He whispered.

With a soft laugh, she nodded her head. "Well done, genius. You only just remembered?"

Rolling his eyes, he threw himself backwards and covered his eyes with his arm. His lips sealed shut as if to say he was done with the conversation.

Looking at him for a beat, she eventually pressed her fingers against his ribs and wiggled them. And onslaught of laughter fell from his mouth. Moving his arm, Michael playfully told her to stop before grabbing both hands in his own and holding them hostage. The more she pulled to set them free, the tighter his grasp.

"Come on, Mike." She spoke softly. "What's got you so down? I thought you were excited for this tour."

"I am." He admitted almost instantly.

"It's your time to shine as a solo star now. It's what you always wanted."

"Yes." He nodded.

"And you love performing."

"I do."

Failing to see the problem, she tugged her hands out of his and placed them on her own thighs. "Then what's wrong? Are you worried about all the travelling?"

"No." Michael shook his head.

"You're not happy with the set list?"

"Of course I am." He huffed, almost offended she would suggest that. "The set list is perfect!"

"If it's not any of that then I really don't understand what's bugging you so much." She confessed, eyebrows arched slightly as she analysed the intense look he wore. "I know this is a first for you and you might be scared of that, but I think you'll really enjoy yourself once your there. You'll find your footing quick and you won-"

"Come on tour with me." Michael cut her off, a hopeful gleam swimming in the depth of his eyes.

A pregnant pause descended around them, her eyes wide in shock from his outburst. Not for a second had she expected him to say that.

"You're crazy." She laughed, pulling away out of his grasp.

Before she could get far, Michael tightened his hold on her hands and tugged her towards him so she couldn't hide away. "Am I?" He asked softly.

"Yes." She nodded.

"Am I?" He asked once again.

"Yes!"

"Think about it," he began, reaching up to brush his knuckles against her cheekbone. "you've finished the illustrations for Dick's book."

"Rick." She correct.

Rolling his eyes, he shook the correction away. "That's what I said."

Despite everything, even though it had been months since that day in the music store, he never could bring himself to like that blonde man.

"You've just started the concept art for the Man On The Moon one, right?" He asked, knowing she'd already been picked for another book so soon.

"Yeah."

"So, you show the author and the publishers that by the end of the week. They'll give you the go ahead, because you're a genius and then you can work on the full watercolor pieces while we're on the road." He explained it like it was simple, desperate to have her to agree. "You can paint on the bus and in the hotel rooms, send your work through the mail and talk on the phone when you need to be in meetings. It's full proof."

"Full proof?" She scoffed.

Maybe to him it was. Michael lived in a world where he could make things happen with the drop of a hat.

But she wasn't Michael Jackson. She didn't have that luxury.

It wasn't that she didn't want to be there. Of course she did.

Watching him on stage night after night and being able to sleep beside him would be thrilling, but it seemed impossible.

"Come on... I don't want to travel the globe alone." He confessed rather vunerably. "And I really don't want to spend so much time away from you when I just got you back." Brushing the tip of his nose against hers, he could practically feel the fight leaving her body. "Come on, baby. Say yes."

"I want to." She admitted, feeling his lips brushing against her jaw. "You're being really unfair right now."

"I'm just giving you a preview of what you can look forward to if you agree." He mumbled against her skin and then leaned forward to capture his lips with his, sucking lower top lip and smiling once she leaned into it. "Come on, I'll do anything I can to make it easier for you."

When she didn't deny him straight away, his brain conjured every critical thought it possibly could to sweeten the deal.

"I'll even have someone fly out to send your illustrations over if that's what you're worried about." Michael promised. "And if you need to physically be in a meeting, I'll make sure you're on the first plane there and the first plane back. Anything... just say yes."

Hand on his chest, she nudged him backwards and climbed into his lap, her knees bracketing Michael's thighs as his grasp fell to her waist. "You make a really good case for yourself, Mister Jackson."

"I can do that when I really want something." He confessed, large hands sliding beneath her shirt, greedily caressing her warm skin. "So, is that a yes?"

Humming, she caught his face between her palms and guided his mouth close to her own. "Let's see how well you treat me tonight. If you leave me satisfied, I'll come with you."

Instantly, Michael threw her down on the sofa, climbing on top of her to devour her mouth in a searing kiss.

“I had two.” He starts laughing immediately. Like fully laughing now, shoulders shaking while you stare at him offended. “Y-you’re not helping.”

“You losin’ pieces of your outfit outside and I’m the problem?”

“You’re supposed to support me emotionally.”

“I am supportin’ you emotionally.”

“No, you’re bein’ mean.” Jaafar finally gets the door open and the second you step inside, you immediately grab onto him with both arms again, very clingy...He almost stumbles backward from the force of it. “Damn,” he laughs. “Missed me that bad?”

“Yes.” The answer comes so fast he actually pauses. Then his whole expression melts.

“Aw my sweet girl.” You shake your head against his chest dramatically. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m literally right here.”

“No but like…just don't.”Jaafar has to bite his lip to stop laughing again.You look up at him suddenly with wide sleepy eyes.“You’re so pretty.”

“Oh? am i?.” He Softly laughs. “No seriously.” Your hands squish his cheeks together. “Like stupid pretty. t-that's not okay.”

“Stupid pretty?” he says confused. “Mhm.” He kisses your forehead softly while you continue staring at him.

Drunk you was dangerously affectionate. And Jaafar loved every second of it. “You need water first,” he says gently.

“No! No.”

“You absolutely do.”

“Noooo,” you whine, following him into the kitchen attached to him. “Kiss me first.”

“Baby—”

“Pleaseeee.”Jaafar turns around immediately, smiling helplessly before kissing you softly. And immediately you kiss him back way too hard. Missing his mouth once because you’re laughing.

Jaafar laughs against your lips too, hands steadying your waist while you keep kissing him between giggles. “There she go,” he murmurs softly. “Shh..N-Nooo talking.”

“M’not talkin’.”

“You literally are.” You kiss him again before he can defend himself. And again, And again. Jaafar eventually starts laughing into your mouth because you genuinely won’t stop. “Baby,” he says breathlessly between kisses, “lemme breathe.”

“Nooo.”

“That’s so selfish.”

“You’reee mineee.” The way you say it almost visibly affects him. His smile softens instantly. “Yeah?” he murmurs quietly.

“Mmhmm.” You kiss the corner of his mouth this time, then his jaw, then somewhere near his cheek because your aim is questionable now. Jaafar’s holding your waist tighter now just to keep you standing. “You drunk-drunk,” he whispers affectionately. “I’m in love-love.”

“That too.” You bury your face dramatically into his neck afterward. And immediately start kissing there too. Little sleepy kisses all over his skin while Jaafar just stands there smiling like an idiot.

“Baby,” he laughs quietly, “what are you doing?”

“Lovin’ youuu.” That one hits him directly in the chest. You can tell too because suddenly Jaafar gets quieter. His hands slide warmly up your back while he presses one kiss into your hair. “My sweet girl.. you need some sleep,” he murmurs. You hum happily against his neck, still refusing to let go of him for even one second.

When he tries reaching for the water bottle again, you tighten your grip immediately. “No.”

“You holding me hostage now?”

“Yes.”

“That’s crazy.”

“You like it.” True..Very true, Jaafar finally gives up on pretending he needs space and just lifts you onto the kitchen counter instead. You immediately pull him closer again between your knees. “There,” you mumble proudly. “Now stay.”

“Yes ma’am.” You smile dreamily before kissing him again slower this time.

Still smiling into it. Jaafar kisses you back gently, one hand resting against your thigh while the other brushes hair away from your face.

And Oh Goodness-

he looks at you so softly when you’re like this. Like being loved by you is his favorite thing that’s ever happened to him. “You know what?” you whisper suddenly. “What?”

“I’d cry if you..cry.” Jaafar stares at you for one second. Then bursts into laughter so hard he nearly folds in half.“That’s your declaration of love?”

“It’s serious!” You stare. “Oh my baby..”

“You can’t cry.” You pout. “I’ll do my best.” You squint suspiciously. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” Satisfied, you nod once, Then immediately kiss him again because apparently that’s the solution to everything tonight.

And Jaafar’s perfectly okay with that.

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

your breath hitches, you've never been exposed on a big screen before, and knowing that it would be in a room with multiple people and especially jaafar, the idea scared you. you weren't that kind of actress yet. heat creeping up your neck, you dart your eyes to jaafar before responding. "what kind of nudity?"

the jackson next to you doesn't look away from you, you can tell he didn't want to see you uncomfortable, but he was observing quite closely. you and jaafar knew surface level information about one another, and it was safe to say you both were aware of the age-gap between the both of you. keeping your sight forward, you look at the man while you try to ignore jaafar's gaze on you.

"topless nudity, but it doesn't have to be your full chest. we want to go with the flow, but since you're so new to this we want to…" the director looks around the room, snapping his fingers while he tries to look for the word, "protect you." he lands with, holding your eyes again. you don't see, but jaafars adams apple bobs. jaafar felt shameful about his immense attraction to you and the idea of working with you naked made him quite nervous.

you hear him out, "are you uncomfortable with an entire studio seeing you bare?" he asks, clicking his pen and lightly twisting in his chair with wheels.

you swallow, answering honestly. "i've never filmed anything where i needed to be, so yes, i think i'm a little uncomfortable."

jaafar drops his gaze, he knows that after you it would be his turn to get asked these questions.

the man pops a shoulder, "thought so, it's only natural." then he abruptly asks a question that feels out of place. "have you worn backless dresses or tops before?" he randomly questions.

you nod, "yeah."

the man gives a look to one of the writers beside him, who jots something down on a sticky note.

"y/n, we'll get back to you on this, we want you to feel as comfortable and safe in this environment as possible. i'll discuss things further with you regarding nudity later, okay?"

you smile, and jaafar makes sure to lift his eyes and see it. "of course, thank you so much. i am willing to negotiate further, and make exceptions, i don't want you to think i won't do anything at all."

the man lifts his palm, "you're sweet, but you're only so young. now," he turns to jaafar, who was rubbing his palm on his thighs. "i'm not gonna make you get naked while you portray your uncle," jaafar laughs, and you cant help but chuckle too, "but this will be a very tension-filled, sexual scene. i'm going to give you both enough wiggle room to behave however you want but this is basically the scene—"

the writers pull out a stack of stapled paper, an older woman begins reading it out.

Cameras flash all on Michael, but he was staring at [Reader's character] who stands on the sidelines, away from paparazzi and interviewers and beside Bill and Michael's manager. The audience gets a view-shot of her entire flattering, sultry dress. Michael, despite being on the red carpet, pulls away early, eager to leave.

"Blah blah blah, okay, here's the scene."

Now that Michael was finally alone with [Reader's character], it's quiet and tension is thick in the air. Michael decides to speak first. He mentions something about how [Reader's characters]'s feet must be aching from her shoes. She, feeling bold, lifts up her legs and points her feet to Michael. She asks him to take her heels off for her. Michael doesn't think twice, feeling her feet once they are off.

"now jaafar, you're going to massage her toes and when you press against the middle of her foot, y/n will moan, this will take michael by surprise, kind of—shyly, boyishly smiling."

this was all starting to settle on to jaafars shoulders, he will really have to do these things with you. he wasn't sure how he felt, outside of his nervousness, but he would be a liar if he said this didn't excite him a little.

listening to the script kind of felt like a blur for you, a moment is brought up where jaafar will have to slide his hands under your dress and off of you, exposing you, you felt lightheaded. jaafar was good-looking, of course you couldn't wrap your mind around it.

"but don't worry, y/n. we'll edit this back if you're sure that you don't want to be naked."

as the explanation went on, you realize just how close you will need to get with jaafar.

phrases like "palm him", "pull his hair", "your tongue is gonna—" were thrown around, and that was only what you had to do. jaafar was left with much more work.

"remember, michael was quite the ladies man, he knew what he was doing when he put on a soft-act, and jaafar, you will also have to."

"yeah, i think i caught on with that." he jokes and you grin. just by his tone you can tell he was just as new to this as you. you often forget that he was never an actor before the first film, you both probably felt the same exact way.

"is there anything about the scene you two want me to change?"

you and jaafar both turn to look at each other but you both decide to remain silent, it seemed you both were open minded which was great news for the production.

you shake your head at the man, and he exclaims.

"great! now, this scene will take around a few days to film despite being a short one. our intimacy coordinator suggested, since you two have never filmed a romantic scene before, that you dedicate a few days together. you know, getting comfortable with each other and practicing the scene alone together before she interferes and organizes everything. we still want there to be passion, so we're relying on you two to make that happen. don't let it get unprofessional, but loosen each other up before the production interferes and filming starts happening, okay?"

alright, now you are a little scared. a few days of just you and jaafar together and, what, having sex? based on jaafar's shy, boyish expression, you can tell he was overthinking this just as much as you were.

everyone already starts to leave but you and jaafar are still planted on your seats.

"i would suggest starting as soon as possible, we're already behind schedule, so like, today.'

today.

is this a prank?

you can't even complain, you quite literally signed up for this.

the room began to empty out and you were still there, staring at your copy of the script. so was jaafar, who immediately rubs his forehead after it's just you two now.

"i had no clue they were gonna make me do this after i accepted doing the first movie." he said, humor behind his voice.

you laugh, "yeah, i got no excuse. not sure what we're gonna do with the whole topless thing though."

he takes a moment to respond back, there was a thickness in the air now that it was just the two of you. it was to be expected, after getting a step-for-step guide on how you're gonna be having sex for the next few weeks of practicing and filming. "do ah, do we just get right into it or do you want to get to know each other better first?"

looking at the dimple on his cheek, you say "i think getting to know each other sounds better right now."

-

you burst out laughing. you were back at his apartment now and you realize he's way funnier than he lets on, the sounds of your laughing giving him a sense of pride floating in his chest.

despite him saying he doesn't drink, he makes an exception today in order to pave some room for you both. no one was exactly drunk, just tipsy.

"i mean just look at his mustache!" he doubles down and you actually feel tears forming.

"oh my god, stop, i can't breathe." you throw your head back on his couch, gasping for air as you force yourself to calm down. he can't help but laugh when you do, so you both were just giggling messes.

you make a noise that sounds like a content sigh, turning your head to look at him as silence finally settles between you two again. you notice how jaafar doesn't make eye contact with you for long, looking away every time you catch his gaze. now he looks at the empty glass cups on his coffee table and the folders beside them, but you were too busy focusing on his curls which he grew out since the last movie. his hair wasn't too long per se, just a casually messy head of curls that he looked fabulous in.

he now knows more about what kind of music you listen to and your relationship with your family, but also your personality now shined like a sun-beam outside of a work setting. he absoluetly adored you.

he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. he felt shameful for his violating, ungentleman-like thoughts but god. he could not wait to fuck you.

jaafar picks up the folder, giving you a wide smile which makes you try to swallow down how flustered you felt.

your sight darts to the folder now in his hand, nervousness eating you up again. "i guess we gotta get to it, huh."

"nah, not right away if you don't want," he flips through it quickly before dismissing it back on the table again. "how about we just do what we remember today, and tomorrow we follow it step by step?'

still in a mood where you felt like joking, you jump straight into it.

"oh gosh, my feet, michael. they just hurt so bad…" you made up your own dialogue as you lifted your right foot, where you only had a sock on since you had taken your shoes off before entering his apartment.

already, he laughs, the sound comforting you as he scooches close to you. "nope, no i cant have that, give me your foot," he grasps it and places it on his lap, shoving your socks off and doing a surprisingly good job at massaging it.

actually, it took you by surprise how good it was you unexpectedly shove a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from making any noises.

"awh, i didn't even get to the pad of your foot yet." he grins at you, lifting a hand to pull your own hand away from your mouth. his hands significantly bigger, softer.

you remembered you were supposed to be making noise, so you just let him, but it was just a massage and despite being tipsy, you didn't want to embarrass yourself by being too vocal so you force yourself to remain quiet.

you weren't wearing a dress, so he couldn't follow the steps of sliding his hand under it and groping your thighs, so instead he goes over your pants. his hands were warm, the heat of it seeping through your material until he reached your thigh, your character spread her legs open wider, so you do too.

he moves slower for a moment, you think it's because he was trying to remember what to do next, but what you don't know was that his heart was thumping so hard in his chest he thinks you can hear it. really. jaafar was building up his courage.

slowly getting closer to you, breathing in your scent, he looks up at you with such a puppy dog expression, you almost ask him what's wrong. "i'm going to touch you over your clothes today, okay?" jaafar tells you instead of asking you.

"okay," you respond softly, his character was supposed to grope your actual body, but jaafar barely even hovers above your clothed breast. he was so nice, it began frustrating you. you understand this with your job, but you were both new to this and you couldn't change how you feel at this moment.

"jaafar," your voice above a whisper, the humorous environment quickly shifting to exactly what the production was thinking when they wrote out this scene. jaafar looks back at you with his brown, sweet eyes. "i know you can tell i'm not wearing a bra under this," he watches your mouth and he gulps, "but you can loosen up, we need to."

he nods, hesitantly palming you while his other hand squeezed your thigh. arching your back from the sofa, you go to kiss his jaw like you remembered you should. jaafar got shivers at the feeling of your soft pillowy lips pressing against his skin, completely engulfed in your scent.

jaafar has never been this nervous preparing for a scene before, not even when he had to spin and do moonwalks. His mind went blank, he couldn't contain himself under the gaze of your doe eyes, eagerly waiting for his next move. he didn't expect the cotton of your shirt to be so thin, feeling your nipple grow harder against his grasp.

now he really couldn't focus.

"ah.." he drops his head to look at his lap, "what did it say i do now?" he was too shy to even look at you, all the blood rushing up to his face. he didn't think this would be so hard.

"kiss me," you purred. you didn't mean for it to come out that way, your tone making jaafar's heart skip a beat until he almost started praying.

slowly, he closes the space between you. you sucked in a breath while your lips brushed against each other. finally, he pressed his own lips against yours, and you tasted so sweet he felt as if he was growing high. the kiss was short, but so perfect. your lips felt lonely when he pulled away.

nervously rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple, his body language proved his anxiousness, kneading your thighs as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.. you bite your lip at the feeling, not ignoring the fact that none of this was in the script. "what do i do now?" he asks, afraid to look at you.

your fingers tangle themselves amongst the curls over his nape, "doesn't matter, this was about getting the tension out of the way, right?" you asked. he felt like a student who was being guided by a teacher, god he was so hard. he was an amateur actor, he didn't know how long he could hide it for.

you had no idea this was practically like the blind leading the blind, but he lifts his head from off your shoulder anyways and nods. "yes," he tells himself, "you're right."

focus jaafar.

he kisses you again and you are more than welcoming, but this kiss was far more extensive than the one before. his demeanor is broken, desperate. he moves his hand from your boob, leaving you colder while he reaches for the other side of your hip, pressing you against him.

"come on," he softly orders, fighting the urge not to stick his tongue in you, "sit on my lap, please…"

you're supposed to be in character, but calling his uncle's name out right now doesn't feel right. doing as you're told, you feel how hard he is now that his crotch is nuzzled between your legs, straddling both his sides.

taking matters into your own hands, you decide to part between his teeth using your tongue, but it seems he also had the urge to do it at the same time, so your tongues end up swirling against each other. this makes him whimper while your hips start rocking against him.

you suck his bottom lip as you tug on his hair, he instinctively stands up while he carried you from your thighs, you hooking your legs around his waist for extra security while he took you to his bedroom. he was such a gentleman, he didn't want the first time you two "rehearse" to be in the middle of his living room.

you didn't care where it would be, you were so wet you were sure you were damp through your pants.

he gently lays you down on his bed, and you can smell him everywhere. the sheets, the pillows, everything was so him. the scene didn't include any real penetration, and he promised to practice this without any clothes being taken off either of you, so the two of you felt so incredibly restricted.

you couldn't admit to each other you were frustrated that the first day on the job for this scene didn't include skin to skin contact.

"don't let it get unprofessional."

jaafar had to hold himself back so much, it physically hurt. he just stuck with what he knew he was allowed to do. pulling away from your mouth to look at the hard nipples poking through your shirt, he whines, grabbing a handful of it while crawling over you.

"i wish you could suck them," you impulsively, very unprofessionally gasp.

as soon as you were about to regret it and hate yourself forever, he responds immediately. "me too," he moans, a pained look on his features.

you look at each other, intoxication playing in both your eyes. without another word, you shove your shirt above your head and he helps it off you. his mouth immediately salivates, licking past your nipple as he buries himself in your tits.

he calls favorite for your right breast, kissing it and moaning into it while his other hand plays with the other one, flicking your nipple and twisting it. you didn't want to be obnoxious, biting your lip to suppress your whimper. your legs spread open, your tits jiggling in his face when you lift up your hip to press yourself against his crotch.

he pulls away from your chest, his chin just as wet as your boobs. his fixes himself, aligning his clothed cock against your clothed pussy, he can't believe what he's doing. "jaafar…" you mewled, embarrassingly covering your face with the back of your hand.

"stop," he particularly ordered, shoving your hand over your head. "i have to see you…" jaafar licks his lower lip. you blush hard, rolling your hips as the thick, rock-hard outline of his dick gets you even wetter.

unable to contain himself, he presses harder into you, humping you through your clothes as the contact presses against your clit. he doesn't know where to look, you're a distracting billboard. there was a dark wet circle of precum on his pants, he was so embarrassed, but it only turned him on more.

your soft, smaller hand goes to touch his throat, he leans closer to you, his shirt-covered chest hovering just above your bouncing, exposed one. gently wrapping your hands around his throat, his adams apple bobs against your palm and you kiss him again.

your pussy clenches around nothing and his dick twitches against you, you didn't know how much longer you could roll your hips, feeling as if you were about to cry out in frustration." jaafar," you coo against his mouth, accidentally squeezing his throat tighter. jaafar didn't think he could get any harder.

"jus' ah little longer y/n." he slurs, seeing stars. he takes your leg and puts it over his shoulder, humping through your pussy harder while you tried fucking yourself back on him. your orgasm completely sneaks up on you, jumpscared with the sudden cum pulsing out of you, leaking through your clothes. "jaafar!" you shuttered, your back almost completely arching off of his mattress. he keeps dryhumping you, throwing his head completely back until his hip stutters.

now you both were soaked messes of cum.

don't let it get unprofessional my ass.

<

You waited patiently, eyes filled with sparkle, cheeks blooming with warmth. You came over, your first time, usually only conversing through the cracks of the walls or by mail due to the massive amounts of fans outside of his gates.

It happened by coincidence, a mistake that turned into a blessing of sorts. 

You had packages delivered to his front door, a mishap by the mailman, but you didn't seem to mind it too much. You simply found the perfect opportunity to catch him while he was leaving from his recording studio, calling for someone to answer because you've been trying to get past the gates all week. 

He heard, remembering that Latoya had mentioned that there were a few packages that weren't meant for the Jacksons a few days ago and he followed the tune of your shouts. 

After another helpless call, he answered. 

"I think we have your packages," he said, your voice immediately stopping. 

He heard silence for a while, the breeze brushing through the trees. "Um, Hello?" He said. The sun was slowly making its way down to introduce the night. He was getting cold, and he had a meeting to get to in the morning. 

He thought you left, but you spoke up. 

"Y-Yes! I'm sorry, I've been doing this every day, I thought I started to hear things!" 

He chuckled lowly, finding it all amusing. "Sorry, the front gates are always guarded, but I can have someone deliver it to you tomorrow."

"Oh, that would be perfect! Thank you!" 

It wasn't the last time he got your packages, occasionally getting them every few weeks. But it was all cleared when he had the mailman return them. 

"Do you really read through all of this mail?" Latoya gasped, opening a red envelope with decorated hearts. "There are so many, it'll be next year by the time you finish." 

"I don't mind, it makes me feel important to people when they take the time to write to me." 

He picked up a white envelope, his eyes immediately drawn to the last name. 

He's seen that name before, on the wrong packages often delivered to his front step.

He opened it, turning away from Latoya who was still in awe of the thousands of letters scattered around on his floor. 

He finally got your name— a pretty name at that. Handwriting that was cursive and bubbly, penmanship you don't see often decorated the paper. 

You thanked him. A few sentences written about how grateful you were that even with the mishap, he didn't mind sending the packages back. You also mentioned how you were amazed at the fact that you could see a giraffe from your bedroom window sometimes, a sight you don't see often but felt delighted by it. 

"I would love to see one up close the same way you do. But maybe when I'm much older and can travel the world on my own, perhaps I will. Thank you once again!" 

And that was it. 

He probably read the letter ten times before he realized that for the first time, you didn't want to see him as everybody else did— hoping they could get something out of him like a picture or an autograph— but you didn't mention any of it. You simply stated that you wanted to see his animals. 

Not him. 

His animals. 

And that is what started his deep infatuation with you. 

He wrote a letter back in the dead of night. The Pen scratching off certain words, frustration hitting through him, and then he was crumpling the paper once more, a fresh sheet already settled under his hand. It's been an hour, the fifth paper so far, and he tried his best to make sure the letter was perfect. It's easier sending a fax to businessmen about his ideas and new musical ideas regarding his career and the next album of his life, but sending a letter to somebody so… regular felt like the hardest thing in the world. 

And sending it out was even harder. 

But it happened. 

And he kicked himself for it. 

When he got his fan mail in two large bags, the only thing he wanted to read was yours. 

The dial rings once before the line is picked up, the receiver immediately placed against his ear. You greet him first, voice trembling. “Oh! H-Hello? Im S-Sorry, is this the Jackson’s residence?” 

“Depends." Michael was lying on his back, the cord stretching from his night stand. “Missing a package again?”

"Michael? Oh goodness, I thought I got the wrong number. I thought that, maybe you were pranking me or something—"

That was a few days ago. 

"Why would I give you a fake number?"

"Why wouldn't you?" 

There's some hidden underlying fact in your words, like this wasn't the first time you've gotten somebodies number and it was fake. But Michael wasn't like that. He was kind and genuine— he liked having someone to talk to, even if they were animals sometimes. 

"No, this is real. My own personal number."

"O-Oh, I see." 

It went quiet on the other line. 

"I hope I'm not bothering you, I know it's late but you said if I needed anybody to talk to you… you were always free—"

"Did I say that?" He sounded dead serious. 

"Huh? I think so? Wait— I'm pretty sure?" You gasped in distraught. "Oh my gosh, did I read that wrong? I'm so sorry, I-I thought the letter —"

Michael laughed behind the line. "I'm joking with you."

“Hey! Come on, don’t be a tease!" you whined. 

He found comfort like this, something he only truly found in his family centric circle— besides Joe. 

"So, what's the matter?"

He heard you shuffling, the line going quiet. 

"I um…needed to hear someone other then my parents… I guess?"

Michael sat up, the tension hardening. "What's wrong with your parents?"

"They think it's okay to control your life," you sighed. "I understand, respect your parents, blah, blah, blah— but I have dreams too you know? I wanna be an actor! Or maybe a journalist? I'm not sure yet, but I'm working it out."

He could relate to that. All of his life has been controlled by Joe. Singing, dancing, shows, music— all of it. His last album was probably the first time he's felt free and the thought of making another one gave him hope but that heavy presence has never left. 

"I get it. I have issues with my parents too." 

The connection sparkled. 

You both talked for hours afterwards, bubbles sleeping besides him, curled up against his side. You talked about more of your dreams, thoughts you had of the world and he listened. 

Eventually it turned into him listing off exotic animals he liked and planned on inviting to his home. He was on number 47, the list already bizarre as it was. 

"— and If I could own a panda, I could have free cuddly hugs every minute of the day." 

"Panda… elephant… koala…" you said in anstonishment. "Gee, what are you going to say next? A snake?"

"No, I wouldn't say that."

"Thank goodness—"

"I already own a snake. His name is Muscles." 

Another slew of chuckles shot through him at how silent you had gotten. "Are you surprised? I mean, do you think that's…" his laughter died, jaw setting tightly. He didn't want to say that word, he hated using that word, but he wouldn't be surprised if you used it. "—That's … not like…weird…to you?" 

"Weird?" You started, voice shooting up an octave in offense. 

"Y-Yeah, I mean, some people say it's weird. My brothers think so, and Joesph—"

"Oh Michael—" He thought he heard an angel on the other line. "—that's not weird at all. If anything, it makes you more interesting. Not a lot of people care about animals." 

He chewed his bottom lip. "If you want— I mean, only if you want, you can say no if you want too. But… You can come over— I mean, visit. I can show you what I have so far."

"You mean that?" 

"Yes. How about tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow is no good—" He kicked himself for asking. "— the day after is perfect though. If you still want me?" 

He jumped from the bed and bubbles snorted in annoyance but went back to sleep. "Yes! yes, of course. I'll have Bill come for you."

"Who's that?"

"He's my body guard, but I trust him like a father."

"Okay." 

Michael got the excited jitters, pumping his fist. 

"The day after tomorrow then?" You asked. 

"The day after tomorrow then," he repeated back, like he couldn't believe what he was saying. 

"Goodnight Michael."

The line cut, and Michael felt like he was on cloud nine. 

You came over, just as he hoped, and he immediately showed you his home. The pool, the garden, his room. Nobody was home but the maids, his brothers and father were off somewhere he didn't care to know. All that mattered was that he got the house to himself so that he could show you around without questions following. 

You were amazed at his room, the collections of toys and posters he had almost made your eyes pop. You asked about his endless figurines of the Disney character Peter Pan and he gave you the simplest answer. 

"He's me." 

You didn't make a face in disgust, but you did ask a question. 

"Can you fly too?"

He laughed at that. "I'm working on it. If we can land on the moon, it's not far off that a man could fly too." 

You introduced you to Bubbles first and while you were scared to get close— holding onto his hand and shaking like an earth quake— you told him that it was very kind of him to rescue a chimpanzee. Muscles on the other hand you refused to go in the room. 

He's never laughed so much in his life. 

Louie made you calmer. Finding that he was cute and cuddly. And the famous giraffe you often saw outside of your window made the time spent perfect. 

You had to go of course, but the late night call was filled with joy. 

After that, the calls only kept coming. When he was away, far off while traveling with his brothers, he would send letters to your home in hopes that you would send back. It made him feel special in some way, knowing that somebody cared more about who he was then just the musical aspects of his character. 

Whenever you felt down, expressing concern about life and your parents exhausting expectations, he would sneak you over to his house and play twisters in his room. 

The maids saw you enough, but they didn't say anything. 

And he was thankful for that. 

But Bill, his bodyguard and trusted friend had a whole lot to say with a sharp raise of his brows and that light smirk on his face. 

"She's your girlfriend now?"

Michael would dodge the question with another question. "So men can't have female friends?" 

Bill didn't push for more, but he knew deep down that as long as Michael was happy, that's all that mattered. 

"I wonder what he's thinking?"

You were sitting besides him, arms stretched out to pet Louie's head, a small grin adorning your face.

He's known you for a year and your friendship still felt new. Like always, you snuck over, played one of his many board games, and he talked about the stress he had over his upcoming album. So, you suggested that some fresh air could do him good. 

Here you were, dangerously close, while showing one of his friends love that he so desperately wanted himself. He believed this was his chance to confess his deepest desire. He chewed the inside of his lips, formed the words in his head, and let it go. 

"I think…" He took a deep breath, eyes scanning your face for your next reaction. You were petting Louie's head, comepletly enamored by him— a girl unlike anybody he's ever seen. "I…um, I think he likes you," He finally said, his breath leaving seconds after. 

Your eyes slowly found his, attention drawn, your hands slowing down but still acknowledging Louie. "Really?" You questioned, lips curling into a grin. "How'd you know that?" 

He gulped, suddenly put on the spot. "He told me."

"Told you?" You titled your head, cheeks puffing with your grin. "Who Louie?" 

If this was anybody else, they would have laughed in his face. Called him insane, maybe delusional— in need of more time with humans and less time with animals— but you didn't do either. 

You stared at him in wonder, your attention all on him. 

Michael cleared his throat, "Y-Yeah, when they like someone, t-they make this small humming noise— sometimes you can tell by the ears. It's down, relaxed— he likes you. A lot." And he probably shouldn't have stumbled on his words so much, painfully obvious, but thankfully you didn't seem to catch it. 

"Oh wow, you sure know a whole lot about llamas." you drew your attention back to Louie. 

He could finally catch his breath. 

"I should probably leave soon. Your family might be back any minute now." 

He didn't want you to leave. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Your probably a very busy man. Don't need to cut your time to spend it with me."

And that was the problem, he wanted to spend it with you. 

He needed an excuse to get you to stay longer. "Wait— can I show you something?"

"Show me what?" You looked at him questionably. 

"I've been working on something but I need input."

"You want my input?" You looked down in thought, "I mean, sure, but I'm not that very good at criticizing things." 

"Don't worry, I don't bite." 

You shoved him with your elbow lightly. "Please, I'm more scared of the snake." 

"Then let's go." He stood up abruptly, dusting off his pants. "It's only a few steps away from here—" 

Michael's jaw almost dropped. 

You were leaning forward, placing a kiss against Louie's cheek, a goodbye filled with love. Michael wasn't often jealous, but standing here, now, watching you show affection for someone other than him filled him with jealousy beyond comprehension. 

"Goodbye Louie." You petted his head once again and stood up. 

Michael swallowed around a lump. 

"Where is it again?" You questioned.

The studio felt warmer than before. Inches away from you once again but this time it was in his most vulnerable field. 

He finished playing a few of his demos, the ones Quincy gave his stamp of approval. You listened and bobbed your head, side eyeing him at particular high ending sections of the songs with a amazement on your face. 

"These were really good," you smiled, "I particularly like Starlight, although I'm a little confused on the meaning." 

"It's upbeat— something to get the crowd moving." 

"Sure,but—" you tapped your chin, "I feel like it's missing something." 

He wrote something down on paper, a few words taken straight from your mouth. 

Good but missing something

He placed his pen down, turning towards you. "The album isn't done yet, but I'm hoping it becomes the biggest album ever. Still working through some other songs, a title for the album, promotional pictures— other tedious things that you probably don't want to hear."

"I don't mind," you looked over at him. "I like when your like this— happy. You get so hyper about music, I can't help but be hypnotized." 

Michael begin to sweat, his face suddenly warm. "You do?"

"We're alike, you and me. Although I'm not a Super Star like you," you laughed. "I can barely handle cleaning my room and your here mixing instruments and doing tours." 

"T-That makes sense." 

A knock on the door startled you both. 

Bill came in, tapping his watch. "You family will be back soon, time to go." 

Michael screamed internally. 

"Guess I'll see you later?" You titled your head, rubbing a hand over his arm. 

"I-I guess so." 

You both couldn't break eye contact even if you tried. 

"Can I do something real quick?" You asked, catching Michael off guard. 

"Sure—" 

He wasn't sure what this feeling was— if he was going through cardiac arrest or if someone was hitting him with a bat at the chest, but all he knew was that he didn't want that feeling to go away. 

You leaned in, same way you did with Louie and kissed Michael's cheek. Your eyes shut close and your hands resting over his knee. You didn't pull away, even when Bill knocked on the door again. Time fell still. The moment so right that everything was swept away and replaced by your presences only. 

Michael didn't know what to do with himself. 

Finally, you broke away and chuckled to yourself. "See you later Mikey." You stood up and left a very flabbergasted Michael Jackson. 

You opened the door, Bill greeted you and you left with a light skip in your step. 

Bill came in, checking in on Michael. "You alright?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah," he shook the shock from his body, cheeks still warm. "I was going to write down a new song." 

"Ohhh, Okay. Well, if you need me, I'll be out here— " before he turned, he called out. "— and Michael?"

Michael looked at him in question. "Yes?"

Bill pointed to his cheek. "You got a little something there. It's red, like a kiss—"

Michael quickly rubbed his hand over his cheek. "O-Oh okay! I gotta get to work. I'm a very busy man Bill." 

Once Bill left, Michael finally left to his thoughts. He wrote something else under your critique, his face still bloomed with heat. 

Good but missing something 

Title track name — Baby Be Mine

You shut the book in your hands, gently setting it down in your lap. The words on the weathered pages started to lose their meaning as you finally gave up on reading.

Repetitive melodies and the quiet murmuring of lyrics from the man sitting a few feet away made it nearly impossible to focus.

He had assured you it wouldn’t be too loud in the studio tonight as he practically begged you to come sit with him while he worked on new music.

Michael made a habit of it— asking you to join him for brainstorming sessions. He once teased that you were his greatest muse.

He was extremely private, never directly involving you in his writing or recording process. Most of the time you would simply sit in the room with him while he worked. You’d thumb through a book and let the incomplete tracks and rhythmic tune of his voice act as background music to your reading.

Tonight was no different. He was focused on the notebook in front of him; sticky notes and scribbles littered the pages. The same melody filled the air over and over again as he hummed along with different words, each one acting as a piece to the never ending puzzle of his next album.

The weight of your book sunk into your lap as you let your back rest against the cushion behind you. Your lids felt heavy and your mind was foggy with sleep as you began dozing off.

“Sleepyhead.”

The familiar voice carried to your side of the room, lulling you out of your slumber before you could completely drift off.

You opened your eyes just enough to see Michael turned around in his chair, facing you with a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“Well forgive me, I didn’t realize you’d be working well into the early morning hours when you invited me to tag along.” Your sarcasm only made his grin widen.

He watched you for a minute, a small giggle fighting its way past his lips.

“C’mere” He motioned you over to him with a slight tilt of his head toward his notebook.

“I need your opinion on something.”

His voice was soft against the quiet of the room, and a smile still stained his lips as he turned back around to face the array of sticky notes plastered on the surface in front of him.

You stretched from the couch, closing the distance between you and Michael in sleepy strides.

You stood next to him, following his gaze to the words written on the notebook below.

He sat in his chair, fingers tracing the lines of lyrics in front of him.

“Which do you like better?”

Without even looking at you, he began playing the unfinished track that you’d been hearing all night.

You listened to his voice as he sang the first string of lyrics written in his notebook, watching as the written words flowed so effortlessly off the paper and into the room to the tune of his voice.

He played it twice, each time singing a different set of lyrics, both similar yet somehow entirely different.

You leaned down, peering at the two different options written on the page, Michael still humming softly next to you.

As you studied them, you felt the warmth of his palm rest at the base of your spine.

Michael was no stranger to physical touch— not with you.

He was obsessed with having his hands on you, even in the most innocent ways.

He was constantly reaching for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his; always wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer.

“I think I like the first one.” Your stare was still fixed on the notebook below, as your body angled further over his.

“It feels right.” Your mind was still sleepy as you gave your final verdict.

The room fell silent for just a few seconds, and you felt his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your lower back— tender and soothing.

“It feels right.” His voice was a delicate chuckle as he repeated your words into the nearly empty room.

“First one it is.” His words still held a subtle giggle.

With one hand on your back, the other reached for a pen as he wrote a few more words in his notebook.

He looked up at you, admiration in his gaze and that same sweet grin on his lips, “Thank you.”

His hushed words were simple, yet laced with an abundance of gratitude and love.

The gentle devotion in his voice and the careful touch of his fingertips along your spine sent you leaning down further as you placed the softest kiss on his cheek.

“Anything for you.” Your response met him with the same adoration.

You lingered like that, staring at one another. Smitten smiles nestled into your cheekbones, faces only inches a part.

“Yeah, you mean that?”

Michael’s tone shifted ever so slightly. There was a certain playfulness in the way he spoke; the question tucked behind a veil of mischief.

You loved this side of him; when his quiet, gentle demeanor was replaced with something more light hearted and whimsical.

You murmured a quiet, “mhmm” nodding your head and leaning in even closer, this time just barely pressing your lips against his.

It was a quick, gentle kiss, but it was enough to cause Michael’s hand that was once at your back to snake around your body, lightly grabbing your waist and pulling you against him.

Your body responded to his touch, sinking down into his lap, your legs straddling his and your hands cupping his jaw.

This time the kiss shared between you was much deeper, and it was impossible to miss the way he smiled ever so slightly against your lips.

His hands gripped your waist pulling you completely against him. Your lips moved in harmony; a whirlwind of hunger and affection as you melted further into his touch.

You began trailing kisses toward his jaw, under his ear, down his neck…

Each touch of your lips on his skin was determined and methodical— your actions ruminating in the passion radiating between you.

Soft hums fell from his lips as his fingertips tightened at your waist, fighting the urge to guide your hips against his.

You continued peppering kisses to his skin

down

down

down—

Your mouth was dangerously close to his collar bone when you felt one of his hands loosen from your hip.

He was reaching behind you, grabbing the pen from beside his notebook and jotting something down on one of the ink filled pages while your lips were busy on his neck.

“michael…” you sighed in defeat as your face fell into his shoulder.

“Hold on, hold on,” his words were a breathless hush as they spilled from his lips.

You buried your head deeper into the crook of his neck, your giggle muffled against his skin.

You sat there for a moment soaking in the warmth of his chest against yours. Letting him scrawl out whatever idea just came to him.

"Forgive me, baby?"

You sighed into his mouth, resisting, with everything in you, the urge to melt into his touch. He was everywhere. In your mouth, on your hips, against your chest, and underneath your bare cunt. You were so drunk on his touch you felt lightheaded — as if you were swimming in ice-cold waters. 

"I forgive you," You managed to strain out, letting him guide your hips back and forth across the hardening member in his pants. "I don't want you to be mad at me," He basically whimpered out. You tangled your hands in his hair, feeling your arousal stick to the crotch of his pajama pants. Your chest was so tight with need, you thought you might suffocate. 

"I'm not," You spoke, letting his gentle kisses trail along your jawline. He pushed his hips up, a motion seemingly by accident as he let out a small, guttural groan at the friction. "You're not mad?" He asked, seeking assurance, his voice laced with desperation. Your mouth spread into a smile before your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure as he pushed up his hips once more. Michael loved to be praised; he constantly searched for validation from you. This time was clearly no different. 

"No, baby. I'm not mad." 

He sighed against your skin, rubbing up and down the towel that was the only thing keeping him from seeing you, all of you. Before you took it off, however, you rolled off of his lap, reconnecting your lips with his before hooking your finger in the waistline of his pants. "Take these off?" You asked. Michael nodded eagerly, standing as you moved across the bed, settling yourself in the middle between the pillows. You kept eye contact as he stripped; first his pants, then his shirt, leaving himself in only his underwear. You nodded your head, gesturing for him to come to you, and he obeyed, no sign of reluctance in his haste. 

Lying with your legs folded, he sat before you, his skin hot with embarrassment but his heart thumping with eagerness. "Are you going to take your towel off?" He asked. 

"Are you really in a position to be asking me to do things for you?" 

He swallowed, shaking his head, his hands folding over his lap. "I'm sorry," He knew you were right.

6 Hours Earlier...

You were overstimulated. And it took a lot for you to get overstimulated. 

Your dress was too tight at the waist, and the sequins that matched your boyfriend's outfit were digging into your skin. Your heels were much too tall, and wildly uncomfortable, and your cheeks felt like they would fall off from the amount of smiling you had to do for the paparazzi. Not to mention the makeup on your face felt caked on, and your hair smelled so heavily of Afro Sheen you thought the fumes would poison you. 

But still, you were so, so happy. 

The entire event was captivating. Hundreds of the most famous people in the world were gathered, just for one night. Everywhere you turned, there was someone who sang one of your favorite songs or acted in one of your favorite movies. Some of them were even more beautiful in person, with perfect, porcelain skin, meticulously painted on makeup, and wonderfully crafted outfits.

Next to you, Michael stood, a large smile spread across his face. He was ecstatic, anticipating the award show and his twelve nominations. His strong hand was wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you close to him and intending for his touch to be reassuring. 

"You okay?" He finally turned to you, and you could see his eyes beyond his shades. You gave him a shaky smile, nodding, and he moved your hair out of your face. Instantly, click, click, click. You giggled. "I'm fine, just a bit overwhelmed." 

"I know," He gave you a small laugh in return, moving you both further down the red carpet. The camera flashes were starting to get to you, leaving you a bit disoriented. You would have tripped on your dress if Michael's hand hadn't still been fastened securely around your waist. "I tried to warn you, I suppose I didn't do a very good job." He stopped walking, turning to you and ignoring the cameras. "There's only a bit of the carpet left. We can go inside if you'd like. I know those shoes are killing you." 

"Whaat..." You replied, making him laugh. Click, click, click, click, click.

"Come on, I know you want to sit." 

You followed him, not an ounce of reluctance in your step. However, what was supposed to be a straight shot to a comfortable seat turned into you being introduced to dozens of familiar famous faces...over and over again. 

It seemed to be a labyrinth of people, each a different obstacle to overcome. Every conversation began and ended in the same way: "Hey, Michael! Twelve nominations, that's huge. You look great! Oh– and who is this? Well, it's very nice to meet you – you look stunning. Okay– I'll let you guys go. Good luck tonight. Nice meeting you!" 

It got to the point where the balls of your feet were starting to throb, and Michael kept throwing you apologetic glances as he tried to make his way to your assigned seats. 

"I'm sorry. baby. I don't want to be rude. If you want, I can ask Bill to take you to your seat?" 

You shifted uncomfortably, looking around before shaking your head, "No, it's okay. I don't want to be waiting for you. Plus, I don't know how to talk to any of these people. They seem like they're from another planet." 

Michael laughed at that, pulling you along and managing to skillfully avoid an approaching conversation. "After tonight, I hopefullyI'll be a part of that planet as well." 

You shrugged, "Well, where you go, I– oh my gosh!" 

Just ahead of you, standing in a beautifully regal suit, was your favorite actor. Not your favorite actor currently, not your favorite actor as a little girl, your favorite actor of all time. 

Cranston Tefroni was his name. He was the lead in the Nefarious Trust trilogy and steadily rose to fame from there. He was a household name, and your mother had the biggest crush on him. He had no date, which shocked you, and he was just departing from a conversation when his eyes landed on Michael, and he made a beeline straight for him. 

"Michael!" 

"Cranston!" Michael responded, a wide smile on his face as he clapped the taller man on the shoulders. Cranston embraced him, holding him out at arm's length to get a good look at him. Click, click, click, click. 'Well, don't you look dapper tonight!" 

"Ah, no– look at you. Handsome as ever." 

"No, no. You're just saying that. Hey, twelve nominations, buddy. That's amazing." 

"Thank you. I appreciate it." 

You watched, completely and utterly starstruck. You couldn't have said a word if you tried. Cranston Tefroni was wonderfully handsome, with a full black beard to complement his full head of hair. He was tan, as he was Italian, and his eyes were a wonderful shade of green, the perfect color to match his olive skin. Your mother probably would have thrown up by now, and you yourself fought to keep your composure as Michael went on to introduce you.

"This is my beautiful date tonight," He spoke smoothly, his thumb rubbing against your hip. You smiled weakly, your big eyes staring up at the gentleman in front of you. "She's a huge fan, she's seen all of your films." 

"Is that so?" Cranston smiled at you, and you simply nodded, making him laugh. "Say something..." Michael sang in your ear, making you snap out of your trance. 

"Uh – yeah – yes – yes, sir. I'm a huge fan. So is my mother– she'd love to be here now. She'd probably pass out, " You chuckled nervously, "I love all of your movies. You're very talented." 

"Well, thank you, young lady. I'm glad I'm popular with the young folk. I feel like I'm getting too old." 

"Oh, no, you're not too old. You're just fine. Perfect age, my mom would say." 

"Maybe I should give your mother a call then." The three of you laughed, and you could feel your heart beating against your chest. Michael's grip on your waist had returned, only tighter, more aggressive, and slightly less comforting. 

"I tell you both what, I'm hosting an afterparty tonight at around one, you should come." He looked at you when he said it, though his eyes flickered to Michael, briefly. "Oh yes, Michael, can we?" You looked at your boyfriend expectantly, a hopeful glint in your eyes. He gave you a tight smile, "Of course, we'll see you there, Cranston." 

"Perfect. Hey, good luck tonight!" 

Michael gave a short wave as he walked away, and you jumped up and down excitedly. "Mike, can you believe it? I just met Cranston Tefroni. I can't believe I went on about my mother. Oh, she'd probably just die when I tell her what he said. Did you mean it when you said we could go to the afterparty?" 

Michael gave you another tight smile, kissing your forehead before once again guiding you through the crowd of people and into the entrance of the event. "Of course, baby. Now lets go find our seats." 

After that, the night went by in a blur. Michael won eight of his twelve nominations, setting a record and leaving you so extremely proud. At number six, he urged you to come on stage with him, wanting to attribute some of the album's success to you directly. You refused. 

"Can you believe him?" You asked, turning to Brooke, sitting beside you. She shook her head, "He just wants to share his success with you." She took out her compact, pulling a tube of lipstick from her clutch and reapplying. "I mean, do you think he'd be up there right now if it wasn't for you reminding him to eat and sleep?" 

You laughed, glancing up at the stage where Michael was embracing Quincy Jones once again. He turned, flashing you a smile so dazzling your stomach began to churn. "No, I suppose not. Though I should win an award just for that. Do you know how hard it is to get that man to do anything he doesn't want to do?" 

She popped her lips, turning to you as she returned her things to her clutch. "I think he only did it because it was you asking. Only you and his mother have that sort of authority over him." 

You squirmed in your seat, "I don't know..." 

"I'm serious. He loves you. Ooh, would you look at that– it's Cranston Tefroni." 

You followed her eyes, watching as Cranston approached the two of you. You give him a warm smile, you and Brooke standing to greet him, and receiving a welcoming kiss on the cheek in return. "Brooke, Mrs. Jackson, lovely to see you both again." 

"Oh– I'm not – Michael and I– we aren't married." You giggled, shyly, feeling your skin turn hot. "Not yet," Brooke mumbled next to you, making you shoot daggers her way. "My apologies. How are both of you ladies making it tonight?" 

"We're doing fine. How about you? I see you're sitting next to Rosetta." Brooke bounced her bushy eyebrows suggestively, making Cranston laugh. "Yes, I am. How observant of you, Ms. Shields." 

"Who is Rosetta?" You asked, looking between the two in confusion. "Rosetta Forkes. She's his co-star in the upcoming Sixteenth Element. Tabloids are saying they're dating, but... can't trust everything you read." Brooke's voice came out teasingly, making Cranston laugh again, nervously. "I knew I shouldn't have come over here. You like to gossip too much for your own good." 

"Whatever, old man. Looks like she's looking for you now. Better not keep her waiting." 

He turned, spotting Rosetta and holding a hand up, so she could see him. Turning back to the pair of you once more, he looked at you, smiling expectantly. "I have to go, but I do hope you can make it to my party. Both you and Michael?" 

You nodded, giving him a bright smile in return, "Yes, yes. I'll do my best. Have a good night." 

After the awards, and the red carpet, again, and the press again, and the fans...again. You finally, finally made it home. Your feet were killing, your stomach was in knots, you were hot, your head was buzzing, and you wanted nothing more than to get out of your dress. 

"Thank you, Bill." You smiled, tiredly, as he opened the door for you. He shook his head, "Girl, there shouldn't be any partying for you tonight." 

"Whatever, Dad." You replied sarcastically, pulling your heels off in the driveway and walking barefoot to the front door. Michael was right behind you, though he was awfully quiet, despite his victorious night, and you looked at him suspiciously as you both made your way up the steps. Bill, seemingly noticing, carried the awards away to Michael's recording studio outside, a shelf already being built in anticipation for tonight. 

Opening the door for you, both of you stumbled into the foyer, the house being dimly illuminated as all of the housekeepers had gone home for the day.

You sighed, rubbing your temples and turning to your boyfriend, who was already sulking up the stairs. "Michael...?" You asked the air as he was turning the corner at the top of the stairs. You took small steps after him, your body weak with exhaustion and your stomach twisting with nerves. You assumed Michael was just as exhausted as you were, but you couldn't escape a sinking feeling with every step you took. Further and further into the night, he grew quieter. Which wasn't unlike him, but something in you told you it was far beyond his usual shyness. 

"Michael?" You asked again, crossing the threshold into your bedroom. He was standing in the middle of the room, his jacket discarded in a chair beside the closet. He was only left in his white button and black slacks, with his shoes also off. You assumed they were in the closet. 

Michael turned to face you, but he didn't answer. Instead, he walked past you, closing the door to your bedroom and leaning against the frame. You stood in the middle of the room, confused, and much too tired to deal with this right now. 

After a long moment of silence, he finally broke it. "Were you flirting with him?" 

You frowned, taken aback. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out due to shock. Not only could you not rack your brain for who he was talking about, but you were also trying to figure out who he was talking to, as he'd never used that tone of voice with you before. 

"What are you talking about?" You finally managed to ask. He bit his lip, looking away and then down at his feet. "Cranston." Was his simple reply. 

You stared at him in disbelief before shaking your head. Walking over to the closet, you placed your shoes in their rightful spot, glancing at your now frizzy hair in the mirror and sighing. When you came out, Michael was in the same position, seemingly waiting for an answer. 

You walked over to the bed, standing before it as you began to unzip your dress. "Are you being serious, Mike? Because it's much too late for games. 

"Of course I'm being serious," He said, finally pushing off the door. "I introduce you, and you turn into a giggly, girly mess." 

You whipped around, "Of course I did! You know how big a fan I am. I was nervous with all the other fifteen million people we seemed to run into tonight as well." 

"No, not like with him. It was different. You were even talking to him when I was on stage." 

"Yeah, because he approached me." 

"He kissed you!" 

You threw your hands up, anger boiling at the surface, "Everyone kissed me tonight, Michael! My makeup is missing in one spot on my face. You're being impossible." 

"Don't tell me I'm being impossible," He grumbled, which somehow made you even angrier. 

"Well, you are." You stepped out of your dress, leaving it bunched on the floor, which you knew would irritate him. "Why on earth would you think I'd be flirting with a man, not only twenty years older than me but in front of you, my boyfriend? I can't believe–"

"I just – I –" Michael approached you, walking sullenly over to the room and stopping in front of you.

"No." Your eyes began to water. "I can't believe you'd accuse me of something like that. After... Do you know he thought we were married?"

"I..."

You sniffed, pushing past him and walking to the bathroom. "I think I'll shower alone tonight, if that's ok with you?" Before he could respond, you slammed the door in his face, hot tears dripping down your cheeks as you started the shower. After brushing your teeth, you washed your face, leading to you staring at yourself in the mirror. Michael had never been the one to launch such accusations. His voice was laced with genuine hurt, which made you even more upset. Why would he ever in a million years think you'd flirt with someone right in front of him? As you washed the night off your tired body, you shed a few more tears. Maybe it was from the exhaustion and exhilaration of the night, or maybe it was because your boyfriend had hurt your feelings on one of the most exciting evenings of your life; regardless, you just wanted to sleep. 

After drying off, you mustered the courage to open the bathroom door. Your heart was beating heavily against your chest, but not like earlier in the night; this was because you and Michael had never, in the years you'd known each other, ever fought. He was much too kind and too patient to do anything but communicate with you. And even though you were sometimes quick to anger, he was always steady with you. It's part of the reason why you loved him so much, and part of the reason you were so hurt. 

When you opened the door, Michael sat on the bed, his head in his hands. He looked freshly showered, so he must have used a separate guest bathroom, and he was in clean pajamas. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up and, with red-rimmed eyes, rushed towards you. 

"I'm sorry," He started. You sighed, looking at the floor. 

"Michael..." 

"No, baby, I am. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that." 

"You do know," You replied curtly, walking away from the bathroom door and over to your side of the bed. He followed closely behind you, watching as you sat on the bed in your towel and began to slather your body with lotion. 

"I..." 

You looked up at him expectantly. "I was nervous." He finally whispered.

"About?" 

"I... well, the whole night, I was on edge... Not just about the nominations. I...I was worried about you – or, well – us, actually." 

"Us? Why?" 

Michael swallowed, leaning back on the heels of his feet before looking down at the ground. He took a moment to answer before taking a big, shaky breath. "I thought introducing you to all of those people would make you want to leave me." 

"Leave you?" 

"For someone...better." 

You stopped spreading lotion on your legs then, looking up at his shameful face. His eyes, which were full of regret, studied you closely. You swallow, rubbing the leftover lotion onto your body before commenting. "Michael... there isn't anyone – God knows – anyone, in this whole world, who is better than you." 

You grabbed his hand, pulling him down onto the bed next to you, "And even if there were, I wouldn't trade you for anyone in the whole world. And definitely not Cranston Tefroni, who cheated on his ex-wife." 

Michael looked down at his lap, his shoulders slumped in embarrassment. You looked at him with soft eyes, moving closer so that your shoulders were touching. "Hey," You moved his face towards yours, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. "I love you, okay? Only you. Forever." 

Present 

"Will you touch yourself for me, baby?

You watched Michael swallow, chewing on his bottom lip. "Touch myself, how?" 

"Michael..."

"I'm sorry," He rubbed his neck, "I just haven't done anything like that since we've been together." 

"Doesn't mean you forgot." You replied, your voice blunter than intended. He considered your words before sighing, defeated. "I suppose you're right." 

Michael tucked his bottom lip into his mouth, a shy smile peeking out of the corner of his lips. You and Michael had never gone all the way before. In fact, unlike you, Michael had never even had sex. Every time you got close to it, he'd find some excuse before sneaking away to the bathroom. Of course, you'd done other things. But you can tell this time was different.

Michael took his hardened dick out of his underwear, stripping the material off as a whole, his hands shaking as he did so. You watched, your cunt throbbing as he swiped his hand over the tip, making himself wince in pleasure. Grabbing his hand, you spat into it before gesturing for him to continue, and, using your spit as lubricant, he softly, ever so gently, began to touch himself. Up and down, he rubbed the shaft, staring at you as he did so. His eyes were everywhere: your perk nipples peeking from beyond the towel, your thighs that were held together tightly to stimulate some friction, your beautifully plump lips that had been on his moments before, your neck, which he loved to kiss, and your enchanting eyes that were currently fixated on his. 

You bit your lip as you watched, his movement turning you on more and more with every vertical movement. "Ah," He let out, closing his eyes when he squeezed himself a little too tightly. "Open," You said, and he listened.

As he continued to touch himself, you finally opened your towel, letting your body be on display for him. This clearly excited him, since his chest began to rise and fall much faster and his hands quickened their pace on his cock. Finally, after a few minutes, you spoke again. "Come here." And he did. 

He was on top of you immediately, nibbling at your ears, kissing along your shoulders, moving down your body again as he placed wet kisses between your breasts; then he was down your stomach, kissing and sucking around your naval. Rising, his lips crashed into yours, your teeth practically knocking together from his ferocity. The head of his swollen cock rubbed against your clit, the natural lubricant of your body and the spit on his cock mixing from the movement. "Mike...." you whined again, urging him to hurry up. He pulled away, partially ignored you, and watched as your own arousal stained the duvet. He kissed you again, and you moaned into his mouth, letting him wrap your legs around his waist. "I'm sorry," He breathed, and you moaned again, wrapping your arms around his neck. "It's ok, baby." 

"Can I— can I—" 

You hummed, grabbing the base of his cock and guiding him to the entrance of your cunt. "Say, please." 

"Please?" 

You smiled in satisfaction, letting him slowly sink into you. At the motion, you gasped, and he groaned loudly into your ear. As he bottomed out, he nestled his face in your neck, not daring to move. His hands trembled on your hips. 

After a few very long, dragged-out seconds, Michael finally began to move his hips. It was pure ecstasy. Michael looked at you like you carried the earth on your shoulders. His eyes, beautifully brown, stared at you in adoration. His breath, heavy with lust, fanned over your face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and it dribbled down his cheek, falling between your breasts as he moved between your legs. You couldn't take your eyes off of him if you tried. You reached down, rubbing your clit as you felt your orgasm bubbling in the base of your stomach. Michael watched your movements before replacing your fingers with his thumb. "Do you like that?" 

You nodded, eyebrows knitting together as your jaw fell slack, your eyes glued to where his fingers met your core. "You're so beautiful, baby," He moaned out, his movements becoming rougher and more aggressive. "I love you," He blubbered, "I love you, I love you, I love you..." 

He continued to rub your clit, and your orgasm continued to build with every circular motion. Tearing your eyes away, you looked back up at him to see him already watching you. "I love you too," You mewled, catching his lips. 

Michael's strokes grew sloppier, and you tightened your legs around his waist, drawing him impossibly closer as both of you reached your end. Michael was a moaning mess above you, pulling away from the kiss just to stare at you with hooded eyes. Then, you gasped, grabbing hold of Michael's wrist. "Mike, I'm gonna..." 

"Oh, please cum with me, baby. Please, please. I'm so close." 

With a few last strokes, he stared into your eyes, your skin burning from the heat of his body and the sex that was flooding your blood. You came with a sharp moan, teeth biting down on your bottom lip as Michael once again buried his face in your neck, whimpering in your ear as he shuddered, releasing himself inside of you. 

As both of you caught your breath, Michael slumped against you, making you close your eyes. You felt him soften inside of you, and his breath unfurled across your sticky skin. Swallowing, you took a deep breath, and with your eyes still closed, said: 

"Don't ever speak to me in that tone of voice again." 

-

michael spun you round and round, throwing you out with his left arm and then tugging you back into his arms. the two of you danced together to the slow beat of whatever was playing in the back of this small pub.

you had never given the topic much thought, seeing michael surround himself with the warmth of children and their presence as it reminded him of what could've been of his childhood. engaging, and interacting was where his happy place was and you respected that.

michael sat across from you, stirring his fingertip alongside a wooden plank in which the both of you sat at. the two of you were sharing a table at a small gathering of folks announcing their pregnancy. you enjoyed the atmosphere with michael, regardless if you weren't entirely entertained by the party.

michael got most of the conversation, you chiming in every now and then, but that's how you enjoyed it anyway. he held the conversation for the both of you two and knew how to end it respectfully as well.

as you sat there, drifting in and out of listening to the brief conversations you caught a snippet of what had been discussed- and your finger slid across the glass of wine in front of you. some mutters on whether the two of you had planned to have children or not. to this question, michael shooed his hand and giggled sheepishly- replying something along the lines of, 'what an embarrassing question.' but agreeing that he would like a family eventually. though, where you hadn't thought much of, is the matter that he'd want his own someday. and, well, who was his provider?

for the remainder of the small get-together, he'd toy with you and flirtatiously dance around you as if to chase you till you reacted and he'd pull back on your efforts- turning his back to you and innocently walking away, you reciprocated into this little joke and ongoing cycle during y'all's small dance interactions.

you didn't say anything then, but later in the night when it became just the two of you alone back at your shared apartment, the topic presented itself back up subtly. you and michael had began winding down for the night as the night usually went, you had crawled into bed and were setting yourself up for the following day on your bed side's nightstand- now the only thing you were waiting on was michael to slide into the blankets alongside you. you were waiting patiently for him, regardless of it taking longer than it usually had.

soon enough, his head peaked into the room from where it connected to the rest of the apartment- catching your attention and you rose a brow awaiting for some sort of explanation on what he was doing. though, he didn't answer- he crept in the room and danced his way over towards your side playfully. at this, you shook your head, your thumb and fingertips pinching the bridge of your nose at his nonsense.

there was always a trick up of his sleeve, you just had to figure out what it was this time. he lowered the light of your side lamp, leaving the remainder of the small room dark with this dim light being your only source of light. whilst doing this, he lowered down to you and trapped your face in his hands- and you opened your eyes wide at the sudden contact. he grinned, wide from ear to ear and leaned in for a couple pecks.

"hey, what're you doing?" you giggled after he'd pulled back- crawling over your body and plopping down beside you on the soft sheets and heavy blanket. he sighed once meeting contact on the bed, as he'd been exhausted the entire day from the endless social interaction. and you could relate.

"loving my woman." he'd reply, looking over to his left where you were laid- and eventually his body followed through- laying on his hip with a propped up arm keeping his head steady in his palm.

you copied him, though keeping your head in the pillows, and hummed at his sentence.

the moment was kept still momentarily, just staring at one another till his eyes drifted off and his lip pursed to the side.

after a moment of pondering on a thought, his hands ran across your hip to your torso and hugged the slim tank top you wore that was covering your body. other than that, the only other piece of clothing you wore were some silk underwear. you met his eyes after watching his movement, and a strand of his curls fell over his forehead.

michael leaned back down to start a stream of kisses from your forehead to your cleavage and your breath began staggered. well, he definitely had something up his sleeve that he hadn't quite yet vocalized.

"do you think i am handsome?" his voice mumbled on your collarbone, lower lip hanging onto the indent of the bone on your skin.

"most handsome man ive ever laid my eyes on." you replied, pink beginning to lighten your cheeks. "i love you."

"why won't you have our baby then?

you'd have another one of me to love."

there was the confirmation- a confession, if you will.

a lump began to grow in your throat, and your mouth fell agape while you thought of how to reply.

"michael, you have to think, are we ready for that?"

"aren't we going to get married?"

"well, of course-"

"then why does it matter?"

"i just think we need to talk further about the situation-"

"let me be your man for the night."

michael's lip kissed the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver at the contact of his gentle mannerisms, tone and words. you couldn't hold an argument long with him. whether that was because he was persuasive or insistent, or both, you weren't sure. but god, he was sexy with whatever he was doing.

he knew how to tamper with you.

you had always find him so beautiful, in and out, and what a man he was for you. everything in all the right spots and it got you going. as he had felt the same for you. and quite the predicament, a few words got you into the position you are in now...

your thighs falling over his broad shoulders, pretty eyelashes looking at you through lowered eyelids, hair all pretty as if he'd gotten it done just to impress you. his cock messily, and desperately pumping in and out of you. michael loved it, the intimacy of needing sex with you to have a baby. the thought of it was drawn out perfectly in his mind, how his- no, you and his baby would look.

"come on, cum, momma..the mother of my children, god."

"so, so in love with you. need more of you to love i can't do it."

your mouth would hang off his while he rode his cock into you, nipping down hard on his lower lip and talking to you through closed teeth. he spilt praises and words altogether in messy sentences.

his shoulders completely enveloped you here to prevent you from going anywhere, legs planted firmly on the bed to keep a consistent pace going to make the two of you feel good. wanting to become one, fuse together with you. that wasn't possible, so baby-making was his next best option..

you didn't contribute much, just periodically readjusting your grip on his face and meeting eyes with him during violent gasps for air. michael loved the sight and soaked up every bit of your distressed state.

much of your neck was pink of him sucking on the sides of your throat.

near his high, he leaned forward and pecked the corners of your mouth, and drooling in place. he rode you through the high, holding your hips in place for a faster pace on his lap. as you came, he begged for your hand in marriage, promising he'd be your perfect ideal husband..