—lost in a dream

the clatter of dishes and the hiss of the fryer are almost comforting now. after the week you’ve had, the diner feels like the only place where things stay the same: cracked red booths, sticky menus, the faint smell of coffee that never quite goes away.

jude slides onto the stool beside you during the lull between breakfast and lunch rush, balancing a glass of sprite and fiddling with the straw wrapper.

"earth to y/n."

you blinked, finding jude perched on the barstool beside you. her brows furrowed "you okay? you haven’t acknowledged anything i just said."

you looked down at the rag silverware you were wrapping. knuckles turned white. "guess i spaced out." you say.

"you've been spacing out a lot." she said, taking a sip of her sprite.

she was trying to sound casual, but you heard the edge underneath. the same edge that crept into her voice every time noahs name was brought up.

you began working on another roll of silverware. wrapping it tightly in a napkin then securing. "im fine, jude."

she studied me for a beat, then huffed. "you teaching after this?"

"two classes. beginners."

"that’s too much on your back."

you didnt answer. she was right, but giving in would've felt like surrender. and you weren’t ready to admit you’d already surrendered once, the day you hung up your pointe shoes for good.

jude sighed, softer this time, and reached for a stack of menus. "just don't run yourself into the ground again, okay?"

someething in your chest twisted. you force a smile. knowing what she meant. the last time you taught a lesson left you bedridden for almost four days.

but you needed the money.

you roll your eyes, the sting from your fight has long since dulled. you’re both back to your rhythm. playful jabs, sarcasm threaded with real care.

"if i go down ill take you with me" you say, playfully elbowing her ribs.

she gasps, swatting at me. "rude."

before you can respond, the bell above the diner door jingles. a man walks in, and jude nearly chokes on her sprite.

you glance over.

he looks out of place here: messy black hair that falls into his eyes, jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his dark sweatshirt. there’s something about him that's striking brooding but calm, the kind of presence that makes a room quiet without even trying.

he slides into a booth by the window, alone, flipping the menu over in his hands.

"dibs." jude whispers.

you laugh under your breath. "go get 'em, tiger."

she straightens her apron and struts over to his table with a confidence you haven't seen since high school prom. from the counter, you catch snippets of their exchange.

"what can i get you today?"

"just the special." his voice is low, smooth.

jude’s laugh is higher than usual. "you’re in luck, i make the best milkshakes in seattle."

heart eyes. literal heart eyes.

you shake your head, smiling to yourself. maybe normalcy isn't so bad.

the rest of the shift passes quickly. jude keeps sneaking glances toward the brooding stranger, and you tease her for it while she threatens to spit in your food. for a few hours, the heaviness lifts.

you don’t think of the man who tried to get into your apartment a few nights ago.

or the fact that noah came racing to your aid as soon as he got the stranger to leave.

you forget the fear you felt for those fifteen minutes.

the diner felt too quiet after the rush cleared out.

greasy plates and half empty coffee cups were stacked in the window for jude to run through the washer, and the booth by the door still smelled faintly of fried onions. you leaned against the counter with a damp rag in hand, scrubbing. your muscles ached in the familiar, gnawing way that never really let up, not even on good days.

the thing about pain was that it never knocked politely. it lived under your skin like it owned the place.

“how’d it go with the guy at booth two?” you ask, setting down the cup before taking another.

you see her crack a smile, her cheeks rising. “may or may not have gotten his number” she says proudly.

you grin and shake your head. “i cannot believe you.”

she cracks a smile. “i’m meeting him tomorrow night after work. says he knows a place” her brows wiggle.

you shake your head, smiling carefully. “be careful, jude.”

by the time your shift ends, the sky outside is already darkening, rain misting against the diner windows. you clock out, toss jude a goodbye, and pull your hood up against the damp air. you’re on autopilot, walking towards the dance studio with earbuds plugged in and enjoying the ambiance of dusk in seattle.

by the time your last class ended, the city was drenched.

rain slid down the wide front windows, streaking the neon from the yoga shop across the street into watercolor smudges. the older kids in your class left chattering, pink ballet slippers clutched in their hands. their joy was infectious. it always was but when the door closed behind them, silence fell heavy again.

you rubbed your hip as you packed up your bag, biting back the hiss that wanted out. chronic pain didn't care about timing. it didn't care that you needed to smile for a room full of children, or that you couldn’t afford a night off.

outside, your sneakers slapped against wet pavement as you pulled your jacket tight around yourself. the city lights blurred in the drizzle, and every streetlamp reflected itself in the slick black asphalt. you let the rain hide the stiffness in your walk.

the building smelled faintly of mildew and stale cigarettes when you stepped inside. diesel's bark echoed through the hall before you even made it to your floor, his deep voice rumbling like he knew you were close. you smiled despite yourself, balancing your tote higher on your shoulder.

you were digging for your keys when the stairwell door swung open.

noah stepped out.

you didn’t even notice he was behind you.

the hood of his sweatshirt was pulled low, shadows hiding most of his face. a duffel bag hung from his shoulder, darkened in spots where the rain had soaked through. his shirt clung to his chest and arms, damp with sweat and drizzle both. and his hands. his knuckles were raw, split open in fresh places, like he'd been swinging at something harder than a punching bag.

he froze when he saw you, as if he hadn't expected anyone in the hall.

for a second, you just stared at each other.

you swallowed, the sound too loud in the silence. "long day?"

he let out something between a laugh and a scoff, low and humorless. "something like that." his voice was rough, the kind of rough that scraped against your skin.

you wanted to ask. god, you wanted to. why was he always hurt? what was inside that duffel bag? why would he disappear for so many days at a time? why couldn’t he give you a straight answer as to who the man at your door was? but you knew better.

"listen i..” you start, facing him. you fiddle with your keys in hand. looking down, you avoid his sharp gaze.

“i’m sorry if i stepped out of line..or something when i called the other night. just with diesel going on and the pounding on the door..i freaked out..” you were rambling. your mouth working faster than your mind. “im sorry.”

“whoa, hey hey..” he holds out a hand, like he’s surrendering. you see the bandaged covering his palms, soaked in a deep red. you don’t ask, you learned to not question him. why he works odd hours and why he’s always…beaten up. it isn’t your place.

but damn it if it didn’t bother you.

“why are you apologizing?” he asks, taking a careful step towards you.

“i kept you from work” you answer.

noah can’t help the laugh from his throat. his lips tick up in a slight smile. “your apartment was almost broken into and you’re worried about me missing work?”

you look up, staring at him with a puzzled expression. “i guess?”

he scoffs a laugh. “don’t apologize, y/n” he says, and takes another step. “i’m glad you called.”

you nod, “right..yeah..” you clear your throat and continue messing with your keys. “you’re right” you clear your throat. “thanks.”

he adjusted the strap of his bag and started toward his apartment. but halfway there, he hesitated.

"y/n.”

the way your name sounded in his mouth did something strange to you, something you couldn’t name.

"don’t answer the door if it’s someone you don’t know." he said, voice tight. "i’ll deal with it."

you freeze. ghs air shifted, colder somehow, heavier. your stomach pulled tight.

"who is he?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

for a moment, noah actually looked like he might tell me. his jaw worked, his mouth opened, then shut. something flickered in his eyes. regret, maybe, or warning. then he shook his head.

"just... promise me."

and before you could say anything else, he disappeared into his apartment. diesel barks in greeting, muffling the slam of the door.

you stood there for a long moment, dripping rainwater onto the carpet, your keys still clutched in your hand.

the silence in the hallway pressed against you, heavier than your tote, heavier than your own aching body.

whatever noah was tangled up in, it wasn't just his problem anymore.

and deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before it reached you, too.

as a child who grew up loving and admiring michael jackson, like many others, this film was everything i hoped for.

cinematography was beautiful, the acting was phenomenal.

jaafar became michael. in every aspect of the game, there were many times i couldn't tell if it was jaafar or michael!

i left weeping like a baby, seeing someone ive admired for over twenty years, it was worth the wait.

that being said, i can also recognize this movie has its flaws. i feel as those key parts into michael's life were completely ignored (understandably so due to lawsuits, ahem..diana..)

i wish the run time was longer and we got to see more of michael creative process and such.

10/10 will see again!