lovely bea !

"Hey!" You heard it in the background, your eyes glued to a control panel, lots of buttons. "Hellooo?" Again. And you looked up. Kathe was there. You had been sitting in the studio for almost three hours now. You could only murmur, "Vocals are too loud, don't you think?"

One of the producers was exhausted, she'd been changing volumes since eight in the morning. Kathe approached, letting she go to rest and sitting down next to you. You leaned back in your chair, sighing wearily, and rubbed your eyes, the burden felt heavy after the success you had launched.

But music had always been the only place where your mind finally went quiet. Everything made sense for you there.

Every note.

Every lyric.

Every tiny detail you could control. Unlike people.

Kathe brought the coffee closer to you. And she smiled. "I'm fascinated by what you do." She murmured. "But you've been here since seven in the morning."

"I'm working, Kathe." You said defensively.

"You're avoiding something." She said. Your jaw clenched immediately. Her eyes studied you intently and then she smiled. "You can't stop thinking about him, can you?"

You almost choked on the air. And she laughed. "What?" you snapped a little too quickly. Kathe only smiled into her coffee. "Mhm."

"You've gone completely crazy! I'm serious, Kathe."

"I'm serious, too."

You grabbed your coffee and started drinking, avoiding her gaze. She spoke first. "You know, most people in their first conversation with a celebrity like Michael are looking for a way to marry him." That almost made you giggle, but you held it back.

"Good for them." You say.

"But you..." Kathe continued, looking at you. "You look terrified, darling." And you froze in place. Because she was right. Terror was exactly what you were feeling now.

Not because Michael had done something wrong. Damn, that would be easy.

Cruelty? Manipulation? Invasion? Groping? You understood.

But gentleness? Tenderness? It was unfamiliar. And unfamiliar things had always hurt you eventually.

"I don't know what he wants from me, Kathe." you admitted quietly before you could stop yourself.

Kathe's expression softened almost instantly. "Maybe nothing," she said carefully. "Maybe he just liked talking to you." Your chest tightened at that possibility. Because somehow, that felt even more dangerous.

"Please tell me you finally convinced her to eat something," your producer muttered tiredly from the other side of the room, making Kathe laugh softly.

You rolled your eyes. "I'm working, you can't tell me what to do." You said, looking at the controls again.

"You're torturing that song." The sound of the door opening. You didn't pay attention to it.

"It sounds terrible," you said.

"No, it sounds good, the beat—"

"Sounds perfect to me..." Your voice died in your throat. Because another voice quietly echoed from near the doorway. "I think it sounds beautiful."

Your entire body froze.

Slowly, you turned around in your chair.

Michael stood near the studio entrance, hands awkwardly behind his jacket as if he suddenly regretted coming inside at all. Quincy stood beside him looking amused by the situation. Your music producer almost fell over with excitement, as if she had seen a real angel.

"Oh, I didn't know they were coming." You said, forcing a grimace that you wanted to look like a smile as you glanced at Kathe. "I didn't know!" she whispered back excitedly.

Michael looked between both of you, visibly confused already. "I can leave if this is a bad time—"

"No!" Kathe answered way too fast. You closed your eyes briefly. Damn traitor.

Quincy laughed quietly before stepping further inside the studio. "Relax, nobody's dying in here. Michael just wanted to hear the amazing artist here. You captivated us all last night."

That made your stomach twist instantly.

Because suddenly the studio didn't feel safe anymore. Your music, your place, your moments were no longer yours. Everything felt exposed. And the tension was so great that Kathe invented a great excuse to get your producer and Quincy out, leaving you alone with Michael.

Michael noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. His posture softened slightly, hesitant. "We don't have to stay long," he said carefully. "I just... wanted to see you again." And that was exactly the damn problem.

He softened the walls you had built up just by knowing him for a couple of hours, and it terrified you.

"You don't have to look at me like that," you suddenly snapped. Trying to be cold, to distance yourself and put distance between yourself and someone who was getting very close to you. The room fell silent almost immediately.

Michael blinked in confusion. "Like what?"

"Like you understand me. You dont know me." Your own voice sounded harsher than you intended, but once the words escaped, you couldn't stop them anymore. "You don't know me, Michael Jackson."

His expression changed slightly. Your heart sank a little. He didn't look angry, he looked sad. "I never said that."

"Then stop acting like you see something in me." You stood up too quickly from your chair, your heartbeat painfully loud in your chest. "Because you don't. I'm not going to let you use me." You said, frustrated. "What do you want from me? You want something, don't you?"

The studio suddenly felt suffocating again.

Too small. Too warm. Too vulnerable.

Michael stayed quiet for a moment, almost careful with his next words. "I wasn't trying to upset you. Not even to use you, I'm not like that." And somehow, that made everything worse.

Because he sounded sincere.

"Pfft, every men like you is like that. You think that just because you're a superstar I'll let you make a fool of me?" You took a step back, not letting him speak, not letting him get closer. "I think you should leave now."

Silence. The kind that hurts instantly.

Michael stared at you for a few seconds, as if trying to decide whether saying something else would only make things worse. He simply nodded once. "...Okay." Michael lowered his gaze for a moment before quietly walking toward the studio door.

And somehow that hurt more than if he had argued back with you.

When that door closed, the studio became truly freezing. Your breathing turned uneven almost immediately as the adrenaline slowly faded from your body, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind. You stared at the empty doorway, your knees gave out slightly against the edge of the chair behind you.

Because deep down, you knew he hadn't deserved any of that.

—

The months have passed quickly but quietly.

Well, in the 'quietly' life of two superstars. You were on the rise, everyone was talking about the new golden voice and the queen you were.

You saw Michael everywhere.

At awards ceremonies, at events, on big screens in the street, on magazine covers.

Each time your stomach twisted.

You hadn't spoken to him since what happened in the studio, you've achieved your goal, haven't you? To keep him away from you.

But why did that feel so shitty?

There were moments, though.

Brief ones.

At the AMAs, your eyes met across the room for less than three seconds before you looked away first. Kathe gave you a look. She knew.

At another event in New York, Quincy greeted you warmly while Michael stood quietly beside him, almost as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the courage anymore. How could he? You scared him away.

And it hurt more and more. And of course, Kathe noticed everything.

"You know he asks about you, right?" she said, looking at you as you sat down at an event. You looked at her, and rolled your eyes. "He does not."

Kathe only hummed innocently. "Quincy says he listens all your interviews, and songs, and everythinggg!"

Your chest tightened painfully at that. You hated how much that affected you.

Meanwhile, miles away, Michael sat through interview after interview, studio and more studio. After Thriller, he needed to surpass himself and of course pretending not to notice whenever your name appeared in conversations. But Quincy noticed.

Of course he did.

"You're staring again, boy." Quincy muttered quietly during an awards show while. Michael watched you laughing softly with Kathe near the backstage curtains. He felt his heart beating gently in his chest and looked away immediately.

"I'm not."

"Mhm."

Silence.

Then, after a moment,

"She hates me, Q. Like hate, real hate..."

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "She's scared. Scared of you." Michael's expression softened as he looked at you again, longing to make you laugh just one more time, like on that balcony.

All of that made it sadder.

—

At the afterparty for this event, you were comfortable in your place. Talking with Kathe. She was drinking champagne while you were trying to fix the sleeves of your dress, A somewhat revealing dress, something you never thought you'd wear after...

Him.

The ballroom felt unbearably warm.

Maybe it was the damn lights. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the fact that Michael had been standing across the room for the last twenty minutes pretending not to look at you. And failing miserably.

That almost made you giggle. It had been months since the studio. Months since you told him to leave you alone. And somehow, the silence between you had only grown heavier.

And poor Kathe, who has unfortunately noticed it too. Because she never shuts her damn mouth. "You know, you two have become embarrassing these past few months," she said, taking a sip of champagne.

You frowned immediately. "What does that even mean?"

"It means Quincy told me Michael nearly walked into the wrong interview room yesterday because he was staring at one of your magazine covers." You couldn't help but laugh a little, and then you felt bad about it.

You grabbed your champagne glass too quickly just to avoid responding. Your stomach lurched.

Kathe sighed dramatically. "You know, normal people usually just flirt."

"We are not flirting, Kathe."

"Mhm."

Across the room, Quincy leaned slightly toward Michael with the exact same exhausted expression. In that, he was similar to Kathe.

Michael looked away from you immediately.

Too late. Your eyes met, again. Quincy laughed under his breath. "You're doing it again."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You've been staring at that poor girl all night, Michael. I'm starting to think I should push you towards her."

Michael adjusted the sleeve of his jacket awkwardly. "I was just making sure she was okay, Q. The press has talked a lot of nonsense about her." He said, while looking at you again.

Quincy looked at him. A long moment.

"Michael—"

"What?"

"That's even worse." And Michael immediately looked away when you and he made eye contact again.

Meanwhile, across the room, your heartbeat was becoming genuinely unbearable, It hurt like hell. Because every time your eyes accidentally met his, he looked away like he still thought he had done something wrong. And that guilt inside your chest only grew each time. The music swelled loudly through the room as more people filled the dance floor.

Too crowded. Too noisy. Too many eyes on you. Kathe looked at you, worried. "Everything alright?" You nodded instinctively. But you felt breathless.

Which meant no.

The room suddenly felt smaller with every passing second. Laughter echoed too loudly around you while unfamiliar hands brushed past your shoulders in the crowd.

You needed air, so you walked quickly toward the balcony. Footsteps behind you put you on alert, so before you could step out, a hand stopped you.

"Wait—" Michael's voice. Soft. Careful. The chill of the night on your bare shoulders, exposed by the dress. Of course it was him.

You looked into his eyes, your heart was racing, and all you could say was, "I'm sorry, Michael." The words came out so quietly you almost hated yourself for saying them at all.

For a second, neither of you moved.

The city lights flickered far below the hotel balcony while distant music echoed faintly from inside the ballroom behind you. "You don't have to apologize," he said softly after a moment.

"Yes, I do." You said, quickly. Your voice was tight. Michael remained silent. He still gave you space, he still did that. "It annoyed me that you were so kind to me."

That finally made him speak. His voice was careful, gentle. "Why would that make you angry?" You let out a small laugh at that.

Not a happy one.

More like exhaustion

Because where were you even supposed to begin? Would he be scared if you told him everything?

"You know what's funny?" you murmured, staring out at the city lights. "When people hear someone was in a bad relationship, they imagine bruises first." And you could only say what was weighing so heavily on your heart.

Michael's expression changed. You noticed that and continued talking. He gave you space.

"They don't think about the smaller things." Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass. "The things that stay long after years. Your throat suddenly felt too tight.

"He used to get angry when I laughed too much around other people." You swallowed hard. "Especially men."

The words sounded ugly out loud.

Embarrassing.

You hated that.

"So eventually..." you continued quietly, "I just stopped laughing included with him." You sighed. "He hated parties," you whispered. "Or maybe he hated me at parties. I don't know anymore." A weak breath escaped you. "Every time I talked to someone too long, he'd accuse me of trying to embarass him."

Your eyes were burning. Tears threatened to fall.

"I stopped seeing my friends because fighting with him afterward was exhausting." You laughed softly again, bitter this time. "Then eventually they stopped calling altogether. I can't blame them." The shame in your chest felt unbearable suddenly.

Because saying it out loud made it real.

Worse than real.

Pathetic. Because you allowed all of that and blamed yourself.

"And the stupid thing is..." Your voice cracked slightly for the first time that night. "I really thought he loved me. Because he apologized. He cried. And you'd believe it because you want the version of them from the beginning to come back so badly."

Finally, the tears came. Looking into Michael's eyes. He understood everything and gently wiped them away. Looking into your eyes.

"I spent years feeling guilty for taking up space." Your eyes burned now. "Do you understand how humiliating that is? It's so pathetic that I still hear his voice when I enjoy a little bit of my life."

Michael's face softened in a way that almost undid you completely. The confession hung there between both of you.

Raw. Bleeding. Human.

Michael stayed silent for a long moment before finally speaking.

Very quietly.

"I don't think surviving someone like that is pathetic." He said, tucking your hair away from your face, looking at you completely, without pity, only understanding and affection.

You leaned into his touch before realizing it.

Because for the first time in years.

Being close to someone didn't feel dangerous.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I'm sorry." You admitted weakly. Michael's expression softened again. "Maybe because you were tired of carrying it alone." He said, smiling at you.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat. Because no one had ever said it like that before.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You simply stood there together beneath the city lights, the noise of the world feeling impossibly far away.

And for the first time in a very long time, you didn't feel alone. And thinking about Michael more than you should didn't feel so bad.

You were so much more than a pretty face. You were like an angel on that stage. Your movements were delicate, sweet, almost angelic. Your golden dress was so stunning that the light reflected perfectly, It was relief for sore eyes. It wasn't even necessary to talk about your voice, it was incredible.

And of course everyone noticed it, including the biggest star, Michael Jackson.

"Who is she?" he said, asking in a whisper to his sister. He raised an eyebrow curious and smiled, that unique smile of his.

"Y/n, she's amazing, don't you think? I heard her on the radio all week, she's really making a name for herself." She smiled, and Michael looked back at the stage. That voice echoed in his ears, in an incredible way. He had heard something about you, but seeing you in person, seeing you in all your glory, was something else.

When the presentation ended, the place erupted in applause; everyone was truly stunned, shouting your name while you, with one hand on your chest, let soft tears fall for all the love. You never thought so many could shout your name in unison; he made you believe that for years.

Why think about him when you were in such a happy moment? He really ruined you.

You gave a gentle bow, grateful, very grateful. Camera flashes everywhere, your smile everywhere, your eyes still a little wet with tears. And eyes from the audience looking at you, Michael was the first to applaud, and he clapped loudly. And of course, when you looked at the audience, you noticed.

You gave a gentle bow to the public, grateful because of the love you felt. Camera flashes everywhere, your smile everywhere, your eyes still a little wet with tears, Oh, that would be a topic of conversation for the press tomorrow. And eyes from the audience looking at you, Michael, who was the first to applaud quite loudly, he was really curious to get to know you even more.

You stepped off the stage to sit with Kathe, gave her a gentle hug, and sipped some of your water. "You were amazing, girl. A couple of music producers came to ask about you, and there's someone..." She cleared her throat as if she were about to say the best thing of the night. "Michael Jackson watched you throughout the entire performance, he didn't take his eyes off you!"

You looked at Kathe, raising an eyebrow. "So?" . "So? What do you mean by that? I'm telling you. Imagine if he invites you to a collab—"

"No. It won't happen. Not in a thousand years. I don't want to work with a guy, and even less with him." You said seriously, way too serious. Kathe remained silent, staring at you. Suddenly, the ground seemed more interesting to you than the conversation. Kathe opened her mouth to argue back, again, but before she could say anything, a few people passing silenced Kathe.

You hardly noticed it. Kathe's soft murmur made you lift your head. "Michael." Kathe said, and you cursed everything that existed at that moment. There he was, looking at you

Michael Jackson himself, walking down around the guest tables. The bright lights reflected against the sequins of his jacket, yet despite all the noise around him, his attention seemed fixed on only one thing.

You.

Kathe muttered a prayer under her breath as you squeezed your glass of water. And there it was, his voice. Soft and shy, too shy for someone who was the man of the century, a smile so bright it made your head spin. "You did amazing up there," he said, looking you in the eyes.

You tensed, staring at him. As if looking at him would make him disappear. "Thank you," you replied coldly, you weren't even going to try to talk to a man whose jacket screamed 'I'm arrogant, look at me!'.

Michael looked at you in surprise. A few seconds of silence passed, so brief you didn't even notice if it was awkward. He didn't seem offended because you almost ignored him, just surprised. "I mean it," he said softly, "Your voice is beautiful."

And that threw you off. Because you felt the sincerity of a man after so many years. And somehow, that scared you more.

You looked away at first, you couldn't look him in the eyes, you didn't dare anymore. That already bothered the hell out of you, a man was making you feel like an idiot, again. Kathe broke the silence, smiling. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Michael. A historic night, isn't it?" she said, laughing nervously. Michael responded with a smile and a nod. But he looked back at you, as if he wanted to understand you, to see beyond.

"I'll let you celebrate..." He said, as if I were trying to read something more into your expression. You couldn't take it anymore, a man trying to look beyond what you allowed? Nope, impossible, you couldn't allow man trying to see beyond what you let on. "I hope to see you again and talk."

"Maybe." You answered automatically and closed your eyes tightly, hoping he would leave. And when you no longer felt his presence, you finally breathed properly again, looking at Kathe, who was looking at you with an understanding smile. "Stop looking at me like that," you said, annoyed. "It wasn't a big deal."

And with that you condemned yourself.

———————

Michael sat back down in his seat. He let out a soft sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath. It was strange that no one approached him when they saw him. It was the first time someone had looked at him as if he weren't a big deal, and for the first time he felt comfortable with it. He kept looking in your direction, and Quincy noticed, raising an eyebrow and laughing.

"Okay, okay. What's wrong, Michael?" He said, gently patting his back, "You have to be careful, mh."

"Excuse me?" Michael snapped out of his trance, looking at Quincy curiously. "What I mean is..." Another producer interrupted Quincy, looking at Michael. "That girl hasn't had a good reputation these past few weeks." Michael looked at him confused. The man chuckled. "She's beautiful, sure. Talented too. But trust me, she hates... men. Well, that's what people say."

Quincy looked at him seriously. "I think you're putting it the wrong way." The producer sighed. Michael frowned slightly but remained quiet. "Turns down interviews if the reporters are male, barely speaks to producers, ignores half the celebrities in this room." The producer continued.

Michael glanced briefly toward your direction again. The producer leaned closer. "Honestly? I don't think I've ever seen her look at a man without disgust this night."

Michael stared at the producer. "I don't think it's right to talk about a woman like that, especially if we don't know her..." He paused, Just thinking about it was sad, because it was something he felt when he got close to you. "And she must have her reasons."

---

Arguing with Kathe was never something you enjoyed. Especially since you loved her so much, but she could be a bit... annoying.

"I won't go, Katherine..." But the zipper on your dress was already being zipped up, Kathe let out a big sigh, pacing back and forth in the hotel room.

"You've turned down three music producers in one night. All of them superstars," she said, rubbing her temples. "and almost ran away after your performance tonight." "I didn't run away—"

"Yes, you did. You disappeared in that damn bathroom for 30 minutes!" And you remained silent, because it was true, she was right. "You see. That's what I'm talking about." And all you could do was look at yourself in the mirror, admiring your beautiful dress, with all the perfect places highlighting your beauty.

But that didn't feel right. None of it felt like you.

"You need to start meeting people," Kathe said more gently this time. "Not everyone in this industry wants something from you. You need to learn that."

"Easy for you to say..." You couldn't help but murmur, looking down at the ground. She came closer and caressed your face. "You can't hide forever. You're a diamond, you deserve for everyone to see how brilliant you are."

A soft knock on the door interrupted the moment; a man was entering the room. "Ladies, your car is waiting downstairs." "Perfect." Kathe said, smiling.

Right, the afterparty.

Lots of people there. All drunk, out of their minds. Your stomach dropped. You had spent the entire evening pretending not to think about it. Believing that by wanting it so much, your wish not to go would be fulfilled.

But that has never worked for you. Your wishes have never been fulfilled.

"It's just a few hours," Kathe reassured softly after noticing your expression. "If it gets too overwhelming, we'll leave. I promise." You nodded weakly, even though your body already felt tense at the idea of walking into a house full of strangers.

Famous strangers.

Men.

"Okay..." was all you could manage to say, breathless. And sooner rather than later, you were there. The music was playing as camera flashes went off. The house was enormous, packed with people laughing too loudly over the music while champagne glasses clinked endlessly around them. Everywhere you looked there were cameras, glittering fabrics, cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling lights.

And somehow, despite all the noise, you felt completely and damn alone.

Kathe had disappeared into another conversation nearly fifteen minutes ago, leaving you stranded near the staircase with a drink you hadn't touched once, you were thirsty and incredibly afraid of letting your guard down for even a second. You hated parties, or rather, what it meant after being at them.

He hated parties. Or rather, he hated you at them. Too many opportunities for you to remember there was a world outside of him. No parties. No friends. Nothing he wouldn't approve of. You still feel so foolish for letting it go on for years. And even now, years later, crowded rooms still made your chest tighten.

You quietly slipped away before anyone could stop you. Continuing to feel the gazes of those men disturbed you a little.

The air outside on the balcony was cold, it was night, but you felt so liberated from not smelling cigarettes in the air, from the overwhelming laughter, from being alone in the corner. Freedom felt so unfamiliar now, that was the worst part of all this.

It was the fact that sometimes, after all these years, you still caught yourself searching for permission. Permission to exist in a world where he existed, where he consumed you, you felt like a frightened girl waiting to be punished for taking up too much space.

How pathetic.

You were standing inside one of the biggest parties in the music industry, surrounded by people who would've killed to be you, to have proof of what heaven is like. And still, somewhere deep inside, you couldn't even forgive yourself.

Your fingers tightened around the balcony railing. You almost turned around and left to escape your thoughts. The balcony door opened, leaving you frozen, your body tensing right there.

"Oh...—" That voice, of course you knew it. You turned around immediately, seeing Michael's embarrassed face. As if he had just committed the greatest atrocity.

"I'm sorry. "I'm sorry. I can leave!" he said, trying to explain. "I was just escaping from Quincy." You raised an eyebrow, confused. "Quincy?"

"Yes..." Michael cleared his throat nervously. "He was trying to make me dance..." She said, looking at the ground. A deep silence passed, and suddenly, against your will, a soft laugh escaped your lips. You immediately covered your mouth, looking at him.

Michael's eyes widened slightly, almost surprised he'd managed to make you laugh at all. "There it is," he said softly, smiling a little, that shy smile reappearing. "I was starting to think you hated me. It's a relief because my sister adores you—"

Your stomach dropped, you could have sworn your heart tightened along with your chest. "I don't hate you." You looked away, gently clenching your fists. "I simply don't know you." His words were so gentle. They weren't cruel, they were light. But even so, your guard was raised. Michael remained silent, looking at you, you could feel his eyes on you, he didn't move closer. "I think that's fair," he admitted.

And then the air fell silent. The music played in the background as he leaned against the balcony railing, gazing out at the night. He kept his distance from you, not invading your space. Everything felt human. You didn't feel this comfortable with a man years ago.

"I don't like parties." Michael said, glancing at you. You looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "You? After winning eight Grammys in one night?" You said. "Especially after winning eight Grammys in one night." He answered, looking you in the eyes.

He looked human. A tired human.

And somehow, that frightened you less.

"You really don't like this kind of thing?" you asked quietly. Michael shook his head almost immediately. "Not really."

"Then why come?"

"Because people stop asking absurd questions after show up for an hour."

That made your chest hurt. You understood that, you understood it better than anyone. "They always expect something from you," you murmured before thinking, cursing you in silence.

Michael looked at you. He really looked at you. He was listening to you. And finally he answered. "Yes, they do." He murmured, his eyes and yours connecting for the first time that night. The wind brushed lightly against your bare arms, making you shiver slightly before you could stop yourself. You took a step back, too vulnerable.

And almost instinctively, Michael took a small step back instead of closer. Like he was afraid of making you uncomfortable. That tiny gesture unsettled you more than anything else that night.

Because he noticed.

Neither of them could speak after that. The night was palpable, the background noise... Neither of them could speak after that. The night was palpable, the background noise, the lights. You didn't feel trapped, but you did feel too exposed.

You saw Michael glance toward the party. And then he looked at you. "This is the longest conversation I've ever had this night."

"Are you serious?" you said, looking at him.

"Most people talk at me." he said, looking at you. And that made you pause. After all, his fame, his absurd shiny jackets and dark glasses or the cameras. He sounded lonely.

And you could recognize that loneliness very well.