𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐬

pairing—Thriller!Michael X Dancer!Reader

synopsis—Michael was walking down the streets looking for someone to talk to and he found you.

A/N: THANK YEW SAUR MUCH for 100 followers 🧑‍🩰🤎 and for the support 🙆‍♀️ i hope u guys like dis one its a short one as well, idk if i shud make dis a series so im just testing the waters yk…

You loved walking down the streets almost everyday, enjoying the scenery. People walking their dogs, neighbours having picnics, just people having fun in general because it shows how happy they are with people they’re comfortable with. Being in the moment and relishing it.

Except this time it’s different.

It’s the evening after a long day of work, choreographing a few pieces for your friend’s upcoming competition. It took hours and hours of practice for her to get the step but the amount of time repeating the same steps to her is starting to get to you, your muscles starting to feel sore and it's as if you have just started learning how to walk. Even so, you can’t miss the routine of walking down the streets like you always do.

Of course, you can't help but notice the good old ice cream truck parked right next to the road. Considering the countless times you’ve been getting ice cream from there, the ice cream guy has started to recognize you and even gives you free toppings from time to time. Well, keeping the business running too.

“Same flavour as usual I suppose.” He smiled, grabbing his apparatus. “I’ve got new toppings comin’ in next week, mind droppin’ by for a taste?”

“Y’know I drop by everyday.” You chuckled, crossing your arms watching him getting a huge scoop of the vanilla ice cream topped off with some sprinkles.

“What about you, young man?” He turned to the side, now paying attention to the guy wearing sunglasses and a hat who was standing behind you.

Who the hell wears sunglasses and a hat in an evening like this?

“I’ll…get the same thing as her, please.”

You turn to look, taking a glance at the guy who is now fidgeting with his fingers waiting for his dessert. He seemed like a new guy around the neighbourhood, or maybe he’s not new.

“Here you go, remember to come by next week.” The ice cream man winked as you grinned and handed him a few pennies for the ice cream.

As you walked away from the truck and continued your journey of strolling through the neighbourhood with ice cream in hand, you can’t help but notice how the man whose face was hidden from the sunglasses and hat was right behind you. He, too, was merely taking a stroll.

Why the sunglasses?

The hat is understandable on a certain level but both of those accessories as a combo? Definitely suspicious.

However, before you knew it—someone had tapped on your shoulder.

I’m gonna get kidnapped.

Someone’s gonna kill me.

“Excuse me, sorry.” He spoke, expressions still unclear from the evident disguise.

Perhaps not.

I hope not.

“Yeah?” You turned around, fingers tightening around your ice cream cone.

“I was wondering—If you’d like to be my friend? Just, talk.”

It would be nice having a stroll with someone. Right? As long as he’s not a serial killer.

“Uh—sure? I mean, I don’t see why not.” You shrugged, trying to see him through his sunglasses.

“Perfect! I’m—“ He paused for a split second, biting his lips before he spoke. “Michael.”

“Okay Michael. I’m Y/N.” You extended your arm and shook his hand. “What brings you here? I’ve never really seen you around.”

His breath stilled, he obviously didn’t think this through and so, he got stuck on a thought whether he should just lie or blurt out the truth.

“I’m just busy.”

“Doing what?” You said as you both started walking together.

He braced himself, preparing for what's gonna come next. Usually, he gets bombarded with people asking him for his autograph or a picture with him after he’d tell them that he's the Michael Jackson.

Michael exhaled, keeping his head low. “Touring.”

As a choreographer, you’d obviously think that he meant touring as in going to places to teach choreographs, having workshops and such.

“Oh really?”

He paused. And so he thought that she’s gonna start overreacting. Does she not know? Did he finally find someone that doesn’t care who he is?

“I tour too, sometimes. Wait—tour doing what?” You turned to look at him and found a sense of familiarity behind those sunglasses, the way he walks and moves reminds you of someone. But you can’t quite catch who it is.

“Like singing. Um—I’m actually Michael Jackson.”

You choked on the words and started cackling. The idea of Michael Jackson tapping on your shoulder asking to be friends is funny. Really.

Looking at him with his disguise, it all made sense. He just wants a moment without any crowd swarming around him and camera flashing in front of his face.

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re joking aren’t you?”

Michael offered a slow heavy shake of his head, eyes looking at his feet. He then proceeded to take his glasses off, revealing his big brown eyes. The kind where you could spot it in a room full of people.

“Okay. Wow.” You nodded. What are the chances that an incredibly famous celebrity would ask you to be friends with them? It’s not often that you’d find people asking you to be friends with them as well, the most that they would do is wave their hand saying hi.

He was already priming himself to bolt.

“Isn’t it tiring though? Doing multiple shows in a week.”

Michael paused. He was expecting anything far from that.

“Yeah it is. Aren’t you—well, surprised that it’s me? Asking you to be my friend? To talk?” He responded, you could hear the release of tension in his voice.

There was nothing else you could say about that. It is indeed more than surprising. However, by the way he was talking, you could clearly sense that he just wants to be a normal guy. The way he tries to hide himself by speaking very softly, it's like he would be immediately put in the spotlight if he doesn't.

“Well, as someone who recently had finished hours and hours of moving my legs like there’s no tomorrow and not to mention that my muscles are really sore which I believe you would relate to it too,” You took a deep breath. “You just don’t care about what’s happening and I kinda knew that it was you. I thought I was just imagining things.”

Michael can’t control himself but to smile at the response from you. He hadn’t been able to get anyone to speak to him like that in ages. Every single conversation that he had felt scripted, akin to him putting on a performance.

He bobbed his head. “That’s true.”

“What made you want to be friends with me? Like I could’ve been a very very super duper quadruple huge fan of yours and start freaking out.” The thing is, you have been freaking out but you just know how to control it. Besides that, you’re too tired to care.

“It’s a guessing game. I noticed you getting ice cream so I thought—maybe it’s easier for me to talk to you.” Michael took a bite of his almost finished ice cream cone. “Talk about ice cream. You seemed close to the ice cream guy”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the statement.

“Okay we can totally talk about ice cream now. Let me tell you the story of how the ice cream truck is still there.”

Michael finally relaxed his shoulders. At last, there’s someone who’s willing to talk to him like a normal person. Not someone on stage singing the famous song “Billie Jean”.

pairing—Thriller!Michael x Bsf!Reader

synopsis—He caught you listening to Purple Rain

A/N: a bit of a word vomit 😣 still trying to overcome my writers block. also lmk if u guys prefer me to use she or you

The afternoon sun slanted through the curtains, a CD player resting on the bed alongside an empty CD case of Purple Rain, Prince and the Revolution.

She was laid out on her stomach, feet swaying in the air behind her, chin propped in her hand, nodding to the beat, completely and utterly gone into the music. Just her, the music and the warm amber light pressing through the curtains. She didn't hear anything else when music had her like this.

It was something Michael had always found funny about her, the way she'd disappeared into songs. He told her once that she listened to music the way he made it, as if it was the only thing that existed. She hadn't known what to do with that compliment so she'd thrown a pillow at him instead.

Michael had promised to come over around the evening after work, it's something that they constantly do. Years of showing up unannounced and coming over to each other's houses—at this point, it's like they live with each other because of how much time they spend with one another. They're like two peas in a pot. Inseparable.

“Baby I could never steal you from another…”

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Being too gone somewhere the music had taken her, she's blissfully unaware of the knocks that had gone unanswered. Meanwhile, Michael could hear the music from the outside, a voice that sounds too familiar to his liking. He felt his chest tightened. Could it be who he thinks it is?

Usually she'd answer the knock within a heartbeat, however this time no one answered. He gave up knocking somewhere around the fourth attempt and simply tried the doorknob instead. It turned without resistance. Of course it did, it always did—and he stepped inside.

The first thing he heard was the music that's still playing. He stopped at the doorway, taking in the scene before him. She was still on her stomach, legs swaying in the air, CD humming away on the bed like it was the most important thing in the world. Michael stood there for a moment, still watching. Then he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and waiting.

It didn't take her so long to notice him standing right beside her.

She turned around.

He raised an eyebrow. “I knocked, you didn't answer…”

“I'm sorry, Mike.” She apologised, sitting up straight and signalling him to sit beside her. “I got carried away and—wow, you're here early today.”

Michael glanced at the CD case. Prince.

He took a deep breath.

It wasn't his place to feel this way but he felt it anyway.

“I finished early in the studio today,” He smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “What do you think of it? The music I mean. It was pretty loud.”

The energy in the room shifted to something else, Michael started shifting uncomfortably. One thing about Michael is that he's not subtle about his body language, it took her a second to pick up on it.

“It's a new release,” She turned to him, “Hm—I guess I'd say that it's kinda emotional. It's like I could feel it y’know”

Michael stared at the CD player, “Do you really like it?”

“What? Uh I mean it's good.”

Sure, Michael knew how to mask himself around everyone but not when it comes to her. Not to mention the fact that she could read him like a book.

Michael had gone quiet for quite awhile.

“Mike? What's wrong?” She questioned, placing her hands on his shoulders—observing his face. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just—what made you listen to him?” He fixed his eyes on her.

Every time he looks at her, she feels a surge of warmth creeping up her neck. It’s the way he would look at her time and time again, like she's the only thing that matters.

“Cousin dropped this off earlier, I figured that while I’m there waiting for you…I'll just listen for a bit.”

Michael doesn't like that one bit. That one time when he decided to take a break, Prince released a new album.

The worst part was his own—best friend? listening to it. In front of him. Michael Jackson.

“Dimwit.” He whispered to himself, taking the CD case in hand and started studying it. “Do you think he's better than me?”

“Are you seriously upset because I was listening to Prince?” She took her hands back, crossing her arms.

Part of him wished she'd keep her hands there longer, even though he knew better than to want that.

“No.” A simple answer. And yet his reaction says more than that because of how fast he pulled his gaze away from her.

“You'd make a really bad actor then,” She scooted closer to him, closing that last bit of space between them. “C’mon Mike, there's no way you're asking me that question.”

“Forget what I asked then.” He responded, still refusing to look at her.

A second had passed and she burst out laughing so hard that it earned a look from him. She had never seen Michael this upset over something this little. Maybe not so little. Maybe.

“I'm sorry Mike,” She cleared her throat, “Y’know I love your music.” And you.

“You were listening to Prince.” Oh how bitter his name sounds when it comes out of Michael's mouth.

“Hey, he's a good artist okay? I don't listen to him much but you get what I mean.”

“He tried to run me over.”

“I know, you told me.”

“And yet you were still listening to Prince.”

Michael bit his lips, glaring at the CD.

“I had nothing to do!” She kept the CD into the case and placed it on the bedside table. “I was bored okay?”

He hummed as a response, “I was just curious. Not mad.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She shrugged. “But still—”

“I guess I'll have to bring you to the studio with me every now and then,” He interrupted, which got him a smile he didn't feel like he deserved. "So you'll have something to do."

“I guess you have to.” She uttered, fixing his curls.

Michael's breath hitched at the sudden contact. He hadn't realised until just then, how easily he'd melted into her touch like it was somewhere he was allowed to be.

For the past few months, he had been convincing himself that what he felt wasn't anything more than friendship. He did. He knew he did. He just hadn't figured out what to do with that yet.

pairing—Mature!michael X actor!reader

synopsis—The two finally met after a long time of talking about each other during interviews. But only then, did they finally realise something about one another.

A/N: what do we think of dis…💭 i really wanna write more of mature!michael but idk FHSUDB

The gala was the kind of event that makes anyone feel underdressed just by existing near it. Everything was gold and candlelight everywhere, not to forget the quiet hum of important people pretending not to notice each other. The soft whirr of music underneath layers of conversations and everyone dressed like they had something to prove and nowhere better to be than this gala.

It was, practically the kind of room Michael Jackson walked into and owned without trying.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"So, we heard that she mentioned you in her last interview," The reporter said, smile practiced and bright. "Said you were an artist she's always admired. Any thoughts?"

Michael smiled. The kind of smile that he gives out when it comes to time like this.

"She said that?"

"She did."

He glanced across the room—catching a glimpse of her back. "Well," a small pause, eyes still on her. "I guess I'll have to return the compliment, she's a talented woman." When in reality, he has been going on a movie marathon—the ones where she's in it.

He wrapped up the interview with a smile and slipped away before the reporter could find a follow up question, he's not wasting any energy to entertain any other question regarding his personal life. It gets brought up in every single interview that he does.

She was standing at the corner of the room, gathered in a group with other people. Laughing at something someone had said, head tilted back slightly with her hand covering her mouth, completely at peace in a room full of people who were trying hard to look like they were at peace. Michael could tell really well that most of the people here doesn't care about the event, they care more about the exposure.

He looked away. Then looked back.

The outfit that she's wearing didn't help him at all. Light teal coloured dress catching the light, the deep brown fur jacket sitting against her shoulders like it had been made just for her.

What he didn't know was that she's been watching him as well.

When the soft chime signaled guests to find their seat, he located his table and settled in, adjusting his military jacket out of habit. The table was half full, quiet murmurs of conversation surrounding him.

Before he realise it, he heard her before he saw her. That same laugh from before, coming closer now.

He looked up.

She was scanning the table for her name card, fur jacket slightly slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes landed on the card beside his.

"Oh hell no" She thought, watching him live on television and listening to his music makes her go weak. Sitting next to him now? That's a different story.

She looked at him.

Their eyes met for the first time.

Holy shit.

"Um," she choked on her breath. Surprised—trying not to lose it.

He stood, he didn't even think about it, like his body had its own mind and extended his hand. "Michael." Like she didn't already know. Like the reporter didn't just talk about it.

She took his hand, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile. "I know," in a beat. Did not hesitate at all. "I'm—"

"I know who you are too," he said quietly as they slipped into their seat.

She paused at that, glancing him sideways, something flickered across her face. Surprise. Maybe. The look of a girl who is gonna start jumping and skyrocket into the sky. Maybe. She smoothed her jacket over her lap and looked straight ahead.

"Okay, I guess we are already ahead of ourselves." She said lightly, earning a chuckle from him. Even that sounds heavenly. "I heard you've seen a few of my films." She said, reaching for her champagne glass.

Only if she knew that it's not just "a few"

He frozed, "Where'd you hear that?"

"I didn't," She smiled into her glass. "But judging by your reaction, you just confirmed it."

He let out a quiet chuckle, he covered his face with his hands. Classic Michael. "They were good," he said finally, clearing his throat.

"Just good?"

"Very, very good."

She laughed softly and he found himself wanting to be reason for it again. "Your last album." She said, turning towards him. Here comes the fangirl. "I had it on repeat for WEEKS. There's something about the way you—" she paused, searching for the word. "The way you feel everything, you can hear it"

He looked at her. Really looked.

"Most people don't notice that," he said quietly.

"I noticed."

A second of silence settled between them. His hands were resting on the table, loosely clasped, and she found her gaze dropping to them without meaning to. There was something about them she couldn't quite explain. She just know that it awakened something in her that's for sure.

She looked away, gaining her poise.

He noticed.

He said nothing—just let the smallest smile settle at the corner of his mouth, quiet and private, facing forward so she wouldn't catch it.

She glanced again anyway.

He was absolutely certain of it now.

However, he failed to notice that she sensed him looking somewhere else except for her eyes. The way his gaze constantly linger a little longer than it should've.

The conversation had found its own pace by now, the type that made you forget there were other people at the table. Glasses clinking, overlapping conversations and laughter from somewhere.

"Can I ask you something" She said.

"Go ahead"

"Are you seeing anyone? I mean...are you single?"

Just like that. Right there at a table full of people. Acting like she'd asked him what his favourite color was.

He blinked. No one has been this direct to him. "You don't—yes I'm single." he responded but because he couldn't help it, "Are you single?"

"There's a reason why I asked you." She shrugged, causing him to laugh. Clearly amused. He watched the side of her face for a moment. The slight curve of her mouth. The way she's unbothered by it.

"You don't seem fazed about the things that's going around, girl." He crossed his arms. "About me."

Something pulled her gaze downward, on his fingers. The way his rings wraps around his finger perfectly. She knew of what he said, accusations and the way everyone would attempt to bring him down. "I know, I'm very much aware of it." She looked around, if she looks at him again—who knows what's gonna happen. "But I know that it's not true, it's not such thing for you to do" Anyone with a working mind would know that.

"You're in for something then," he smirked. "I'll be expecting you." he hands her a piece of paper and lightly brushing his fingers against hers.

Michael knew what he was doing. Something in him ignited as well.

pairing— Michael Jackson X Stylist!reader

synopsis—After months, they meet again. Except…who is that sitting on his spot? He’s always first.

⋆˚࿔ Part 1 here!

A/N: id like to thank @thedailymichael for the idea ! also feel free to send in requests, i have a lot of time to write LOL

There was no other way to put it. People everywhere, all of them moving Iike they had somewhere incredibly to be. Cable snaking up all across the floor, someone's half eaten sandwich laying on the table, screaming onto the walkie talkie like the world is gonna end, the lights were too bright, the music playing from somewhere was too loud, and the whole place smelled like a mix of hairspray, fresh coffee, and mild panic.

She loved it.

It brings comfort to her, it reminds her that it's where she belongs.

She kept her hands busy, putting clips onto someone's hair with a comb tucked behind her ear. "You're really good at this." he shot her a satisfied look as she nodded, acknowledging his kind words.

Meanwhile, Michael walked in with a glass of orange juice in hand. He spotted her the moment he walked in. His eyes found that familiar face that he'd seen a few months ago, now she's here. He won't let anyone drag him away this time.

She was already busy—hands deep in someone else's hair, laughing at something he'd said. He stood in the doorway a second too long before anyone noticed him.

"She'll be done in ten." someone told him, walking pass him with a coffee in hand.

Ten minutes. He thought, dropping into the nearest chair and said nothing. Just watched her work. He wasn't mad, no. He simply preferred to be seen first. That's all.

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She hadn't seen him yet. She was too focused—spritzing hairspray through the lengths with that same quiet confidence he'd been thinking about for months, if he was being honest with himself. Which he wasn't. He tried to act like she wasn't in his mind.

He cleared his throat.

Louder than necessary.

She caught his eye in the mirror and held up one finger—one minute. He gave her a look that said that's not good enough, sipping from the glass.

With one final mist of hairspray, she's finally done.

"You did a brilliant job. Thank you," The client smiled, "Hello, Michael!" he shifted his gaze onto Michael, who is now standing, "She's a good one, they should really hire her more often"

Michael simply shot him a smile as he walks out of the room.

"You started early today." Michael stated, now sitting on the chair in front of her.

Ever since the day she styled him, he'd always made a point of finding her first. He would always be the first client to get everything done. She'd noticed, she just hadn't said anything about it.

"Had to," She reached for her kit, already running her fingers through his hair to assess it. He leaned into her touch before he could notice it. "He got here before you did."

"What a schmuck." He mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" She questioned, tilting her head sideways, looking at him now.

"Nothing..." He looked at her reflection in the mirror with an expression that was trying very hard to be neutral and not quite getting there because his body is all stiffen up.

"You could've just come earlier, y'know" She offered, keeping her voice even.

"I wasn't informed that you'd already be busy."

"Mhm." She smoothed a hand over his hair, hiding her smile behind the motion. He was absolutely pouting and pretend he wasn't. It was taking everything in her not to call him out on it.

The room settled into a comfortable quiet—just the sound of her working through his hair, the distant noise of the set bleeding through the walls. She learned that he didn't always need to fill the silence, neither did she. He'd tap beats on his thigh, trying not to bop his head. Not wanting to ruin her work.

"Do you enjoy it?" He asked. "Being here, on set."

"I enjoy working," She reached out for her comb. "Sets are just where work is, isn't it?"

"That's not what I asked."

She stilled. He was watching her in the mirror, with those doe eyes looking up at her.

And it never fails to get her.

She softened, just slightly. "Yea," She admitted. "I do.'

He nodded once, now taking another sip from his glass of orange juice trying to mask his nervousness. He'd never feel nervous, he could perform in front of thousands and thousands of people and here he is—feeling like his heart is gonna explode.

And she was just doing his hair.

That was the thing that got him every time. She wasn't doing anything extraordinary. Just her hands, the way she was working magic. That's the problem. The way she acts a little bit too natural around him, he's too used to dishonesty and people not acting like themselves—makes him feel like he's an animal in a cage.

"All done." She said softly, stepping back.

He looked at his reflection then at hers. He smiled, his eyes finding hers. "Thank you," he said. The same words. Every. Time. But he meant them a little more than the last. Like there's something unspoken behind it.

She was already reaching out for her kit, already moving on the way she always did. Tries to keep it professional. "You're welcome, Michael. Same time next week?" She asked.

"Yeah" The word came out quieter than he intended.

"Try to come earlier then, I'm sure that you wouldn't want anyone else to get their hair done before you do." She joked, tidying her apparatus and placing them back into her kit.

He laughed, a real one, soft and genuine. The kind reached his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, the smile still lingering on his lips.

She nodded, zipping up her kit like her heart wasn't doing multiple backflips and front flips right now. But what's weird is that he's not going anywhere, he's just sitting on that chair like it belongs to him. "I think I have sometime to hang around here for a while." He touches his hair, admiring it.

"You sure? What if someone comes and drag you away?"

"I'm sure it won't happen."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because I said so."

synopsis— headcanons of you and michael, but youre a rising popstar & he’s your manager

A/N: it has come to my attention that we all go feral for this era of michael. I hope this is enough...

—Mature!Michael who will linger around in the studio for a while longer, watching you work—it sometimes brings back the old memories of him working in the studio causing him to have those “what ifs” thoughts

—Mature!Michael whenever you feel stressed or anxious about your work, he would pull you onto his lap—tracing shapes behind your back to comfort you. “Michael, I don’t think we’re supposed to do this...” You hesitated, of course it’s weird. Why wouldn’t it be?

“But it’s my job not to make you feel under pressure isn’t it?”

—Mature!Michael who would sneak little touches like brushing his hands on your waist, “accidentally” grazing on your arm. The first time he did it made you stiffen up, but overtime it felt more tranquil. The more he keeps that up, the more you’re expecting it.

—Mature!Michael who always gives light taps on your back whenever you accomplish something and for some reason, it motivates you even more. Eager to earn more than that someday.

—Mature!Michael who is unbothered but of course being the gentleman he is—he would defend you each time a guy makes an inappropriate remark of you. For that deep down, behind closed doors, the cameras and all the “act” that you both display in public—“That guy would wish that he could take my place right now.” He whispered into your ear, both hands digging into your hips.

—Mature!Michael who gets protective each and every time someone comes up to you. His hand grips your waist even tighter, not letting you out of his grasp.

—Mature!Michael who is the first one to clap after every performance that you did. “You did very well there, girl.”

—Mature!Michael who gets frustrated when you don’t listen, but somehow you always do. Because he'd stop pulling you close, stop touching you—even though it affects him more than it affects you. The worst part was that it works every single time. No matter the situation, no matter how hard you fought it—you'd still be listening to him.

pairing— Michael Jackson X Stylist!reader

synopsis— A stylist who treats everyone the same and a superstar who's tired of being treated differently. One session, one conversation, and a room that felt emptier than it should have when it was over

⋆˚࿔ Part 2 here!

A/N: a bit sloppy, I'm not good at this ever since I stopped writing months ago SBIFBRH I'm trying ok pls don't slander me anyways, here's a short one

1983—Billie Jean

"Be ready in 40!"

She walks into the room with her clipboard in hand, jotting her plans down for the day. The notion of styling the world's "King Of Pop" is moderately pressuring owning to the fact that he's a known perfectionist, one wrong move could possibly get her killed. With the clouds of thoughts surrounding her mind, she was completely oblivious on the fact that he's right in front of her with his right glove in hand—waiting for her.

"Hi—um—excuse me?" The man called out, tapping her on her shoulder.

Busy swimming in her reverie, she furrowed her eyebrows and looks up above her eyelash—expecting it to be a co-worker of hers since she really couldn't hear anything from the sound of people running and screaming. Of course it's not.

"Oh, hi—yes. I'm your stylist for the time being." She smiles, trying so hard not to lose her composure.

"I'm Michael-"

"I'm sure everyone knows that, and I'm literally your stylist. I should know that." She popped her kit beside the table and immediately got straight to work, fingers raking softly through his hair without so much of a pause like how everyone does. Michael's so used to people fumbling, stiffing or a being little too eager when it comes to styling him but she just start working on him like he's anybody.

"You've got good hair, Michael." She said plainly, as if she's observing the weather. Just an observation.

"You think so?" He blinked at her through the reflection of the mirror, oddly caught off guard. The atmosphere in the room shifted when he starts paying attention to her work, watching the way her fingers sifted through the dark strand of his curls and the focused creased of her eyebrows.

Their eyes met briefly in the mirror. She looked away first—not out of shyness, just because she was focused, she refused to let a little interaction mess up her progress. Though, he kept looking a little longer than he should have.

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After what felt like an eternity, she's finally done with his hair and clothes—letting out a breathless sigh. When she stepped back, he noticed the absence of her hands before he noticed anything else. He had no other words for it. No other words as to how cold the air felt once she pulled herself away from him.

"How'd ya like it?" She presented himself to the mirror, stretching her palms beside his outfit—show casing it. Biting her lips hoping that he's at least satisfied with it.

Once she saw the smile and nod coming from him, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, really." He looks at her with sincerity in his eyes.

Oh, the eyes.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then looked away, keeping her hands busy by zipping her kit up—a perfectly reasonable thing to do, she told herself. A normal, professional thing. He's just a client that got assigned to her.

"I'm glad you liked it." She said, as casual as anything, slinging her bag over her shoulder, still not looking at him.

He was still watching her. She could feel it. She could feel how he stopped moving, standing there.

"You do this for everyone?" He questioned, small talk. He was making small talk.

"Well, yea—kinda," She took her clipboard and checked off a couple of things that she did. Don't look at him again. "It's just the job."

Right...

He nodded slowly, like he was processing that over in his head multiple times. Then, almost to himself, "Must be nice. Making people feel like themselves again"

That made her pause. She hadn't expected that from him. Usually, people would just throw her a little "Thanks" or "Thank you" and walk away. She looked up before she could stop herself.

There were those eyes again.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "I guess it is."

She was halfway through writing her notes on the clipboard when he spoke again.

"How'd you get into this?" He asked, sitting on the chair. "Styling."

She paused. People didn't usually ask that. He didn't seem the type to just make conversation, judging on the fact that he would always be chugging on his orange juice before getting on stage. Yet, here he was, still sitting, still watching her with those eyes like he got nowhere else to be. Like he don't have a crowd of people waiting for his appearance on stage.

"Started doing my sisters hair when I little," she responded, "Never really stopped—turns out I just liked customising people's avatar"

"Just like that?" He tilted his head.

"Just like that." She glanced at him. "Why? Were you expecting something dramatic?"

The corner of his mouth curved. Just slightly, but clear enough. "Maybe."

She laughed before she could stop herself—small, surprised. She hadn't meant to laugh and he looked almost pleased about it, which was somehow worse.

"Michael." A sharp voice cut through the room before either of them could utter anything else. A man in a headset appeared at the door, clipboard in hand and the universal look of a stressed manager written all over his face. "We needed you on stage like five minutes ago."

Michael exhaled through his nose—something almost like resignation and rose from the chair. He hadn't realised how much time had passed. Unhurried, like he was doing it on his own terms. He straightened his outfit once. Then glanced at her and her clipboard, finally catching her name. "Thank you." he said again. Quiet this time. Like it meant something different than it had the first time.

She nodded, "Go." tlited her head toward the door. "Good luck."

He held her gaze for just a second longer than necessary, then he was gone. Swept up by the headset man and the noise of the corridor beyond, the door swinging shut behind him.

The room felt noticeably emptier and quiet than it had before.

She stood there for a moment, pen in hand.

Just the job, she reminded herself, reminiscing back to what she said earlier. The conversation that they had for a little while.

can we all collectively agree that he's so dada in this era