pairing : michael! x fem!reader!
a/n : okay guys this is the second part, part one is linked underneath this. i got really carried away but i have a lot of time on my hands rn😭 also this is really long i think
contents : slow-burn, arranged escort trope, forced dance lessons, awkward tension, lingering eye contact, summer parties, late-night phone calls, jealousy, soft romance, first kiss, and learning there’s more to each other than either of you expected.
part 1 : https://www.tumblr.com/mxvya/817649769750151168/the-debutante-summer-1
the next morning the house reeked of expensive champagne, and cigarette smoke. you could tell the party ran late because half of the glasses downstairs were left in random places around the house. someone left a fur coat on the piano like they planned to come back and grab it later.
outside, the sunlight spilled across the backyard in soft gold, already warming the pool tiles before noon. you were in the middle of making breakfast when your mother walked in to the kitchen with a notepad. which was always a bad sign.
“you’re free friday evening, correct?” you looked up slowly. “that depends entirely on what you’re about to say next.” she ignored that. “katherine called this morning.” you knew why she did, those memories from last night flooded in. your mother flipped a page.
“since you and michael will be attending the ball together, we thought it’d be best if you spent more time together beforehand.” you stared at her. “mom, you always have a way of saying things..” you started, just as she interrupted you. “he’s coming by later.”
you nearly dropped the glass of orange juice from your hand, the other hand holding your fork above your breakfast paused midair. “…today?” your mother smiled into her coffee cup, and suddenly things felt stranger than before.
you stayed seated for a moment after your mother walked out of the kitchen, staring blankly at your glass of orange juice while the house buzzed quietly around you. michael was coming over. today. the thought just kept replaying in your head.
you leaned back in your chair slowly, exhaling through your nose. this was ridiculous. genuinely ridiculous. you’d known who he was your entire life. your parents had dragged you to the same parties, the same events, the same award shows for years now. there were family photos somewhere with both of you standing awkwardly in the background looking miserable in formal clothes.
and yet somehow, after spending time with him last night, things felt different. worse than different, it felt noticeable. and you hated it. with a quiet groan, you pushed yourself up from the counter and headed upstairs, the polished floors cool beneath your feet.
your bedroom felt warmer than usual when you stepped inside. you walked straight toward your closet. then stopped. because suddenly the situation became painfully real. what exactly were you supposed to wear while michael jackson came over to your house for what was apparently “pre-ball bonding,” according to your mother?
you stared at your closet for a long moment before pulling something out. then immediately putting it back. “absolutely not.” another dress. too formal. another outfit. too casual. you dropped onto the edge of your bed dramatically, glaring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.
this was stupid. you didn’t even care — or maybe you did. a knock sounded lightly against your bedroom door before it pushed open. your mother leaned against the frame almost instantly noticing the clothes now scattered across half the room. slowly, one eyebrow lifted.
you pointed at her immediately. “don’t.” the smile she tried hiding only got worse. “i didn’t say anything.”
“i was only going to suggest maybe the blue one.”
you stared at her in horror. “you’ve already thought about this?”
“sweetheart, i’ve thought about this since katherine called me last month.”
your mother only smiled innocently before stepping back into the hallway. “he’ll be here in twenty minutes.” pause. “and the blue one really does look prettier.” the door closed before you could throw a pillow at her.
finally, you settled on a simple outfit after changing three times. not because anything looked wrong, but mostly because suddenly every piece of clothing felt important. you were adjusting your bracelet for the fifth time when the doorbell rang downstairs.
your stomach tightened immediately. “oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. somewhere down the hall, your mother’s voice called out, “get the door!” you stared at your bedroom ceiling for a second like it had personally betrayed you before finally heading downstairs.
by the time you made it to the foyer, you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. this was ridiculous, it was only michael. you opened the door and instantly forgot every normal thought in your head. he stood there looking far less polished than he had the night before. dark curls slightly messy, sleeves pushed up loosely past his wrists, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt.
he looked comfortable — which made you even more nervous. his eyes met yours almost instantly. then he smiled, it was small and genuine.
“hi.” you blinked once before remembering how words worked.
“hi.” for a second, neither of you budged. then michael glanced down briefly before looking back at you. “i think this is the first time i’ve ever been to your house without like… two hundred people here.” you let out a quiet laugh. “yeah, it’s usually louder.”
“i kinda expected your mother to answer the door.”
“she’s being very weird about this.”
a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “my mother is too.”
“good to know we’re both dealing with this.”
that made him laugh softly. and weirdly enough, hearing it made your nerves settle a little. and silence followed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. it was more uncertain — like both of you were still trying to figure out what this was supposed to be now.
michael shifted slightly where he stood. “so… are you okay?” the question caught you off guard.
“all this.” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “the ball. our parents planning everything.”
you looked at him for a second before shrugging lightly. “i think i am.”
“yeah,” he admitted quietly. “me too.” there was another pause. then his expression changed slightly, something more playful slipping through.
“although now i’m curious.”
“whether you can actually dance.”
you narrowed your eyes immediately. “you asked me that already.”
“and you still haven’t answered.”
“maybe because i don’t need to.”
his eyebrows lifted. “oh, so you’re confident.”
“maybe.” a grin appeared on his face before he looked past you into the house again.
“…can i come in, or are we having this entire conversation in the doorway?”
you blinked once before stepping aside quickly. “right. sorry.” michael smiled a little as he walked inside. “you’re fine,”
“if my mom starts talking, ignore her.” you said jokingly, “she’s enjoying this entirely too much.”
“mine too,” he admitted. “she practically shoved me out of the door today.” you laughed softly, shutting the door behind him. “okay, good. so it’s not just my family losing their minds.”
“definitely not.” for a second, the two of you just stood there awkwardly. then michael glanced around. “so where are we practicing?”
you groaned immediately. “don’t say it like that.”
“it’s a debutante ball, not the olympics.”
“my mother also owns a ballroom.”
his eyebrows lifted. “wait, seriously?” you pointed down the hallway dramatically. “unfortunately.”
a laugh escaped him before he shook his head once. “that’s insane.”
“you actually dance in there?”
“no. my mother just likes intimidating people.”
“honestly? it’s working.”
you smiled despite yourself as the two of you started down the hallway. “i should warn you now,” you said, “if this goes badly, i’m blaming you.”
“you’re the professional dancer here.”
he looked over at you immediately. “professional is crazy.”
“you literally perform in stadiums.”
“okay, yeah, but this is different.”
“those people are farther away.”
that made you laugh harder than it should have. and michael smiled the second he heard it, like he hadn’t expected to be the reason for it. by the time you reached the ballroom doors, the nervousness from earlier had softened slightly into something easier.
you pushed the doors open, revealing the polished dance floor and the record player already spinning softly near the windows. michael stopped beside you. “your mother planned this way too well.”
“she’s terrifying when she’s determined.”
“i’m starting to notice that.”
you stepped further into the room, slipping your shoes off near the edge of the floor before turning back toward him. “okay,” you said, crossing your arms lightly. “show me what i’m supposed to be doing before i embarrass both of us next month.”
michael laughed quietly before setting his sunglasses down nearby. then he walked toward you slowly, holding a hand out.
“alright,” he said softly. “come here.”
you looked down at his hand for half a second before placing yours into it. immediately, his fingers tightened slightly around yours. “okay,” he said, stepping a little closer. “first of all, stop looking nervous.”
“you’re extremely observant then.”
a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before his free hand rested lightly against your waist. and suddenly — breathing became harder than it should’ve been. “relax,” he murmured.
“you’re the one holding your breath.”
your eyes narrowed instantly. “i hate that you noticed that.”
he laughed softly under his breath before guiding you forward slowly as the music played through the ballroom. “just follow me.”
the first few steps were awkward. mostly because you were too aware of him. his hand against yours. the warmth of his palm. how close he was standing. you missed a step almost immediately. michael caught you before you could fully stumble, his grip tightening slightly around your hand.
“wow,” he said quietly. “that was bad.”
you stared at him in disbelief. “you’re supposed to encourage me.”
“that felt judgmental.” another laugh escaped him. “okay, okay. try again.”
you rolled your eyes, already embarrassed. “if i fall again, i’m blaming you.”
“that’s not how dancing works.”
“it is today.” his smile widened slightly before he guided you through the steps again, slower this time.
“left,” he murmured softly. you stepped the wrong way immediately. michael laughed under his breath. “other left.”
“i’m trying very hard not to.”
“a little.” despite yourself, you laughed too. and weirdly enough, that helped. the tension slowly started loosening after that. your shoulders relaxed. your grip on his hand softened. the more the music played, the easier it became to stop overthinking every little movement.
“see?” michael said quietly after a minute. “you’re getting it.”
you looked up at him then, realizing just how close the two of you actually were now. you were standing close enough to notice the tiny expressions he made before he smiled. close enough to hear the quiet breath of laughter that escaped him every time you got a step wrong.
close enough that the rest of the ballroom slowly stopped mattering altogether. which was probably a problem. because every time he looked at you directly, your thoughts seemed to disappear completely.
“you’re doing it again,” he said softly.
you closed your eyes for a second out of embarrassment. “how do you keep noticing that?”
his shoulders lifted slightly. “i don’t know.” but the way he looked at you afterward made it feel like maybe he did. the song eventually ended, the record player crackling softly into silence for a brief second before the next orchestra piece began spinning automatically. neither of you stepped apart right away. and somehow, that felt more noticeable than anything else.
and somehow, after that, the dance practices became a regular thing. at least that’s what your parents called them. in reality, very little dancing actually happened. sometimes michael would come over with records tucked under his arm claiming he found songs the two of you “should probably practice to,” only for the afternoon to dissolve into the two of you sitting on the ballroom floor arguing over music instead.
other times, you’d start practicing properly for maybe ten minutes before one conversation turned into another. and another. until suddenly hours had passed. the ballroom slowly stopped feeling formal after that. it became familiar and comfortable.
some days the two of you danced badly on purpose just to make each other laugh. other days michael would spin you around dramatically only to let go halfway through because he was laughing too hard to keep going. “you missed the step again,” he’d tell you.
“you’re blaming me for your own failure.”
and somehow, those afternoons became the easiest part of your summer. you learned little things about him without realizing it at first. how he hummed absentmindedly whenever music was playing. how he laughed quieter when he was genuinely amused. how he got shy after saying something accidentally flirty, even if he pretended not to.
and michael learned you too. the way you talked with your hands when you were passionate about something. how you always stole the cherries from the drinks left out during parties. how you acted unimpressed whenever he teased you even though your smile gave you away every time.
the awkwardness from that first day slowly disappeared somewhere between late afternoons in the ballroom and evenings spent talking longer than either of you intended. by july, the two of you had stopped feeling like strangers entirely. and maybe that should’ve made things simpler. instead, it only made every look linger longer than it used to.
but also that’s when the debutante ball had completely taken over your life. suddenly your house was filled with garment bags, invitation samples, flower arrangements, and women your mother referred to as “absolutely essential” despite the fact that you’d never seen them before in your life.
every conversation somehow circled back to the ball. your dress, your hair, your makeup, your posture, and your smile. it was exhausting. your father had started hiding in his office almost entirely.
every time your mother mentioned seating arrangements, he mysteriously found somewhere else to be. “smart man,” you muttered one afternoon while standing on a platform during yet another fitting. your father looked up from the chair in the corner where he’d been pretending to read paperwork for the last twenty minutes. “i heard that.”
“your mother’s been discussing floral arrangements for three straight hours,” he defended.
“traitor.” your mother barely glanced up from the stack of fabric samples in front of her. “both of you are being dramatic.”
“i learned from the best,” you replied immediately.
that earned a quiet laugh from your father before he leaned back in his chair again. “stand still,” your mother warned as another woman adjusted the fabric around your waist.
you sighed. “i am standing still.”
“emotionally, you’re moving.”
“what does that even mean?”
your father lowered the paper slightly. “honestly, i’d stop asking questions.” you pointed at him immediately. “you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“i’m supposed to survive this.”
a laugh escaped you before your attention drifted back toward the mirror. the dress was beautiful. annoyingly beautiful. soft satin falling perfectly to the floor, delicate enough to look effortless while still obviously expensive in the way all hollywood things were. which meant your mother loved it.
“what color is michael wearing?” one of the women asked casually while pinning the hem. your mother smiled instantly. “black.”you looked over. “you already know?”
your father folded his newspaper down slightly. “the boy called yesterday asking what color your dress was.”
your eyes narrowed immediately. “why?”
your father tried not to smile. “apparently,” he said calmly, “he didn’t want to clash with you.” silence. you stared at him. “he said that?”
“word for word,” your father confirmed. your stomach betrayed you instantly. which was deeply irritating. before you could recover, the bedroom door opened lightly.
“am i allowed in here,” michael’s voice asked, “or is this another terrifying parent meeting?”
you turned too quickly. and immediately regretted it. because michael stood in the doorway already dressed from some earlier event, dark slacks and a fitted black shirt making him look far more unfairly attractive than necessary.
his eyes found yours almost immediately. then stopped. completely. for a second, he didn’t say anything at all. and somehow that felt worse. your father noticed instantly. so did your mother. a slow smile appeared on your father’s face as he looked between the two of you before leaning back in his chair again.
“well,” he said casually, “i think the color coordination’s working.”
“dad,” you warned immediately. michael looked down briefly, clearly trying not to laugh.
your mother clapped her hands once, already distracted again by a pile of invitation samples near the vanity. “alright, come on. we still have bookings to confirm before tonight.” your father stood with a sigh, straightening his jacket. “save me.”
“absolutely not,” your mother replied. before leaving, she pointed directly at both of you. “don’t wrinkle the dress.”
“that feels specifically directed at me,” michael said.
“because it is.” your father paused near the doorway before looking back once. “try not to rehearse your first dance without us.”
you nearly choked. “goodbye.” michael laughed properly this time as your parents finally disappeared down the hallway, their voices fading further into the house.
the woman hemming your dress continued adjusting the satin near your ankles completely unfazed by any of it. “turn slightly, sweetheart,” she said absently. you obeyed before glancing back toward michael again.
and immediately regretted it. because he was already looking at you. not distracted. not teasing. just looking. his eyes moved over the dress slowly before settling back on your face.
“…wow,” he said softly. you blinked once. “wow?”
“i forgot how dangerous your family is with formal events.” a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself. “that’s not an answer.”
michael smiled slightly, hands sliding into his pockets. “you look really pretty.” the room suddenly felt warmer than it had thirty seconds ago.
the woman pinning the hem smiled to herself like she’d just witnessed something important. you looked away first. “you clean up okay too, i guess.”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile threatening at the corner of your mouth gave you away immediately. michael noticed too. of course he did.
“you know,” he said casually, stepping a little closer to the platform, “i was expecting something scarier.”
“what does that even mean?”
“i don’t know.” he shrugged lightly. “more diamonds. less…” his eyes flicked over you again. “…you.”
you stared at him for a second. “that sounded insulting.”
“good save.” he laughed quietly under his breath before leaning lightly against the nearby chair. “i mean it.”
the softness in his voice caught you off guard more than the compliment itself. because suddenly it didn’t sound like teasing anymore. the woman working on the dress stood slowly. “i’ll go fix the final stitching downstairs.”
you looked over. “already?”
“mhm.” her smile widened slightly as she gathered the fabric pins. “you two clearly need the room more than i do.” your eyes widened instantly. “oh my god.”
michael immediately looked down laughing while she disappeared out the door before either of you could recover. silence filled the room for a second. then — “well,” michael said carefully, still smiling a little, “that was embarrassing for both of us.”
“wow.”he looked back at you then, softer this time. “…you really do look beautiful.” and this time, there was nothing teasing about it at all.
for a second, neither of you moved. the room suddenly felt too quiet without everyone else in it. michael was still standing near the platform, looking at you in that same soft way that made it impossible to think properly.
you looked down briefly, trying to recover first. “you know, you’re making this significantly harder.”
that made him laugh quietly. “sorry.”
you shook your head, smiling despite yourself before carefully stepping down from the platform. except the dress caught slightly beneath your heel almost immediately.
michael reached for you before you could lose your balance completely, one hand catching your arm while the other steadied your waist instinctively. suddenly he was very close again. closer than before somehow.
“okay,” he murmured. “maybe your mother was right about not wrinkling the dress.”
you laughed softly under your breath, though your heartbeat had completely betrayed you again.
“i could’ve broken my neck.”
“you’ve spent too much time around my family.”
his smile lingered for a second before his gaze dropped briefly toward your shoulder. “hold on.”
carefully, michael reached up and adjusted the chain where it had twisted slightly near the back of your neck. his fingers brushed your skin for barely a second. you stopped breathing. and judging by the way he suddenly went quieter too, he noticed.
his fingers slipped away from the necklace slowly. but neither of you stepped back right away.“there,” he said quietly. “better.”
you glanced down briefly before looking back at him. “thank you.” for a second, the room stayed quiet. then michael looked toward the scattered invitation samples across the vanity. “your parents are taking this really seriously.”
you laughed softly. “you should’ve seen my mother this morning. i think she threatened three people over flower arrangements.”
“your family does this too?”
“not the flowers,” he said with a small smile. “everything else.”
you leaned lightly against the vanity beside him. “does it ever get exhausting?” his expression shifted slightly. “sometimes.”
the answer came quieter than before. “especially lately.” you watched him for a second. “because of the album?” he glanced over, almost surprised you asked.
“yeah,” he admitted. “everybody wants something right now.” his voice stayed calm, but you noticed the tiredness underneath it anyway.“people at shows. interviews. photographers.” he shrugged lightly. “sometimes it feels like i walk into a room and everybody’s already decided who i’m supposed to be before i even say anything.”
the honesty of it caught you off guard a little. not because of what he said. because he said it to you. you looked down briefly before smiling faintly. “welcome to hollywood.”
that earned a quiet laugh from him. “guess you understand it too.” “well just a bit.” the silence afterward felt easier somehow. less awkward, but more familiar.
and somewhere during that conversation, michael stopped feeling like someone your parents had arranged for you — and started feeling like someone you genuinely wanted to know.
the next couple of days passed faster after that. dance rehearsals turned into long conversations. phone calls stretched later into the night. and somehow michael kept finding reasons to come over even when there wasn’t technically anything left to practice anymore. by the end of the week, people had started noticing the change before either of you admitted it yourselves.
the night of the debutante ball arrived faster than either of you were ready for. from the second you woke up, the entire house had been in chaos. phones ringing nonstop. people rushing through hallways carrying flowers and garment bags. your mother directing everyone like she was producing an award show instead of hosting a ballroom event.
by late afternoon, your bedroom had completely transformed into a dressing room. makeup palettes covered the vanity. hairspray lingered in the air. someone had been curling your hair for nearly an hour while another woman adjusted the final details of your dress nearby.
“hold still,” your mother warned while fastening a bracelet around your wrist. “everyone keeps saying that to me like i’m a moving vehicle.”
“you’ve only said that seventeen times.”
“and i’ll say it eighteen.”
your father appeared briefly in the doorway, already dressed in a tuxedo with a drink in his hand. “your mother’s terrified.”
“you threatened the florist.”
your father looked at you knowingly. “terrified.” a laugh escaped you despite yourself. but underneath it all — you were nervous. more nervous than you wanted to admit. not because of the guests. or the photographers. or even the ballroom filled with half of hollywood waiting downstairs. michael.
somewhere across los angeles, michael was probably getting ready too. and for some reason, that thought had followed you around all day. your mother stepped back finally, looking you over carefully before softening just slightly.
“there,” she said quietly. “perfect.”
you turned toward the mirror slowly. for a second, you barely recognized yourself. soft curls framed your face perfectly, satin catching the warm light of your bedroom while delicate jewelry shimmered against your skin. everything suddenly felt real. the ball, summer, and even whatever you had going on with michael.
before you could think too hard about it, a knock sounded downstairs. your heartbeat immediately betrayed you. your father smiled instantly from the doorway. “that’ll be him.” your mother pointed toward the stairs dramatically. “don’t keep the poor boy waiting.”
“you are both insane,” you informed them before carefully heading downstairs anyway. the closer you got to the foyer, the louder your heartbeat became. then you reached the bottom step— and stopped completely. michael stood near the front doors in a black tuxedo, hands clasped loosely in front of him while your parents spoke to him about something you couldn’t hear anymore.
because the second he looked up and saw you —his entire expression changed. like he forgot what he was saying halfway through. your father noticed immediately. so did your mother. neither of them said a word. michael took a small step forward instead, eyes still fixed on you.
and softly — almost like he forgot everyone else was standing there — “wow.”
your breath caught slightly at how quietly he said it. your mother smiled immediately from beside him like she’d personally arranged the moment herself. “doesn’t she look beautiful?”
michael didn’t look away from you. “yeah,” he said softly. “she does.”
you suddenly understood why people fainted in old movies. your father cleared his throat dramatically from behind you. “alright, before i witness anything emotional, let’s leave.”
“dad,” you warned. he raised his hands innocently while michael laughed quietly under his breath. then michael stepped toward you fully, holding a hand out. and despite all the rehearsals, all the weeks spent dancing together, your heartbeat still stumbled when you placed your hand into his.
“ready?” he asked softly. you looked up at him. “not even a little.”
“good.” a small smile appeared on his face. “me neither.” outside, the california night glowed warm beneath strings of lights stretching across the driveway while photographers waited near the entrance gates. the second the front doors opened, flashes immediately exploded across the driveway.
voices called out from every direction.
instinctively, michael’s hand moved slightly against yours. not possessive but it was protective. subtle enough that almost nobody else would notice it. almost. you looked over at him briefly as the two of you descended the front steps together.
and somehow, standing beside him now in the middle of all the flashing cameras and noise, the nervousness from earlier started fading. because michael looked calm. not the polished kind of calm he wore at parties. something steadier than that. like he was making sure you were okay before himself.
the car waiting outside gleamed beneath the lights as your parents followed behind the two of you, still talking to reporters near the entrance. michael opened the door for you first. “thank you,” you said softly while sliding inside. he nodded once before getting in beside you moments later, the noise outside muffling instantly once the doors closed.
silence settled between you for a second. then both of you exhaled at the exact same time. that made you laugh first. michael looked over immediately, smiling. “what?”
“you’re laughing at me already and we haven’t even gotten there.”
“michael jackson afraid of cameras?” you teased lightly. he looked at you flatly. “those people just screamed my full government name.” a laugh escaped you before you could stop it. and the second michael heard it, he smiled too.
outside the window, city lights blurred gold against the summer night as the car carried both of you toward the debutante ball.
the ride to the ballroom felt strangely quieter than everything else that night.
outside the windows, los angeles blurred gold beneath streetlights and warm summer air, flashes of palm trees and glowing restaurant signs slipping past while distant music drifted faintly through the city.
inside the car, though — it was just you and michael. for a minute, neither of you said much. mostly because every time you looked over at him, your thoughts stopped working properly again. michael loosened his tie slightly before glancing toward you. “you okay?”
you smiled faintly. “i’m trying not to think about the fact that there are probably hundreds of people waiting inside.”
“i know that’s hard to believe,” he said dryly, “considering i’m obviously extremely calm all the time.”
you laughed quietly. “you hide it better than me.”
“michael, i almost fell down the stairs ten minutes ago.”
“yeah,” he nodded thoughtfully. “that was kinda scary.” you stared at him in disbelief. “you’re unbelievable.” his laugh filled the car softly after that, warmer than the music playing quietly through the speakers. then the silence settled again. easier this time.
michael glanced toward you after a second. “you know… i’m glad it’s you.” your heart nearly stopped functioning altogether. you looked over slowly. “…what?” he shrugged slightly, suddenly looking almost shy about it. “the ball. all of this.” his eyes flicked toward you briefly before lowering again. “i think it would’ve been miserable with anybody else.”
for once, you didn’t have a teasing response ready. because somehow he’d said exactly what you’d been thinking too. outside, the ballroom finally came into view ahead of you — glowing lights, luxury cars lined outside the entrance, photographers already crowding near the staircase.
your stomach tightened again. michael noticed immediately. without saying anything, he held his hand out toward you quietly between the seats. and after only a second of hesitation — you took it.
the ballroom looked like something out of a movie. gold chandeliers. live orchestra music. walls lined with enormous floral arrangements and flashing cameras near the entrance. the second you and michael entered together, heads turned almost instantly.
you felt it immediately — the attention and the whispers, even the curiosity. but michael’s hand remained steady against yours the entire time. through introductions. through photographs. through endless conversations with people your parents insisted were “important.”
and somehow, every time things became overwhelming, you’d look over at him — and he’d already be looking back at you too. like the two of you were surviving the night together.
hours later, after dinner and speeches and what felt like an endless amount of smiling for cameras, the orchestra finally shifted into something slower. softer.the ballroom lights dimmed slightly as couples slowly moved toward the dance floor.
michael looked toward you almost immediately. then he smiled. “guess we should probably prove all those rehearsals weren’t useless.” you laughed quietly before placing your hand into his. this time, dancing with him felt different — easier and more natural.
his hand rested against your waist as he guided you slowly across the ballroom floor while soft music echoed around the room. people were still watching. photographers still lingering nearby. but somehow none of it felt important anymore. because right now it was just him.
just michael looking down at you with an expression so soft it nearly made your chest ache.“you’re not nervous anymore,” he noticed quietly.
“i think that’s your fault.” his smile appeared instantly. the orchestra continued around you while the ballroom blurred softly into gold lights and distant movement. and somewhere in the middle of the dance, michael’s hand tightened slightly against yours.
“can i tell you something?” he asked quietly. you nodded once. he hesitated for the first time all night.
then — “i don’t think this feels arranged anymore.” your breath caught. completely. because he sounded nervous saying it. michael sounded nervous.
you looked up at him slowly. “good.” the word barely came out above a whisper. but the way his expression changed afterward told you he heard it anyway. the music continued softly around you.
neither of you moved. and then michael leaned down carefully, hesitating just slightly first like he was giving you time to stop him. then he kissed you. it was gentle, warm, and slow enough to make your heartbeat completely lose rhythm.
when he pulled back, the ballroom still glowed around you exactly the same as before. and yet somehow everything felt different now. michael stayed close, forehead almost resting against yours as both of you tried to breathe normally again.
“…so i’m guessing that means you’ll dance with me again?”
