jas

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The first recording session with Michael is scheduled for the following afternoon.

You spend the night before sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, surrounded by notebooks that you barely end up using. Normally, you research every guest extensively, filling pages with timelines about their careers and possible talking points for the episode.

But for Michael, you close the notebook you have in front of you.

You know that the entire reason he wants to come onto Off the Record is because he's tired of conversations that already know where they're going. So instead, you write only three things on an index card to bring with you (along with your recording equipment).

Who are you when no one's watching?

What makes you feel safe?

What do you hope people remember?

Suddenly, your landline phone rings. You put the index card down on your bed and walk over to your nightstand to pick up the receiver. “Hello?” You say.

“Hi, Y/N? It's Michael.” Michael's voice echoes through the line.

“Michael? How did you get my number?” You ask with surprise lacing your voice as you sit down on your bed.

“I asked Frank to give it to me...I wanted to hear your voice before tomorrow.” He replies, and you can tell that he sounds nervous on the other end.

You blush at his words. “What, you can't get enough of me?” You tease him, and laugh when you hear him sigh.

“Haha, very funny. I just wanted to triple check that we're still good to go for tomorrow?” He asks shyly.

You smile. “Yes, of course.”

“Okay great...I also wanted to ask you if there's anything you'll need from me for tomorrow?”

Your smile widens and your heart warms at his kindness. “Well...I do love coffee, especially vanilla lattes with whipped cream and caramel syrup on top from Studio 28 Café. It's my go-to drink whenever I do an episode for my podcast. I'm sure I can grab one quickly though before Bill picks me up.”

Michael is quiet for a second, and you can almost hear him smiling through the receiver.

“Vanilla latte,” he repeats softly, as if committing it to memory. “Whipped cream...caramel syrup.”

“You don't have to memorize my coffee order!” you laugh.

“I wasn't.”

“You absolutely were.”

"Maybe a little."

The grin on your face grows wider. “But seriously,” you continue, “all I really need is you. Just be yourself.”

“I can do that,” he says, though the uncertainty in his voice makes it sound like a promise he's still learning how to keep.

“Good.”

“I've done thousands of interviews,” he says after a moment. "Magazine articles, television specials, radio interviews and people always have a version of me they want.”

“And I don't.”

“I know.” His voice softens. “That's why this one scares me.”

You lean back against your headboard, twisting the phone cord around your finger. “Being scared isn't always a bad thing.”

“No?"

“No. Sometimes it just means something matters.”

Silence settles comfortably between the both of you and it's a strange feeling. You've only known Michael for a couple of days, but talking to him doesn't feel like talking to the biggest entertainer in the world. It feels like talking to someone sitting beside you in the dark, sharing thoughts you'd never say with the lights on.

“So...” he says eventually. “You're really not going to tell me what you're planning to ask?”

“Nope.”

“Not even one question?"

“You'll find out tomorrow.”

He groans dramatically. "Y/N..."

"Michael."

"Please?"

"No."

"What if I sing for you?"

You laugh so hard you have to pull the receiver away from your ear. "Is that bribery???"

"It's negotiation."

"Nah, that's definitely bribery."

"Well I've been told I'm persuasive."

"You've probably also been told you're charming."

"I have."

"Don't let it go to your head and inflate your ego."

"Too late."

The two of you dissolve into laughter. When it dies down, Michael clears his throat. "I meant what I said earlier."

"About what?"

"Wanting to hear your voice."

Your heartbeat stumbles.

"It's been..." He searches for the words. "A long time since I looked forward to talking to someone who wasn't expecting something from me."

His honesty catches you off guard.

"I don't expect anything from you, Michael."

"I know."

"And tomorrow isn't about getting headlines."

"I know that, too."

"It's just a conversation."

He exhales slowly. "I think I forgot conversations could just be conversations."

You glance at the index card resting on your bed.

Who are you when no one's watching?

What makes you feel safe?

What do you hope people remember?

While talking to Michael, you're not thinking about asking those questions: instead, you're wondering what the answers will be from questions that come up as the conversation naturally flows.

"So," Michael says, his voice lighter again, "what time should I expect you?"

"Bill's picking me up around one and we should be at Neverland by two-ish."

"I'll be ready."

"I know you will."

"And Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you said yes to do the podcast."

Your chest tightens. "I'm glad you asked me."

Another silence stretches, and neither of you seem eager to hang up. Finally, Michael laughs quietly to himself. "We're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"The awkward part where neither person wants to end the phone call."

You smile to yourself. "Yeah, you're right."

"You hang up first."

"No, you."

"I'm the guest."

"And I'm the host."

"I think hosts have to hang up first."

"I don't think that's a real rule."

"It is now."

You shake your head, laughing. "Goodnight, Michael."

"Goodnight, and don't buy your coffee tomorrow."

You frown. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Michael..."

"You'll see."

Before you can question him any further, the line clicks. "He hung up on me," you mutter, staring at the receiver. You slowly place it back in its cradle, unable to stop smiling as you head to bed.

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The next afternoon, Bill pulls up to your apartment building right on time.

"You ready?" he asks as you climb into the backseat, placing your recorder and microphone case in the seat beside you.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The drive to Neverland passes in a blur of rolling hills and nervous anticipation. However, you're not terrified, you're excited. You've never been this excited to do a podcast episode before: but with Michael, you feel comfortable. You can't wait to get to know Michael Jackson outside of what you already know, and you're ecstatic for your listeners to get to know him too.

When the gates finally come into view, they still take your breath away. Bill whistles. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this place."

"Me either, Bill, me either."

When Bill parks the car, you step out and as you make your way toward the main entrance, you rehearse your opening in your head.

Relax. Listen. And let the conversation go wherever it wants.

The front door opens before you even have a chance to knock.

Michael stands there in dark jeans, a loose white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and a warm smile that immediately dissolves the tension in your shoulders.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi."

His eyes flick down to your hands. "You're missing something."

You blink, a bit confused. "What?"

Without saying a word, he steps aside and you notice that sitting on the entry table is a cardboard drink carrier with two drinks: one that you presume to be tea and the other a coffee topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and caramel drizzle.

Your vanilla latte from Studio 28 Café. Exactly the way you order it.

You stare at it before looking back up at him. "You actually drove all the way to Studio 28?"

Michael suddenly looks bashful, a blush forming on his cheeks. "You said it was your favourite."

"You remembered every detail." You say, stunned that he actually took the time to get it for you.

He shrugs, trying (and failing) to act casual. "I told you, I wasn't memorizing it."

You raise an eyebrow. "Liar."

A sheepish smile spreads across his face. "Okay, maybe I was."

You shake your head, unable to hide your smile as you enter and pick up the cup. "It's still warm."

"I had someone pick it up about twenty minutes before you got here," Michael admits. "I wanted it to be fresh."

"You planned this?"

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated by the floor. "Maybe."

"Michael."

"What?"

"That's incredibly sweet."

His cheeks tint pink. "I just wanted you to have one less thing to think about today."

You hadn't expected such a thoughtful gesture over something as small as a coffee order. But it tells you more about Michael than any magazine headline ever could. He paid attention: not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

Bill clears his throat from behind you. "I don't mean to interrupt this adorable moment," he says with a grin, "but I've got equipment to unload."

Both you and Michael immediately look away, embarrassed.

"Right," you mumble.

Michael laughs quietly. "I'll help."

A few minutes later, the three of you have transformed one of Neverland's cozy sitting rooms into a makeshift recording studio. A cream-coloured sofa sits opposite two matching armchairs as sunlight spills through the tall windows overlooking the gardens, where you can just make out the tops of the carousel and Ferris wheel in the distance.

You set your recorder on the coffee table and carefully attach microphones to their stands.

Michael kneels beside one of the microphone cables. "Does this go here?"

You glance over. "No, but thank you."

"I tried."

"You did, I appreciate it."

Bill smirks. "I've never seen him take directions this well."

Michael playfully glares at him. "I can hear you."

"I know."

The easy teasing fills the room. It's different from the tense atmosphere you'd expected surrounding someone as famous as Michael Jackson. There's no assistants rushing around and no publicists hovering nearby. However, as if on cue, Frank pokes his head into the room. "Do either of you need anything before I disappear?"

"We're good," Michael says.

Frank looks between the two of you, noticing the matching cups in your hands, and grins knowingly. "I'll leave you to it."

"Frank," Michael warns.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Chuckling to himself, Frank disappears down the hallway. The room grows quiet again as you finish connecting everything. You finish checking your levels and slip on your headphones. "Okay," you say. "Would you mind saying something for me?"

Michael sits across from you and leans toward the microphone. "Something."

You roll your eyes. "Real mature."

"You didn't specify."

You adjust one of the dials. "Fine. Count to ten."

Michael obediently begins. "One... two... three..."

His speaking voice is softer through the headphones than you'd expected. It's warm and gentle, and it makes you blush.

"...eight... nine... ten."

You make a few adjustments. "Perfect."

He watches you curiously.

"What?" You ask, tilting your head slightly.

"You look different."

Your hands pause over the recorder. "Different how?"

"When you're working."

You blink.

"I don't know." He tilts his head thoughtfully. "You're...quieter."

"I usually am."

"No." He smiles. "You're confident."

The observation catches you off guard. "I've never really thought about it."

"I have."

You meet his eyes across from you, and you see how sincere he is as he continues to speak. "The second you started setting everything up," he says, "it was like you weren't nervous anymore."

He isn't wrong. The butterflies from the excitement that had followed you all morning had vanished the moment you'd started plugging in cables and checking sound levels. Behind the microphone, everything made sense.

"I guess this is my safe place," you admit.

"The microphone?"

You nod.

"It gives people permission."

"Permission?"

"To slow down."

You glance around the room. "When people know they're being interviewed for television, they perform."

Michael nods almost instinctively.

"But when it's just voices, people listen differently. They imagine instead of judge."

His expression grows thoughtful. "That's beautiful."

"It's why I started the podcast." You take one last sip of your latte, set the empty cup on the table beside your recorder, and glance down at the small index card you'd brought with you.

Three questions.

Michael notices it. "Is that your whole interview?"

You smile. "It was."

"Was?"

You look back up at him. "I'm not so sure anymore."

His eyebrows lift. "Why not?"

"Because after talking to you the past couple of days..."

You switch on the recorder, and the small red light flickers to life between you.

"...I think I'd rather find out where the conversation wants to go."

The recorder hums quietly, its reels beginning to turn.

You let the silence exist for a few seconds. It's something you've learned over the past two years since starting your podcast: the most honest conversations often begin in the spaces where no one rushes to fill the quiet.

"Welcome back to Off the Record." Your voice naturally settles into the calm tone millions of listeners have come to know.

"I'm here today with someone who probably needs absolutely no introduction."

Michael chuckles across from you.

"But, introductions usually tell us what someone has accomplished. So please join me in welcoming Michael Jackson."

Michael glances at the microphone, then back at you with a smile. "It's an honour to be here, I'm a big fan of your podcast."

You smile back at him. "The honour is all mine. I do have one rule though before we start."

"I'm listening."

"If there's a question you don't want to answer, just say so."

He looks at you with surprise. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"No follow-up or trying to convince me?"

You shake your head. "If you tell me something is off-limits, it stays off-limits."

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for the catch.

"There isn't any catch," you say, reading his expression.

His shoulders visibly relax. "Thank you."

You nod once before leaning toward your microphone. "Whenever you're ready."

Michael inhales slowly, and nods at you, ready for the first question. You glance at the recorder, then back to him. "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Who are you when no one's watching?"

Michael lets out a quiet laugh that doesn't quite become a smile.

"That's a hell of a first question."

"It is, that's why I wanted to ask you."

He looks past you instead of at you, eyes settling on the window where both of your reflections hover faintly over the glass.

"When no one's watching..." he repeats. "I don't know if anybody's ever asked me that."

"They are now." You say with a smile.

He rubs his thumb against the seam of his cup, buying himself another second. "I think..." He exhales. "I think I'm tired."

You wait.

"Not physically. Well, physically too. But I mean..." He searches for the words carefully, like they're hidden somewhere beneath years of rehearsed answers. "People know versions of me. The one that's useful. The one that's dependable. The one that's funny enough to keep things light. The one that's got everything under control."

"And when no one's watching?"

"None of those guys stick around." His eyes finally meet yours.

"It's just me. Quiet. Usually making tea I forget to drink. Reading the same page three times because my brain wandered somewhere else. Wondering if I made the right choices. Wondering if the people I love actually know me, or if they just know the version that's easiest to love."

You pause before answering. "That sounds lonely."

"It can be."

"You said 'versions.' Is the real one different?"

Michael considers the question longer this time. "I don't think the real one's different." He shakes his head. "I think he's smaller."

"Smaller?"

"Less impressive." A faint smile flickers across his face. "He talks to himself. He apologizes to furniture after bumping into it. He cries at documentaries about old dogs. He worries he'll disappoint people. He gets scared."

"You make that sound like a flaw."

"I spent a long time thinking it was."

"And now?"

"Now..." He leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "Now I think that's probably the only version that's actually mine."

You glance down at your notes but don't write anything. "So, who are you when no one's watching?"

Michael looks at the recorder, then back at you. "I'm someone who's still trying to figure out if being enough is something you become, or something you finally stop arguing against." He smiles, small but genuine.

You nod and reach for your coffee out of habit before remembering you'd already finished it.

Michael notices. "You drank it."

"I did."

"Was it right?"

You laugh softly. "You seriously want a review in the middle of the interview?"

"I worked very hard arranging that coffee."

"It was perfect."

He beams. "I knew extra caramel was the right choice."

"You added extra caramel?"

"You seem like someone who deserves extra caramel."

You shake your head, smiling. "I don't even know how to respond to that."

"You don't have to." Michael says with a smile.

The tension dissolves for a moment. It's subtle, but you notice how naturally he moves between seriousness and playfulness: as though humor is the bridge he uses to return from difficult places.

You make a mental note of it for yourself.

"Can I ask you something?" he says suddenly.

"You just did."

He points at you. "See? That's exactly what I mean when I keep telling you I wanted to meet you."

You laugh. "Go ahead."

He shifts in his chair. "Why radio?"

You blink. "What do you mean?"

"You're good at this." He gestures around the room. "You could have your own television show."

"I've been offered."

"And?"

"I turned it down."

"Why?"

You think for a moment. "I like that people can't see us. They have to listen and not judge."

His expression softens.

"Exactly."

You nod. "I think voices tell the truth before faces do."

Michael sits with that thought for a moment. Then, almost absentmindedly, he says, "I wish more people believed that."

You glance at the recorder. It isn't even twenty minutes into the interview, but you've already forgotten about your three questions. You let another quiet moment settle before speaking again.

"Can I ask you something a little personal?"

Michael smiles. "I thought that was the whole point."

"It is."

He nods once. "Go ahead."

You glance down at your index card, your thumb brushing over the second question.

"What makes you feel safe?"

His smile fades, but not because he's upset: rather, you can tell he's taking the question seriously. He doesn't answer immediately. Outside, you can hear faint laughter from somewhere on the grounds.

Michael listens to it before he speaks. "Children."

The answer comes so quietly you almost miss it.

"They've always made me feel safe. They don't ask for explanations." He folds his hands together. "They don't care who I am or how many records I've sold or what the newspapers are saying about me. If they like you, they just like you." He shrugs, a small smile returning to his face. “They'll ask you the most random things, for example: they ask me why do I wear hats all the time."

"You do wear a lot of hats." You say with a laugh.

"I know." He says, laughing along with you.

"They're not wrong."

"They're very observant and very honest." His grin widens.

"Exactly."

The lightheartedness lingers for a beat before he grows thoughtful again. "When I was little," he says, "I used to think adults had everything figured out."

"And now?" You say.

He lets out a quiet laugh. "I think most adults are just children who've gotten better at pretending."

You nod slowly. "I've met a few of those."

"So have I."

You notice how relaxed he looks now compared to when you'd first turned on the recorder. His shoulders aren't as tense and one of his ankles is resting casually over the opposite knee.

It reminds you why you started Off the Record in the first place. You wanted to make people forget they were being interviewed at all.

"You built Neverland because of that, didn't you?" you ask gently.

His eyes drift toward the window. "I built it because I wanted a place where I didn't have to grow up all the time." He smiles wistfully. "When I was a kid, work came first. Rehearsals. Recording. Touring. I don't regret it though, I love making music."

"But?"

"But I missed things."

He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't have to.

"So I suppose..." He glances out toward the amusement rides again. "I suppose this place is my way of keeping a promise to the little boy who never really got to be one."

It's the kind of answer you know that your listeners will remember long after the episode ends, because it's heartbreakingly simple and true to what he had to endure all these years.

You decide not to chase the answer with another difficult question. Instead, you smile. "Okay."

He looks back at you, surprised. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I missed?"

"If you wanted to tell me, you would have."

He studies you for a second before letting out a soft chuckle. "You really mean it."

"What?"

"You don't force people."

"I don't think honesty responds well to being cornered."

He smiles at you. "That's exactly why I wanted to do this."

You feel warmth creep into your cheeks. "Well...I'm glad you did."

"So am I."

Michael suddenly leans forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. "My turn."

You look at him, confused. "Your turn?"

"You've been asking all the questions."

"That's usually how interviews work."

"Not this one." He folds his arms with mock seriousness. "I'd like equal opportunity."

You laugh. "Fine."

He pretends to think very hard. "Hmm..."

"Oh no."

"What?"

"That face means you're about to ask something impossible."

"I've got it." He smiles triumphantly. "What makes you feel safe?"

Your mouth opens. "You stole my question!"

"I borrowed it."

"You absolutely stole it."

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

You narrow your eyes. "Using my own rule against me?"

"I'm learning from the best."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. "You clearly are."

The smile lingers as you think. Unlike him, you don't have years of media training to fall back on.

Finally, you speak.

"My grandpa."

Michael's expression softens immediately.

You smile to yourself. "He raised me, and he was the first person who taught me that listening is more important than talking."

You glance down at your hands as you continue to answer. "When I was little, if I had a bad day, he'd never jump in with advice. He'd just sit with me until I was ready to tell him what happened."

Michael listens intently.

"I think that's where all of this started." You gesture toward the microphones. "I realized people don't open up because someone asks the perfect question. They open up because someone makes them feel like they don't have to rush."

A quiet smile spreads across Michael's face. "Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man."

"He is."

"And your grandmother?"

You laugh. "She thinks everyone leaves my podcast sounding like they've accidentally been to therapy."

Michael bursts into laughter, throwing his head back. "Oh, she's absolutely right."

"I know."

"You should invite your grandmother onto the next podcast episode we do."

"Oh?"

"So she can explain how she knew exactly what was going to happen to me."

You grin. "I'll see if she's available."

"You'd better."

The interview keeps going, and you ask Michael questions about his album Invincible and the creative process, which he happily talks to you about. He lights up as he describes the late nights in the studio and the songs he rewrote countless times before they finally felt right. Every answer comes with an easy smile and the occasional laugh, his passion for music making it impossible not to smile along with him.

After a while, you glance at the recorder's timer and notice that just over an hour has passed. There are still questions on your index card that haven't been asked, ones that you quickly added as backup as the interview went on. But as you’re sitting here with Michael, you realize you don’t need to ask anymore questions, except for the final one

What do you hope people remember?

You almost don't ask it, but you decide it's worth hearing the answer in his own words.

"One last question."

Michael straightens slightly. "This is the last one?"

"I promised I wouldn't keep you all day."

"I wouldn't have minded." The words leave his mouth so naturally that it causes you to blush.

“I mean-”

“I know what you meant.”

“Good.”

A faint blush creeps across his cheeks anyway, causing you to smile at his reaction.

“When all of this,” You gesture vaguely, encompassing everything from the room to the world outside it. “is over. The records, the tours, the awards...”

His expression grows thoughtful.

“What do you hope people remember?”

Unlike the other questions, this one doesn't seem to surprise him. It's almost as though he's been carrying the answer for years.

“I hope...” he begins quietly, “I hope that they remember I tried to make people happy."

He looks down at his hands. “Music can do that. A song can stay with someone after a bad day.” Then he looks back at you.

"I hope the people who actually knew me” His voice softens, as he slightly hesitates. “I hope they remember that I tried to be kind."

Kind.

Not legendary or iconic.

But kind.

You know in that moment, that’s all you need.

“Well, I think that perfectly captures this episode. Thank you for listening to Off The Record, and I’ll talk to you all in the next episode.”

You reach forward and press the stop button, watching as the red recording light disappears.

“That's it?” Michael asks.

“That's it.”

He exhales, almost laughing. “I think that's the shortest interview I've ever done.”

“It was also the longest conversation.”

He smiles. “I suppose it was.”

You begin unclipping the microphones from their stands and look at Michael.

He stands up and looks at you. “Y/N...thank you. Doing this, it's made me realize that this is what I've been missing from interviews all these years. I just needed someone to listen to me and not judge me. You're truly wonderful at this and I can tell this was your life's purpose." He says with a heartwarming smile.

You feel a blush form on your cheeks at the unexpected praise, and you let out a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. "Thank you, Michael. That... honestly means more than you know." You reach over to put the microphone away. "I just wanted to make sure people got to hear you, not just the headlines or the rehearsed answers."

Michael nods thoughtfully, slipping his hands into his pockets. "That's exactly what you did." He pauses for a moment before adding, "Most interviews feel like they're racing toward the next soundbite. While this," He gestures between the two of you with a small smile. "felt like a conversation."

You smile. "Then I did my job well."

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Packing up takes longer than setting everything up, because neither of you seem particularly eager to rush.

Michael coils one of the microphone cables with surprising care.

"You do this often?" you ask.

"I've wrapped enough guitar cables in my life."

"I was going to compliment your technique."

He grins, handing you the cable. "I'll take it."

When everything has finally been packed away, you lift the recorder case off the coffee table. But before you can get very far, Michael reaches for it, brushing his hand against yours. The contact is brief, almost accidental, yet neither of you pull away immediately. You look up at him to meet his gaze, his brown eyes filled with something you can't quite explain. His fingers linger for just a heartbeat before he gently takes the case from your grasp.

"Let me get that for you," he says quietly, offering a small, genuine smile. "It's the least I can do after everything today."

You hesitate before nodding, returning the smile. "Thanks."

He smiles with quiet satisfaction and continues carrying the case toward the front of the house. You and Michael walk side by side toward the front entrance while Bill loads the equipment into the car a short distance away.

Michael sets down the recorder case and turns to you. "I was worried."

"About today?"

He nods. "I thought I'd spend the whole interview wondering if I was saying the right thing."

"And?"

"I forgot there was a microphone."

You smile. "That's the highest compliment you could give me."

"I mean it."

He steps a bit closer to you, so close that you can see the sincerity in his eyes. "I've never forgotten the microphone before."

The words settle somewhere deep inside you. "Thank you."

"No." He shakes his head. "Thank you."

Bill closes the trunk with a solid thud. "Whenever you're ready," he calls.

You nod, but neither you nor Michael moves. Michael slips his hands into his pockets.

"So..."

"So."

"I guess this is it, until the next episode."

"Well, I might have to bother you while I'm editing this episode."

He smiles, looking down at you. "You'd never bother me, Y/N."

You smile and look down, feeling flustered at his words. "Even someone that you barely know?"

He pauses for a moment. "I don't feel like I barely know you."

"Neither do I."

The admission hangs gently between you. A breeze stirs through the trees lining the driveway, lifting a loose strand of your hair across your face.

Before you can brush it away, Michael instinctively reaches toward you.

His hand stops halfway.

The movement is so quick, so unconscious, that you know he hadn't even thought about it. He catches himself. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I..." He glances at his suspended hand before lowering it awkwardly. "I wasn't thinking."

You understand immediately. You tuck the strand behind your own ear and offer him a small smile.

"It's okay."

His shoulders ease, though he still looks embarrassed.

"I just..." He laughs quietly at himself. "I wanted to move your hair out of your eyes."

Your heart gives an inconvenient little flutter. "I figured."

You both stand still for a few moments, until Bill's voice drifts over from the car. "If I leave without you, don't blame me."

You both laugh. "I should go." You say.

"You should."

Neither of you move. Then, finally, you take a step backward. "I'll call you when I've finished editing."

"I'll be waiting."

You smile. "I believe you."

As you turn toward the car, Michael calls after you.

"Y/N?"

You look back.

He hesitates, almost as if he's reconsidering saying it. "I'm really glad you came."

The simplicity of it makes your chest ache. "So am I."

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When you get home, you unpack your things. As you put away the recorder case, your index card from the podcast slips out and falls to the floor.

You pick it up, and on it are still the three questions you brought with you. Except now, beneath the last one, written in neat black ink that definitely wasn't there this morning, is a single sentence.

I hope they remember that I tried to be kind.

You stare at the handwriting for a long moment, and then you smile.

He must've picked up the card while you were packing the equipment away, and he didn't crossed out your question: he'd simply answered it.

That one sentence makes you smile, and it makes you look forward to talking to him again.

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When you started your podcast, people always expected it to be loud, kind of like you. They expected confrontations, big headlines and carefully edited clips designed to go viral by the next morning.

However, Off the Record has become famous for its raw and real conversations. You valued the cozy vibes that you offered, putting your communications degree to good use and making a safe space for your guests. Each episode was filled with long conversations that gave everyone the room to exist without feeling like they had to defend themselves or put up a wall.

Your podcast started out with rising stars and then quickly started to host B-list celebrities, but now that it's so popular you've started hosting people such as Britney Spears and Beyonce. You couldn't believe the warm reception that your passion project has gotten, but you were eternally grateful.

It's a hot summer day in Los Angeles as you get up and start your coffee machine in the kitchen of your one bedroom apartment. When your coffee is ready, you decide to check your emails to see if any new celebrities have asked to sit down for an episode of your podcast. You usually get your communications team (namely, your best friend Y/B/N who joined your podcast team a year ago) to check, but you enjoy sipping your coffee and seeing them for yourself sometimes.

You grab your fresh coffee and head to your office space. You log into your computer and click on your inbox. As you scroll through, you see a few emails, like a joint email from Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan's teams about doing a teen-focused episode and one from Leonardo DiCaprio's team about his upcoming projects - but you stop at one from very early this morning and your eyes nearly pop out.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Michael Jackson Podcast Appearance Date: July 21st, 2002 Time: 3:21 AM

Dear Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Jackson has been listening to your work on Off The Record for quite some time. He'd be honoured to be a guest, if you're willing to fit him within your schedule. Best, Frank Cascio PR Manager for Mr. Michael Jackson

You stare at your computer screen for nearly five minutes. Michael Jackson? The Michael Jackson wants to be on YOUR podcast? You almost feel like it's some elaborate prank, until you look at the second email that came in about an hour ago.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: Michael Jackson Podcast Appearance Date: July 21st, 2002 Time: 8:33 AM

Dear Miss Y/L/N, Our apologies for the very early email before. I was speaking with Mr. Jackson and he would love to do a couple of episodes with you. Looking forward to hearing your response. Best, Frank Cascio PR Manager for Mr. Michael Jackson

You were stunned. Michael Jackson wants to do more than one episode with you???

Taking in deep breaths, you knew you had to take this opportunity, you'd be insane not to. But how could you keep your composure in front of your childhood idol? You would have to though, your reputation depended on it.

With shaky hands, you type a response to Michael's PR manager.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: Michael Jackson Podcast Appearance Date: July 21st, 2002 Time: 9:48 AM

Dear Mr. Cascio, Thank you very much for reaching out. I would be deeply honoured to do a couple of episodes with Mr. Jackson. Please let Mr. Jackson know that I am flexible and can host the episodes wherever he feels comfortable at. Best, Y/N Host and Founder, Off The Record Podcast

You get up to start your breakfast, but almost immediately, a new email comes through.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: Michael Jackson Podcast Appearance Date: July 21st, 2002 Time: 9:49 AM

Dear Miss Y/L/N, Great! How about we meet this week at Mr. Jackson's Neverland Ranch to discuss logistics? We will send a car to transport you to the residence. Best, Frank Cascio PR Manager for Mr. Michael Jackson

You reply to Mr. Cascio's email saying that the timing works for you, and you turn off your computer, unable to pay attention to any other inquiries for the day. You were really about to meet Michael Jackson.

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A few days later, a car arrives outside your apartment building to take you to Neverland Ranch.

On the way, you spend the entire 45 minute car ride rehearsing questions and preparing yourself mentally to meet the King of Pop. When the car pulls into the estate, you audibly gasp. Lush gardens line the mansion and you can see the various rides that make up the theme park further on the property.

The driver - who you recognized immediately when you were at your apartment as Bill, Michael's longtime security guard and friend - opens the car door for you. You step out, smoothing the front of your jean skirt and pulling your jean jacket over your shirt.

As you step up to the front door, it opens before you can even knock. Michael stands there, smiling warmly. "There you are!"

It's such an ordinary greeting that it catches you off guard.

He looks nothing like the larger-than-life figure that's printed across magazine covers. His hair is framing his face softly, a navy shirt replacing the glittering jackets the world associates him with. Thin reading glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, and there's a well-loved novel tucked beneath one arm.

He seems peaceful. And extremely handsome.

"I'm Michael, it's nice to meet you." he says, extending a hand with a shy smile.

"As if I need the introduction." You say, blushing and taking his extended hand.

His laugh is quiet and almost sounds like he's slightly embarrassed. "I suppose that's fair." Michael's handshake is gentle, almost hesitant, like he's never quite gotten used to introductions despite decades of being recognized everywhere he goes. "Come in." He says, gesturing for you to come inside.

The entrance hall somehow feels less like a celebrity mansion and more like someone's home. Sunlight pours through enormous windows, catching polished wooden floors and shelves filled with books. There are framed drawings from his children hanging beside expensive artwork, and fresh flowers sit in nearly every room.

You expected grandeur, but instead you notice the warmth that his home brings. Michael notices you looking around. "I know people expect..." He gestures vaguely. "Something different."

"They probably expect gold statues and peacocks walking through the living room." You say jokingly.

"I mean..." He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "There are peacocks."

As if on cue, one lets out a dramatic cry somewhere outside. You can't help but laugh. "So that's one point to the tabloids."

"They're occasionally right." He says, grinning.

The ice between you dissolves almost instantly. As you both walk and continue to chat, Frank appears from another room carrying a folder. "Y/N! You made it." He smiles politely before handing Michael several papers. "Just the scheduling options."

Michael barely glances at them before setting them on a nearby table. "Later."

Frank gives him an amused look. "You've been talking about this interview for three weeks."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have." Frank says, smirking

Michael gives a playful glare to Frank. "Frank..."

"You made me listen to six episodes."

"They're good episodes."

"You quoted one of them."

"I did not."

"You quoted the communication boundaries episode yesterday." Frank says matter-of-factly.

Michael sighs while you stand there trying not to laugh. "I walked into that one."

"You really did." Frank turns toward you, giving you a smile. "I'll leave you two to it."

After he disappears, Michael rubs a hand over his face. "I promise I'm not usually this embarrassing."

"I don't know," you smile. "I think it humanizes you."

He looks at you for a second before smiling in return. "See? That's exactly why I wanted to meet you."

The comment catches you by surprise. "What do you mean?"

He motions for you to follow him down a hallway toward what appears to be a sunroom.

"I've done..." He pauses as soon as the both of you enter the sunroom, thinking. "Thousands of interviews."

"I can imagine, everyone wants to talk to the King of Pop." You reply.

"They're usually about records, sales, rumours." He shrugs, putting his book down on a coffee table. "Or they already have the story they want before I even sit down."

His voice isn't bitter, but you can tell that he's tired of how the media spins the narrative about him. "They ask me a question." He sits in an armchair near a wall of windows overlooking the gardens. "But they aren't listening to the answer I give them."

You settle onto the sofa opposite him. "I notice that."

"You do?" He asks, shocked that you picked up on it.

"I notice how journalists interview people, it helps me be mindful of how to ask questions to guests on my podcast...and with you, most interviewers interrupt you a lot."

His eyebrows lift, waiting for you to continue.

"You answer one question, and they're already onto the next."

"Exactly." He says, sounding relieved that you understand him. He looks at you and says "The episode with Britney..."

You blink. "You listened to that one too?"

"I've listened to all of them."

"...All of them?"

He nods. "You asked her what made her feel happiest when no one was watching."

You remember the question immediately.

"She said driving with the windows down." He continues. "And singing badly."

You smile. "You really did listen."

"I liked that you didn't ask her about the headlines."

"I figured she'd answered those enough." You say with a shrug.

He nods slowly. "I thought..." He hesitates, searching for the words. "I thought if someone asked me something like that..." His eyes drift toward the gardens outside. "...I might actually remember who I am for an hour."

The room grows very still, but you don't rush to answer him. One of the first things you'd learned while studying communications was that people often kept talking if you gave them space.

"I don't mean Michael Jackson." He then says quietly, continuing his thoughts.

You stay silent.

"I mean Michael." He lets out a small laugh. "I don't know if that makes sense."

"It makes perfect sense."

His eyes meet yours. "You didn't answer immediately."

"I wasn't supposed to." You say, a smile forming on your lips.

He tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You were still talking, and I was listening to what you had to say."

A smile slowly spreads across his face. "...Nobody usually does that with me." Then he says, "I think we're going to make a good couple of podcast episodes together."

Your smile widens. "I think so too."

Suddenly, he snaps his fingers. "Oh! I forgot something, give me a moment." He stands and disappears down the hallway before returning less than a minute later carrying a stack of CDs. "I made you something."

"...You made me something?" You ask, shocked that Michael Jackson would make something for you.

"I didn't know what music you liked." He sets the stack on the coffee table, rubbing the back of his neck. "So I made several."

You stare at them, and notice that each jewel case has neat handwritten labels.

Driving.

Rainy Days.

Books.

Happy Songs.

Late Nights.

"You...made playlists for me?" You ask, looking up at him.

"I wasn't sure which one you'd like."

You're completely speechless. "This is..." You pick up one of the cases. "...possibly the nicest gift anyone's ever given me."

His smile turns bashful. "I like making people mixtapes."

"You realize you're Michael Jackson."

He shrugs. "I also own a lot of CDs."

You laugh so hard you nearly have to set them back down. For the first time since arriving, you've stopped seeing the icon sitting across from you. Instead, you see someone who's thoughtful, slightly shy, curious, and surprisingly funny.

You have a feeling that your audience is about to meet this version of him, too: the one that very few people ever get the chance to know.

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