L 🦋

ever since the four of them became inseparable, life had been a non-stop blur of shared closets, inside jokes, and endless group chats. the three sisters felt less like friends and more like a second family to her, the kind of bond where she could walk into their house without knocking. whether they were doing late-night drive-thrus, cramming for exams together, or just gossiping on their bedroom floor, they were her absolute safe haven.

so, when they called her to pack a bag for an official, old-school sleepover, she didn't hesitate.

the moment she knocked on their front door, it swung open before she could even drop her duffel bag. all three sisters were already waiting in the entryway, a chaotic flurry of matching oversized hoodies and messy buns. a deafening chorus of squeals and high-pitched "oh my god, you're finally here!" echoed through the hall as they instantly pulled her into a massive, suffocating group hug. the energy in the house was instantly magnetic and bubbling over with excitement. music was already blasting faintly from upstairs, the warm scent of freshly baked cookies drifted from the kitchen, and pillows were scattered all over the living room floor. they immediately grabbed her hands, dragging her inside while talking all at once about the movies they were going to watch, completely ready for the perfect night in.

"oh my god, finally!" latoya squealed, practically ripping the duffel bag out of her hands the second she stepped through the door. "we've been waiting for literally hours, i swear Janet was about to eat the raw cookie dough."

"i was not!" janet yelled from the top of the stairs, running down in her oversized sweatshirt and nearly slipping on the hardwood floor. she threw her arms around her, squeezing tight. "ignore her. i'm so glad you're here. we have so much to talk about, you have no idea."

rebbie walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel with a huge smile on her face. "okay girls, let her breathe first! but seriously, come inside. the kitchen is fully stocked, the blankets are already set up in the room, and we are not sleeping until at least four am."

"more like five," latoya corrected, linking her arm through hers and pulling her toward the stairs. "come on, let's go put your stuff in my room. we need to pick out which pajamas you're wearing tonight, i bought matching ones for all of us!"

she followed latoya up the stairs, the familiar wooden steps creaking beneath their feet as janet trailed closely behind, already buzzing about the playlist she had spent the last two hours curating. the warmth of the house wrapped around her like a blanket, completely erasing whatever stress she had carried in with her.

"wait, wait, wait," janet said, catching up to them at the top of the landing and gently grabbing her shoulder to spin her around. "before we even look at the pajamas, you have to tell us everything. did you see him today? did he say anything?"

latoya tossed the duffel bag onto her unmade bed and spun around, her eyes wide with instant anticipation. "oh my god, yes! please tell me there is tea. i've been dying for an update all week."

she couldn't help but laugh, feeling her cheeks flush slightly under their intense, eager gazes. before she could even answer, rebbie walked into the bedroom holding a giant bowl of warm popcorn, looking at her two younger sisters with an amused shake of her head.

"let her sit down first, you two are like vultures," rebbie teased, though she quickly set the bowl on the nightstand and sat cross-legged on the edge of the mattress, leaning in. "but seriously... spill. we want details."

she giggled, kicking off her socks and hopping onto the bed, curling her legs underneath her. "ugh okay, okay, fine! so, i was walking down the hallway earlier, right? and he was just standing there by his locker, looking ridiculously handsome as usual. and then, out of nowhere, he actually looked up, smiled right at me, and said hi."

"no way!" janet gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth as she leaned in closer. "did he just say hi, or was it like... a meaningful hi?"

"it was totally a meaningful hi," latoya insisted, nodding her head vigorously. "i'm telling you, he definitely has a crush on her. the vibe is so obvious."

outside in the hallway, michael was just walking past the half-open bedroom door, holding a glass of juice. hearing the sudden burst of high-pitched squeals and his sisters' frantic whispering, he paused. he leaned his shoulder against the wall for just two seconds, a quiet, amused smirk growing on his face as he listened to them completely over-analyze the whole interaction.

"i swear, you guys are making a big deal out of nothing," she blushed, tossing a piece of popcorn at latoya. "he was probably just being polite! and i don’t even like him !"

michael shook his head, biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud at how dramatic his sisters were being. before anyone could notice him standing there, he quietly stepped away from the door and headed back downstairs, leaving the girls to their endless gossip.

"okay, enough gossip for a second, we need to get into character," latoya declared, jumping up from the bed and throwing open her closet doors. "pajama time!"

she and janet started rummaging through the shelves, tossing pairs of silk, flannel, and oversized t-shirts onto the floor. "wait, where is that new set we bought last week?" janet asked, digging through a drawer. "the one we said would look absolutely perfect on her?"

"oh, i found it!" latoya squealed, pulling out a matching set from the very back.

she handed it over, and when she held it up, her eyes widened. it was an incredibly cute, soft pastel-colored set, but the shorts were definitely on the shorter side, and the matching camisole top had dainty little lace edges.

"oh my god, yes! it's literally so adorable," janet gasped, clapping her hands together. "you have to wear this one tonight, it's going to look so cute on you!"

rebbie looked over from the bed and laughed, nodding in agreement. "it really is super cute. go try it on in the bathroom, let's see!"

she held the soft fabric in her hands, feeling a little shy but completely loving how pretty it was. "alright, alright, i'll go change," she said, giggling as she grabbed the tiny pajama set and headed out into the hallway toward the bathroom.

she slipped into the bathroom and quickly changed, checking her reflection in the mirror. the fabric was incredibly soft, and the pastel color looked absolutely perfect against her skin. when she turned around to look at the shorts, she realized they were definitely a little shorter than what she usually wore, hugging her curves perfectly, while the lace camisole top sat delicately on her shoulders. it was the perfect mix of super cute and a little bit playful. she unlocked the door and stepped back into the bedroom, feeling a tiny bit shy but smiling.

the moment she walked in, latoya and janet literally stopped what they were doing and gasped.

"oh my god, stop it right now!" janet squealed, jumping off the bed. "it looks even better than I thought it would! it fits you perfectly!"

"i knew it!" latoya cheered, clapping her hands and doing a little victory dance. "it is so incredibly cute on you! look at you, you look amazing!"

rebbie smiled warmly, nodding in total agreement. "it really does look gorgeous on you. see? i told you it would suit you perfectly. now come sit back down, we need to pick the first movie!"

"okay, fine, i'll keep them on," she giggled, smoothing down the soft fabric of her shorts. "but before we start any movie, i'm going to grab some more popcorn from the kitchen. we're already almost out."

"good idea, bring the soda too!" janet called out as she curled up under a pile of blankets.

she stepped out of the bedroom and back into the quiet hallway. the house was peaceful compared to the chaotic energy upstairs, with only the dim lights illuminating her way down the stairs. her bare feet made no sound against the wooden steps as she made her way toward the kitchen, completely unaware of anything else, just focused on grabbing the snacks for their perfect night in.

she stepped into the brightly lit kitchen, her bare feet padding softly against the cold linoleum floor. the room was quiet, a stark contrast to the giggly chaos upstairs. she walked over to the counter, reaching for the bag of popcorn kernels, completely unaware that she wasn't alone.

when she turned around, her heart skipped a beat.

michael was standing by the refrigerator, holding a glass of ice water. he had been in the middle of taking a sip, but the moment his eyes landed on her, he paused, his eyes widening just a fraction in sheer surprise.

the kitchen suddenly felt incredibly small, the air thick with an instant, unexpected wave of tension. michael’s gaze drifted down, taking in the sight of her in the pastel pajamas. the short shorts fully exposed her legs, and the delicate lace camisole sat softly against her collarbones, making her look both incredibly sweet and devastatingly pretty. a sudden, genuine blush crept up michael's own neck, his throat going completely dry as he quickly looked back up, looking incredibly flustered by the sight.

a soft, warm flush crept up her neck and rushed into her cheeks as well. she suddenly felt hyper-aware of how short the pajamas actually were, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"oh... hey, michael," she murmured, her voice a little softer and breathier than she intended, breaking the quiet stillness of the room.

michael slowly lowered his glass, his hand shaking just a tiny bit as he tried to clear his throat. a shy, slightly nervous smile played at the corner of his lips, completely replacing his usual composure. his voice was deep and smooth, but had a soft, hesitant edge to it that sent a tiny shiver down her spine. "hey. i thought you guys were upstairs planning a movie marathon."

"we are," she said, holding the popcorn bowl in front of her like a shield, though it didn't do much to hide how perfectly the fabric hugged her waist. "i just... came down to get some more snacks. we ran out."

"i see," michael murmured, taking a slow, almost cautious step forward to place his glass on the counter. he closed the distance between them just enough for her to catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne, though his eyes nervously flicked away for a second before locking back onto hers. he held her gaze with an intense, quiet curiosity that made her breath catch in her throat. "those are... nice pajamas. are they new?"

her cheeks burned even hotter. "um, yeah. latoya and janet picked them out for me."

"well," michael replied, his voice dropping a pitch, his fingers nervously tapping against the counter as a heavy, passive undertone filled the space between them. his eyes flicked down to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her gaze again, his shy smile widening just a fraction as his own cheeks turned a light pink. "they have good taste. it suits you really well."

"thanks," she whispered, completely trapped under his gaze, the unspoken tension between them practically vibrating in the quiet kitchen.

michael let the silence stretch for one more intoxicating second, looking completely captivated and a little breathless himself, before he finally broke the spell. he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief, electric moment as he tapped the side of her popcorn bowl, his gaze dropping shyly. "you better get back upstairs before they come looking for you. janet gets impatient."

"right. yeah," she breathed, giving him a shy, lingering smile as she quickly turned to head back to the stairs, her heart racing a mile a minute while his eyes softly followed her all the way out of the room.

michael walked down the hallway toward his own bedroom, the cold glass of water in his hand completely forgotten as his mind replayed the scene in the kitchen over and over again.

he couldn't shake the image of her standing under the warm kitchen lights. the sight of her in those pastel pajamas had completely caught him off guard, making his heart do a strange, sudden flip in his chest. a deep, intense blush rushed right back into his cheeks in the dark just thinking about how those short shorts had highlighted the soft curves of her legs, and he quickly covered his face with his hands, feeling incredibly flustered.

"oh god, michael, stop it," he muttered to himself, taking a deep, shaky breath.

he knew he shouldn't be thinking about her like that. she was his sisters' absolute best friend, practically a part of the family, and she was only upstairs for a fun, innocent sleepover. it felt so wrong to have his mind racing over how pretty she looked or how delicate the lace on her top was. he climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over his shoulders, determined to just close his eyes and force himself to think about literally anything else.

but the harder he tried to ignore it, the more his mind kept drifting back to the kitchen. he replayed the way her voice had gotten all soft and nervous when she whispered his name, and how his own hands had been slightly shaking when he set his glass down. he rolled over, burying his face in his pillow with a quiet, frustrated groan. he was completely captivated, and no matter how much his shy, guilty conscience told him to stop, his heart was still pounding a mile a minute at the memory of her lingering smile.

back upstairs, the bedroom doors slammed shut behind her, and the quiet, tense atmosphere of the hallway instantly vanished, swallowed whole by the explosion of pure energy waiting for her inside.

"finally! what took you so long, did you have to grow the corn yourself?" janet teased, immediately grabbing the popcorn bowl from her hands and setting it in the middle of the bed.

"i just... got lost in thought, sorry," she stammered, her heart still hammering against her ribs as she quickly crawled back into the mountain of blankets and pillows.

she shook her head hard, desperately trying to blink away the image of michael’s blushing face, the deep warmth of his voice, and the way his fingers had brushed against hers. it was crazy. he was her best friends' brother, and it had just been an awkward accident in the kitchen. she needed to completely drop it and focus on the night.

"okay, no more waiting! music first, then movies!" latoya cranked up the volume on the stereo, and the room instantly transformed into a private concert.

within seconds, the four of them were jumping up and down on the mattress, screaming the lyrics to their favorite songs at the top of their lungs. rebbie was using a hairbrush as a microphone, while janet and latoya tried to teach her a completely chaotic, improvised dance routine that had everyone laughing so hard their stomachs hurt. whenever they paused to catch their breath, they would dive back into the blankets, shoving handfuls of popcorn into their mouths and talking over each other about gossip, boys, and endless inside jokes.

every single time michael's face popped into her head, she would laugh a little louder, dance a little harder, or throw a pillow at janet just to force herself to stay in the zone. she was surrounded by her absolute favorite people, the room was buzzing with perfect, loud energy, and she was determined to just lose herself in the fun and completely forget about the breathless tension downstairs.

meanwhile, in his own bedroom, michael was still tossing and turning under his covers, the distant sound of his sisters' music and muffled laughter vibrating through the floorboards. he stared up at the ceiling, but his mind wasn't just stuck on how pretty she had looked in those pastel pajamas anymore.

a completely different thought suddenly hit him, making him sit straight up in bed.

he remembered what he had overheard just an hour earlier when he was standing outside the girls' bedroom door. he vividly recalled his sisters squealing and giggling, and her soft, blushing voice saying, "he actually looked up, smiled right at me, and said hi."

michael's chest tightened a little bit at the memory. a wave of nervous curiosity washed over him as he leaned his chin on his knees, staring into the dark room. who exactly were they talking about? who was the guy by the locker?

he started over-analyzing everything, his naturally shy and overthinking mind going into overdrive. he wondered if this mystery guy was her actual crush, or if she was secretly in love with someone from school. the mere thought of her smiling at another boy the way she had just smiled at him in the kitchen made a strange, unfamiliar spark of jealousy twist in his stomach.

he let out a soft, frustrated sigh, burying his face in his hands. he hated that he was caring this much, especially since she was his sisters' best friend, but he couldn't help it. he just kept wondering if her heart already belonged to someone else, or if the intense, breathless tension they had just shared downstairs meant that maybe, just maybe, he was the one actually catching her attention.

hours later, the wild energy in the bedroom finally started to mellow down. the loud music had been turned off, replaced by the soft, low hum of a movie playing on the television screen, casting flickering shadows across the walls.

the chaotic dancing and singing had completely exhausted them. janet was already half-asleep, curled up like a ball at the foot of the bed with a fluffy blanket pulled up to her chin, her eyes blinking heavily at the screen. rebbie was leaned back against a mountain of pillows, letting out a soft yawn as she lazily reached into the almost empty bowl for the last few crumbs of popcorn.

she sat cross-legged next to latoya, who was fighting a losing battle against her own eyelids, her head nodding off every few seconds. the heavy blanket felt incredibly warm and cozy over her legs, and the exhaustion from all the laughing and jumping was finally catching up to her too.

every once in a while, as the room fell into a peaceful, sleepy quiet, her eyes would drift toward the closed bedroom door. now that the noise had died down, the memory of michael in the kitchen began to sneak its way back into her thoughts. she wondered if he was already asleep downstairs, or if he was still awake, completely oblivious to how much her heart was still reacting to that brief, breathless moment. but with latoya softly snoring next to her, she just let her head sink deeper into the pillow, letting the cozy tiredness finally take over.

no matter how much she tried to let the cozy tiredness take over, sleep just wouldn't come. every time she closed her eyes, her mind instantly dragged her back to the kitchen, replaying the soft, deep pitch of michael's voice and the quiet, breathless look in his eyes. the bedroom felt suddenly suffocatingly warm under the heavy blankets, and her skin felt entirely too hot against the soft pastel fabric of her pajamas.

carefully, so she wouldn't wake up janet or latoya, she slid out from under the covers. her bare feet touched the cool floor, giving her a small rush of relief.

she quietly slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her until it clicked shut with barely a sound. the hallway was pitch black and completely still, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the window at the end of the hall. she padded softly down the corridor, her heart doing a nervous little flutter as she approached the bathroom—which was located directly across from michael's bedroom door.

she gently pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside, leaving it a jar so she wouldn't make noise with the lock. twisting the faucet, she let the cold water run over her wrists before splashing a bit of it onto her face and neck to cool down her flushed skin. resting her hands on the edge of the sink, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the dim light, completely unaware of the shadow moving just across the hall.

inside his room, michael was staring blankly at his bedroom ceiling, still wide awake. the house had fallen completely silent hours ago, but his mind was still spinning in circles, completely unable to settle down.

then, through the quiet stillness of the night, he caught a faint sound. it was the soft creak of a floorboard right outside his room, followed by the quiet, distinct hiss of running water coming from the bathroom just across the hall.

michael sat up instantly, his heart doing a sudden, nervous leap against his ribs. he knew his sisters were exhausted and probably fast asleep by now, which meant it had to be her.

he sat on the edge of his mattress, his hands gripping the sheets as a heavy wave of shyness and hesitation washed over him. a part of him wanted to just stay in bed and ignore it, too nervous to face her again after how intense things had felt in the kitchen. but another part of him—the part that had been overthinking all night—wondered if she was okay, or if she needed something.

should he go out there? what if he made things weird?

he took a deep, quiet breath, his heart pounding in his ears. slowly, nervously, he slid his feet onto the cool floor, hesitating for one more long second before he finally stood up, quietly stepping toward his bedroom door to see if he should check on her.

he realized he couldn't just sit there anymore. his own skin felt completely flushed and hot from all the restless tossing and turning, and he desperately needed some cold water to clear his head and cool down.

taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, michael quietly turned the doorknob and stepped out into the dark hallway, wearing just his loose t-shirt and pajama pants.

but the exact moment he crossed the threshold of his bedroom, he froze.

she had just stepped out of the bathroom at that very second, and they ended up standing barely a foot away from each other, completely trapping her between the bathroom door and his own room. the hallway was narrow and cast in deep, silvery moonlight, making the sudden closeness feel incredibly intense.

michael's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes instantly widening as his hands instinctively gripped the sides of his doorframe. in the dim light, the sight of her in those short, lace-trimmed pajamas took his breath away all over again, especially with her skin still glistening slightly from the cold water. a heavy, suffocating wave of shy tension instantly locked them both in place, neither of them moving a muscle as they stared at each other in the absolute quiet of the night.

the silence in the narrow hallway was so loud she could practically hear the rapid thumping of her own heart. she stood completely frozen, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, while michael stood in his doorway, looking just as stunned and incredibly flustered.

"oh..." she whispered, her voice barely a breath in the quiet night. "i... i didn't mean to wake you up."

"you didn't," michael replied quickly, his voice dropping to a very soft, hesitant murmur. he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes shifting down to the floor for a second before drifting back up to her face. "i was... i couldn't sleep either. it's really warm tonight."

"yeah," she agreed, shifting her weight shyly from one foot to the other, acutely aware of how close they were standing. "i just came to splash some cold water on my face."

"me too," he said, a tiny, genuine smile breaking through his nervousness. he took a half-step back, creating just a bit of space, though his gaze remained totally locked onto hers. "are you... are you okay? you looked a little distracted upstairs earlier."

her cheeks instantly burned, grateful for the dim moonlight hiding her deep blush. "i'm fine. just... thinking about things."

michael let out a very soft, quiet breath that sounded almost like a sigh, his fingers nervously tapping against the doorframe. he bit his lip, his shy nature making him hesitate before he spoke again, his voice lower and full of that heavy, passive tension from earlier. "were you... thinking about the kitchen?"

her breath caught in her throat. she didn't expect him to be so direct, especially since he looked so shy. "maybe," she whispered, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "were you?"

michael's own cheeks turned a dark pink, and he looked down with a small, breathless chuckle, completely captivated. "yeah," he admitted softly, his dark eyes meeting hers again with total honesty. "i was. i couldn't get it out of my head, actually."

the confession hung heavily in the air between them, making the space feel warmer than before. they just stood there for a long moment, completely trapped in the quiet intimacy of the hallway, neither of them quite ready to break the spell and go back to bed.

the tension in the hallway suddenly became so thick you could have cut it with a knife. the simple confession that they had been thinking about each other shifted the entire atmosphere. it was no longer just awkward shyness; it was pure, electric, and palpable energy that made both of their hearts race at a completely frantic pace.

michael took a tiny, almost imperceptible step forward, stepping completely out of his room. the movement was purely instinctual, driven by an invisible magnetic pull drawing them closer. in the dead silence of the night, the sound of their breathing—now a little shorter and heavier—echoed like an intimate secret between them.

his large, dark eyes, usually so reserved, held an intense warmth under the silvery moonlight. he didn't break eye contact for a single second. his gaze slowly drifted down her face, lingering for a fraction of a second on her lips, before sliding down to the delicate lace of her pajama top. every single second felt incredibly heavy, charged with unsaid words.

she felt completely hypnotized, unable to move an inch. her skin, which had just been cooled by the water, was burning up all over again under his gaze. she could literally feel the warmth radiating off his body, standing so close that she could have easily reached out and touched his chest. her fingers nervously gripped the soft fabric of her shorts, a sudden rush of goosebumps chilling her arms.

michael ran a nervous hand through his curls, but his eyes never left hers. he tilted his head down just a fraction, his voice dropping to a low, velvety whisper that hovered only inches away from her face.

"i... i should probably let you go back to the room," he breathed, though his feet didn't move an inch. instead, his right hand came up to rest gently against the wall just above her shoulder, subtly trapping her in his space. "but i really don't want you to."

the undertone was so heavy, so loaded with a quiet, shared desire that the air completely left her lungs. they stood there, just a heartbeat away from each other, suspended in that delicious, forbidden mini tension right in front of the bedroom where his sisters were fast asleep.

she couldn't even form a proper reply. her throat felt completely dry, and her eyes darted down to his lips for a brief, agonizing second before snapping back up to meet his intense gaze. the fact that he was usually so quiet and gentle made this sudden boldness absolutely intoxicating.

michael's breathing hitched when he noticed her glance down at his mouth. his hand on the wall trembled ever so slightly, his knuckles brushing against a stray lock of her hair. he was fighting his own overwhelming shyness, his heart hammering so loudly against his ribs he was sure she could hear it in the quiet hallway. he wanted to lean in closer—he desperately wanted to—but the sheer intensity of the moment had him completely paralyzed with nerves.

"michael..." she finally whispered, her voice cracking just a little. she reached out instinctively, her fingers lightly gripping the hem of his loose t-shirt just to steady herself.

the tiny touch shot like electricity straight through him. michael let out a soft, shaky gasp, his eyes widening slightly before darkening with a heavy, uncharacteristic wave of hunger. he leaned down a fraction of an inch more, his face now so close to hers that she could feel the warm breath from his lips brushing against her skin. the scent of his clean cologne completely wrapped around her senses, making her dizzy.

they were both completely terrified of breaking the rules, completely aware that his sisters were just a few yards away, but the magnetic pull between them was overriding everything else. every cell in their bodies was screaming at them to close the tiny gap left between them.

michael slowly lowered his gaze to her lips again, his head tilting naturally as he began to lean in, his movements slow and agonizingly hesitant, giving her every chance to pull away. instead, she leaned her head back against the wall, tilting her chin up to meet him, her eyes fluttering shut in absolute anticipation as they stood on the exact precipice of their very first kiss.

the space between them completely evaporated as his lips finally, gently touched hers.

it was a soft, incredibly hesitant brush of fabric and breath. because it was their very first time, the kiss was filled with a beautiful, shaky innocence. michael’s lips were unbelievably soft, pressing against hers with a quiet, careful reverence, as if he were terrified of rushing her or waking the entire house.

a tiny, breathless gasp slipped from her mouth at the contact, and michael used that exact second to deepen the kiss just a fraction. his movements were slow and agonizingly sweet. he didn't lean in with a wild, practiced confidence; instead, his lips parted slightly, moving against hers with a shy, tentative curiosity that made her knees go completely weak.

her fingers tightened around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him just a millimeter closer. that tiny encouragement was all he needed. michael let out a low, shaky sigh into the kiss, his heart hammering wildly against her chest. the hand that had been resting on the wall slowly slid down, his long, slender fingers trembling slightly as they gently brushed against the side of her neck, his thumb resting right over her racing pulse point.

the kiss was sweet, slow, and completely intoxicated by their mutual shyness. every time their lips moved together, it felt like a quiet conversation, a shared secret in the dark hallway. when he finally, slowly pulled back just an inch, his lips lingered for one last, teasing second before he opened his eyes.

michael was completely breathless, his cheeks flushed a deep, dark pink in the moonlight. he kept his hand resting softly against her neck, his dark eyes looking down at her with a mixture of awe, nerves, and absolute captivation, neither of them knowing exactly what to say after the spell they had just broken.

the heavy silence returned to the hallway, but it felt entirely different now. the shy, breathless rush of the kiss hung in the air, leaving them both standing completely frozen, staring at each other with wide, wide-awake eyes.

it was completely obvious that neither of them was going back to sleep anytime soon. their adrenaline was pumping way too fast, and the absolute electricity between them had shattered any chance of tiredness. but because they were both so naturally shy, they just stood there in the dim moonlight, shifting nervously, completely at a loss for words. michael’s hand slowly slipped from her neck, his fingers nervously curling into his palm as his face burned a deep crimson. he looked down, then back up, biting his lip as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how to break the ice.

the awkward, beautiful tension was building up again, and the fear of one of his sisters cracking open their bedroom door at any second was starting to become overwhelming.

suddenly, caught up in a sudden, bold rush of adrenaline, she didn't even think.

before her nerves could stop her, she reached out, her hands flattening against michael's chest. with a quick, decisive shove, she pushed him backward right into his own bedroom. michael let out a soft, surprised gasp, his long legs stumbling back a couple of steps into the dark room as he completely lost his balance for a split second.

she quickly stepped inside right behind him, grabbed the edge of his bedroom door, and pulled it shut until it clicked softly into place.

the room plunged into near-total darkness, save for the faint moonlight cutting through his window blinds. they were now completely isolated from the rest of the house, locked together in his private space, and michael’s jaw dropped just a fraction in sheer, flustered shock at how fast she had just taken control of the situation.

michael was completely frozen in the middle of his room, his back against the edge of his desk where he had stumbled. his eyes were wide, staring at her through the shadows as she leaned back against the closed door, her hands still resting on the doorknob. the click of the lock felt incredibly loud in the silence of his bedroom.

"oh god," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as the sudden rush of bravery completely drained out of her, leaving her entirely flustered. "i'm sorry... i just... i thought i heard someone moving upstairs, and i panicked."

michael didn't say anything for a long second, his throat completely dry. the darkness of the room amplified everything—the sound of their heavy breathing, the faint scent of his cologne, and the absolute reality that she was now in his room, wearing those pastel pajamas, with the door shut.

slowly, he let out a soft, shaky breath, his shoulders dropping as a tiny, incredibly shy smile broke across his face. "it's... it's okay," he murmured, his voice dropping to that deep, velvety pitch that always made her knees weak. he took a cautious step forward, his bare feet making no sound on the carpet. "you just... you caught me off guard."

"are you mad?" she asked, her heart hammering against her ribs as she looked up at him through the dark.

"mad?" michael let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks burned a dark crimson. "no. no, i'm not mad at all. i'm just... really glad you're in here."

he stopped just a foot away from her, the familiar, intoxicating closeness from the hallway returning instantly. but here, behind closed doors, the tension felt different. it was safer, more intimate, but twice as intense. michael nervously reached out, his long fingers hesitating in the air for a fraction of a second before he gently took her hand, his palm warm and slightly damp from his own nerves.

"my heart is beating so fast right now," he whispered honestly, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity. he guided her slowly away from the door, toward the edge of his bed, his shyness still completely visible in the way he kept biting his lip, yet he wasn't letting go of her hand. "sit with me? just... so we can talk. without having to hide in the hallway."

she nodded softly, letting him guide her across the room. every single step felt like they were walking on eggshells, the mutual shyness making the air between them thick and heavy again.

they sat down on the edge of his mattress at the exact same time. but because they were both so incredibly nervous and caught up in the rush of the moment, they didn't calculate the distance right—they sat down so close that their thighs were completely pressed together.

the contact sent a literal jolt of electricity through both of them. michael stiffened slightly, his breath hitching audibly in the dark room, but he didn't move away. not even a millimeter.

he was sitting so close that she could feel the intense, radiating heat coming off his body, completely wrapping around her. the scent of his skin was overwhelming. michael’s hands were resting on his knees, his long fingers twitching nervously as he stared down at them, his face burning a deep, dark crimson that he tried to hide by tilting his head down.

"i... i've never felt like this before," michael whispered into the shadows, his voice so low and velvety it was barely audible. he slowly turned his head to look at her, their faces now only inches apart because of how close they were sitting.

his dark eyes were wide, glittering with a mix of absolute vulnerability and pure desire. he nervously swallowed, his gaze dropping down to her lips for a lingering, heavy second before snapping back to her eyes. she could see his chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. the sheer physical closeness was intoxicating; she could feel the exact rhythm of his racing heart vibrating right next to her, and the urge to close that tiny, remaining gap between their lips was driving them both completely crazy.

the suffocating silence between them stretched on, heavy and electric, until michael finally broke it. he cleared his throat, a tiny, nervous sound, and slowly shifted his gaze away from her face, his eyes drifting down to her lap before traveling up the pastel fabric of her pajamas.

"i, um..." he started, his voice cracking slightly before he dropped it into a quiet, breathless murmur. he rubbed the back of his neck, his knuckles practically brushing against her shoulder because of how close they were sitting. "i couldn't help but notice your... your pajamas earlier. in the hallway."

she felt her face instantly flush hot all over again. "oh. really?"

"yeah," michael whispered, a beautiful, incredibly shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his cheeks turned a deeper shade of crimson. he looked down at his own hands, his long fingers nervously wrapping around each other. "they're... they're really pretty on you. the pastel color, and the lace... it's just really delicate. you look beautiful."

he looked back up through his eyelashes, his dark eyes wide and completely sincere, filled with that raw vulnerability that always took her breath away. he nervously bit his lower lip, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.

"when you were standing under the moonlight out there," he confessed, his voice dropping to a low, velvety whisper that was meant only for the two of them, "with the water still a little wet on your skin... i just completely forgot how to breathe. i couldn't look away."

her breath completely hitched in her throat at his words. the sweet confession made the air in the room feel twice as warm, and the intense closeness between them became completely unbearable.

neither of them could take the distance anymore.

slowly, almost magnetically, michael started to tilt his head, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a quiet, undeniable intensity. he didn't rush; his movements were slow, hesitant, and completely filled with that deep, agonizing shyness that made every millimeter feel like an eternity. his face began to inch closer to hers, his warm, shallow breaths now directly brushing against her cheek, sending a frantic rush of goosebumps down her neck.

she didn't pull away. instead, she leaned forward just a fraction, her eyes mirroring the exact same heavy desire.

as their faces drew closer and closer, the extreme proximity was intoxicating. michael’s gaze drifted down to her lips, his lower lip trembling slightly as he nervously bit it before letting it go. his right hand, still resting on his knee, slowly slid across the mattress, his long, slender fingers trembling as they brushed against the side of her thigh, silently seeking her support.

they were so close now that the tips of their noses gently grazed against each other in the dark room. the absolute electricity between them was popping, their frantic heartbeats practically melting into one wild rhythm as they hovered just a single breath away from each other, completely trapped in the beautiful, suffocating tension.

the tiny gap between them completely vanished as their lips met for the second time, but the hesitation from before was gone, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of shared desire.

the kiss started soft, but as the intense tension finally broke, it deepened instantly. their mutual shyness was still there, but it was being completely overridden by a frantic, breathless curiosity.

for the very first time, their hands couldn't stay still.

michael let out a low, shaky gasp into her mouth as his right hand finally left the mattress. his long, slender fingers trembled as they slid up her arm, his palm burning hot against her bare skin before wrapping gently around the back of her neck. his fingers tangled directly into her hair, gripping it softly to pull her closer, while his other hand came up to rest flat against her waist, his thumb tracing the soft fabric of her pajama top. the sudden, intimate touch sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down his spine.

she couldn't help herself either. her hands slid up his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thumping of his heart, before her fingers wrapped around his shoulders and slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling him down into the kiss.

because it was their absolute first time experiencing something this intense, the sheer physical sensation left them both completely stupefied.

when their lips finally parted for air, they didn't pull away completely. they stayed hovered just an inch apart, their foreheads resting against each other, both of them completely breathless and dazed. michael’s dark eyes fluttered open, wide and filled with absolute wonder and a trace of beautiful shock. his hand was still resting on her waist, his fingers twitching slightly as if he couldn't believe he was actually allowed to touch her like this. they just stared at each other in the dim moonlight, completely stunned and utterly captivated by the realization of what they had just done.

the heat in the room completely boiled over as their lips crashed together again. this time, the polite, tentative boundaries they had kept up out of sheer shyness completely dissolved.

michael let out a soft, defeated groan against her mouth, entirely giving up his usual hesitation. instead of trying to control his nerves, he completely surrendered to the moment, letting her take the lead as his long fingers gripped her waist a little tighter, silently begging her not to stop.

driven by a sudden, intoxicating rush of adrenaline, she didn't even think about her next move. it was entirely instinctual.

she shifted her weight forward, her body naturally following the momentum of the kiss. as she leaned into him, michael's shoulders began to give way, tilting backward onto the mattress. she kept her lips locked onto his, crawling forward until she was completely hovering over him, her knees sliding to either side of his hips until she was sitting directly on his lap.

with one final, breathless tilt of his head, michael collapsed completely flat onto his back beneath her.

the transition was seamless and utterly dizzying. michael lay stretched out on the bed, completely pinned beneath her smaller frame, his chest heaving up and down in short, frantic gasps. his dark curls were scattered wildly across his pillow, and his face was a deep, burning crimson in the shadows. his hands had slid from her waist down to her thighs, his fingers trembling violently against her skin as he looked up at her from below, his large eyes wide with a mixture of absolute shock, submission, and total captivation at how completely she had just taken over.

the kiss turned deeper, heavier, and completely consuming. with her sitting directly on his lap, every single point of contact between their bodies was magnified a thousand times over. the initial shock of the position faded, leaving behind a raw, suffocating wave of heat that filled the tiny space between them.

as she shifted slightly against him, her body pressing closer to his hips, she suddenly froze into the kiss.

right beneath her, through the thin, soft layers of their pajama fabric, she could clearly feel that michael was hard. the undeniable physical proof of his excitement was pressed directly against her, firm and burning hot.

michael let out a sharp, choked gasp straight into her mouth, his entire body going completely rigid beneath her. a deep, dark flush instantly rushed from his neck all the way up to his cheeks, turning his face a violent shade of crimson in the shadows. he was so naturally shy that the sudden realization that she could feel everything completely paralyzed him with an intense, beautiful embarrassment.

his hands, which had been resting on her thighs, gripped her fabric tightly, his long fingers trembling violently. he didn't try to move away—he couldn't even if he wanted to—but his eyes fluttered open, wide and dark, looking up at her from the pillow with a mixture of absolute vulnerability, shock, and a quiet, pleading desire that showed just how deeply she was driving him completely crazy.

the heavy, electric atmosphere in the room completely shifted as the initial shock faded into pure, unadulterated instinct.

michael lay pinned beneath her, his chest heaving with every frantic breath, his heart hammering so loudly she could feel it vibrating against her own ribs. the intense shyness that usually paralyzed him suddenly morphed into a quiet, desperate boldness. he couldn't just lie there anymore; the feel of her body pressed directly against his excitement was driving him completely out of his mind.

slowly, his long, slender fingers tightened their grip on her hips, his palms burning hot against the fabric of her shorts.

with a soft, shaky gasp into the kiss, michael slightly arched his back. his hands guided her waist, gently pulling her forward and then pushing down, forcing her to slide just an inch over him. the friction of their bodies rubbing together through the thin pajama fabric was so sudden and intensely sharp that a loud, breathless moan escaped her throat, echoing softly in the dark bedroom.

michael let out a deep, choked groan against her lips at the sound, completely losing his grip on his restraint.

his hips moved again, this time a little more fluidly, a little more demanding, as he began to dictate the slow, heavy rhythm beneath her. he kept his eyes locked onto hers, wide and dark with a wild, vulnerable hunger, watching her reaction in the dim moonlight. every tiny, calculated movement he made forced her to grind directly against his hardness, sending violent jolts of electricity straight down both of their spines and destroying whatever little innocence they had left.

she completely gave in, letting his hands completely control the slow, heavy rhythm of her hips. every single time he guided her to slide down against him, the intense friction against his hardness sent a sharp, intoxicating wave of pleasure straight through her core.

the sensation was so overwhelming that a loud, breathless whimper started to climb up her throat. desperate to keep quiet and terrified of making too much noise in the house, she quickly bit down hard on her own lower lip, trying to stifle the sound as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering shut.

michael noticed instantly. his dark eyes widened, staring up at her through the shadows, completely mesmerized and driven crazy by the sight of her biting her lip to hold back her groans. his hands tightened on her waist, his thumbs digging into her skin as he arched his hips up one more time, making her grind directly against him.

"m-michael..." she gasped out, her voice trembling and completely breathless as she looked down at him, her hands clutching his shoulders for support. "what... what are you doing?"

michael let out a deep, broken sigh, his head rolling back slightly against the pillow. his face was burning a dark, violent crimson, and his chest was heaving up and down at a frantic pace.

"i... i don't know," michael whispered honestly, his voice dropping into a shaky, velvet murmur that was filled with absolute vulnerability. he looked back up at her, his eyes dark and completely wide with a mix of beautiful confusion and raw desire. "i don't know... but it feels so good. please don't stop."

michael was trying just as hard to stay completely quiet, but it was getting entirely impossible.

the sound of her muffled whimpers and the sight of her biting her lip was pushing him completely over the edge. he clamped his own mouth shut, his jaw clenching so hard that the muscles in his face went completely tight. every time his hips arched up underneath her, forcing that slow, friction-filled rub between them, a deep, heavy groan would threaten to burst out of his chest.

to stop himself from making a sound that could wake up the entire house, michael buried his face directly into the crook of her neck.

his hot, frantic breaths were uneven, burning against her bare skin as he let out a series of sharp, muffled gasps right against her collarbone. his long fingers dug even deeper into her waist, his grip trembling violently as he tried to anchor himself against the overwhelming waves of pleasure. he was moving beneath her with a desperate, quiet intensity now, his eyes squeezed tightly shut in the darkness as he fought to keep his voice trapped inside his throat, every single breath he took turning into a shaky, silent plea against her skin.

she buried her fingers into his dark, messy curls, pulling his head even closer against her neck as another wave of intense heat rushed through her. the feeling of his mouth against her skin and the slow, heavy rhythm of his hips underneath her was completely overwhelming.

"it... it feels so good for me too, michael," she whimpered into the darkness, her voice breaking into a shaky, breathless whisper right next to his ear.

hearing her admission completely destroyed whatever little restraint he had left. michael let out a muffled, trembling gasp directly against her collarbone, his entire body shuddering beneath her smaller frame. knowing that she was feeling the exact same incredible pleasure made his heart race even faster, and his hands gripped her waist with a sudden, desperate strength, guiding her to move against his hardness with a faster, deeper intensity that left them both completely breathless and dizzy.

the frantic pace of their movements was driving them both completely out of their minds, and michael’s hands, driven entirely by pure, raw instinct, finally began to wander.

his grip on her waist loosened just a fraction as his long, slender fingers started to slide slowly upward. his palms were burning hot against the fabric of her pastel pajama top, tracing the curve of her ribs as they moved higher and higher. michael was trembling so violently that he could barely keep his hands steady, his breath catching sharply in his throat as he realized exactly what he was about to do.

before his courage could fade, his hand slid up completely, his palm gently cupping her chest right over the soft fabric.

the moment his fingers brushed against her breast, a loud, muffled gasp escaped michael's throat, buried deep in the crook of her neck. his entire body shuddered underneath her, and his eyes flew wide open in the darkness, filled with absolute shock and a trace of beautiful fear at his own boldness. his hand stayed there, frozen for a split second in pure amazement, before his fingers instinctively flexed, squeezing her softly through the thin material.

the touch sent a massive jolt of electricity straight down her spine, making her arch her back into his hand as a breathless whimper slipped past her lips. hearing her reaction, michael let out another deep, shaky groan against her skin, his thumb starting to brush gently across the tip of her breast while his hips kept up that agonizingly slow, friction-filled rub beneath her, pushing both of them completely over the edge of control.

the overwhelming pleasure of his touch was immediately followed by a sudden, sharp realization that crashed over his mind, making his heart race even faster with pure panic.

she was his sisters' close friend.

he knew, with absolute certainty, that what they were doing was completely wrong. if his sisters ever found out that he had their best friend pinned down on his bed like this, touching her so intimately in the middle of the night, it would be an absolute disaster. he was supposed to be the responsible one, the one who kept his distance, but looking up at her face in the dim moonlight completely shattered all his willpower. he knew it was bad, he knew he shouldn't be doing it, but the feeling of her body on top of his was a temptation he simply could not resist. he was completely powerless against it.

and she was trapped in the exact same internal battle.

she knew she was crossing a major line by being in his bedroom, doing these things with her friends' brother. the guilt should have made her pull away, but every single time his long fingers squeezed her chest or his hips arched up beneath her, all those logical thoughts completely melted away. she couldn't stop herself either. the mutual realization of how forbidden this was only added a dangerous, intoxicating layer to the tension, making them both crave each other even more desperately as they abandoned every single rule they were supposed to follow.

the agonizing friction between their bodies continued to blur every single line of restraint, and as his hips arched up once more, michael felt something that completely short-circuited his brain.

through the two thin, damp layers of their pajama fabric, he could clearly feel a deep, spreading wetness coming from her.

the realization that she was completely soaked for him hit him like a physical blow. it drove him completely, utterly insane. his breath caught violently in his throat, and his dark eyes snapped wide open, staring up at her in the dim light with a wild, dazed intensity. the pure, intoxicating proof of her desire destroyed whatever little shyness he had left, replacing it with a sudden, overwhelming wave of dark confidence.

his hands gripped her waist with a sudden, bruising tightness, pinning her hips firmly against his hardness so she couldn't pull away.

"y-you're..." michael choked out, his voice dropping into a deep, incredibly raspy whisper that trembled with pure arousal. he swallowed hard, a dark flush covering his entire face as he looked straight into her eyes. "you're so wet right here... through your clothes."

she froze, her face burning a violent crimson, but michael didn't let her hide. he arched his hips up again, deliberately sliding his hardness directly against that damp, burning spot, making them both let out a muffled, breathless groan.

"that means you like it," he murmured against her lips, his voice trembling but laced with a quiet, desperate triumph. "you like what i'm doing to you, don't you?"

she swallowed hard, her heart hammering so violently against her ribs she was certain he could feel it. his blunt, whispered words left her completely exposed, and the sheer embarrassment mixed with the intense pleasure made her head spin.

"y-yes..." she breathed out, her voice nothing more than a faint, shaky whisper directly against his ear. she buried her face in his neck to muffle her voice, terrified that even the quietest sound would echo through the hallway. "yes, michael... i love it. it feels so incredible."

hearing her confession, completely raw and vulnerable in the dark, made michael let out a sharp, trembling gasp. his fingers dug even deeper into her hips, his knuckles turning white as he anchored her to him.

"be quiet... please," she whispered desperately against his skin, her lips brushing his neck as she bit down on her lip again to hold back a sudden, heavy whimper. "someone... someone might hear us."

michael’s whole body shuddered underneath her at her plea. he nodded frantically against her shoulder, his jaw clenching so hard it hurt as he fought to suppress the deep, ragged groan building in his chest. he completely understood the danger, but the feeling of her damp pajama fabric pressing tightly against his hardness was driving him too far gone. holding his breath, he tilted his hips up again in a slow, agonizingly deep slide, forcing them both into a suffocating, breathless silence as they tried to survive the overwhelming heat without making a single sound.

the sound of her timid voice, that weak, trembling "yes" crashing against his ear, completely made michael lose his mind. but what was driving him absolutely crazy, more than anything else, was watching her struggle with all her might to not make a sound.

feeling her bury her face against his neck to stifle her cries, hearing her let out tiny, broken whimpers trapped at the back of her throat, and seeing her cruelly bite her lower lip in the shadows... all of it acted like the most powerful aphrodisiac on him. this total vulnerability, this mixture of panic and pure pleasure, was pushing him straight over the edge.

the more she tried to hide, the more michael's excitement skyrocketed, becoming almost painful.

"j-just like that..." he murmured in a tiny, breathless whisper, his voice broken by a shiver that shook his entire frame.

he raised a trembling hand to caress her cheek, his fingers sliding gently down to her mouth to delicately touch her bitten lip, silently urging her to release it so he could catch her complaints. with his other hand, he pressed her even more firmly against him. the fact that she had to hold back her groans made every single rub, every movement of the hips he forced upon her, a thousand times more intense. he deliberately played with that limit, slowing down the rhythm and then picking it right back up, cruelly savoring the tiny, broken sighs she couldn't manage to keep inside, which died directly against his burning skin.

her fingers dug deeper into the soft fabric of his shirt as he picked up the pace beneath her, his hips moving in a rhythmic, torturous friction that had them both completely gasping for air.

every single time she tried to swallow a groan, her entire body would shudder, and michael would feel that sharp, exquisite contraction right against his hardness. it was a beautiful, agonizing feedback loop. the tighter she clamped her jaw, the more his fingers bruised her hips, pushing her down onto him to force another stifled sound out of her.

"please," she whimpered, her voice cracking as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "michael, i can't... it's too much."

"i know," he breathed back, his own voice completely wrecked, rough and uncharacteristically dark. "i know, sweetie... just stay right here. don't move away from me."

he was completely blind to everything else now—the risk, the house, his sisters sleeping just down the hall—none of it mattered compared to the damp, scorching heat spreading between their pajamas. shifted by pure instinct, michael slid his hands from her waist down to the back of her thighs, lifting her slightly just to bring her down harder against him.

the sudden, deeper impact made her eyes snap wide open, a sharp, high-pitched gasp slipping past her lips before she could stop it. michael caught the sound directly with his own mouth, leaning up to kiss her frantically, drinking in her whimpers and her taste as they completely melted into the quiet, breathless rhythm of the dark room.

the slow, agonizing friction between them was no longer enough. the thin layers of their pajama fabric felt less like clothing and more like a cruel barrier keeping them apart, and they both could feel the sudden, undeniable shift in the air. they wanted more. they wanted to go completely all the way.

michael’s breath hitched as a heavy, desperate ache settled deep in his chest. his hands, still trembling violently against the back of her thighs, tightened instinctively, pulling her hips down against his hardness with a sudden, needy force. he wanted to strip away the clothes, to feel her bare skin against his, to completely lose himself in her. the fear of getting caught and the intense shyness that usually governed him were completely gone, burned away by a raw, overwhelming urge to take this as far as it could possibly go.

she felt it too, a fierce, hollow ache pooling deep inside her that demanded to be filled.

she stopped trying to hold herself back. leaning down, she pressed her chest entirely flat against his, her heartbeat racing frantically against his own. she began to shift her hips on him with a new, deliberate urgency, non-verbally telling him exactly what she was craving. they were both completely dazed, hovering on the exact edge of a point of no return, both of them silently silently consenting to cross the final line into the darkness together.

the heavy, suffocating tension reached a breaking point where words couldn't be avoided anymore. michael’s breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, his lips brushing against her ear as he struggled to find his voice through the sheer intensity of his nerves.

"can i..." he choked out, his whisper incredibly soft, trembling with a mixture of intense shyness and desperate desire.

his hands slid up from her thighs, his long, warm fingers resting gently against the waistband of her pajama shorts. he didn't pull them down; he just held her there, his large, dark eyes looking up at her in the dim light, completely wide and pleading for permission.

"can i try... try it with you? please?" he murmured, his face burning a violent crimson as he explicitly asked to cross that final line. "i want to... so bad. if you want to."

she stared down at him, her heart doing a violent flip at his raw, honest question. the gravity of what they were about to do settled over her, making her voice shake even more than before.

"michael..." she whispered, leaning down so her lips almost touched his. "i want to. but... this is my first time. i've never done this before."

michael’s eyes widened slightly in the dark, a soft, breathless gasp leaving his lips. the confession didn't make him pull away; instead, a wave of pure tenderness and a strange, comforting relief washed over his face, softening the intense hunger in his eyes.

"really?" he murmured, his voice dropping into the gentlest, most vulnerable whisper. he swallowed hard, his grip on her waistband loosening just enough to caress her hip softly. "it... it is for me too. i've never done this with anyone."

the admission hung beautifully in the quiet space between them. the world's biggest superstar, pinned beneath her in the dark, admitting his own innocence. knowing that they were both standing on the edge of the exact same unknown territory completely erased the lingering fear, binding them together in a sudden, deep trust as they prepared to take that huge step together.

she nodded slowly, the weight of their mutual secret making her heart pound even faster against her ribs. she leaned down until her forehead was resting against his, her breath warm against his cheek.

"okay," she breathed, her voice a tiny, barely audible thread of sound. "but... we have to be so careful. we have to be even more quiet now, michael. promise me."

michael nodded frantically against the pillow, his long fingers instantly tightening around her waist to pull her closer, as if physically anchoring them both to the promise of absolute silence.

"i promise, i promise," he whispered back desperately, his voice cracking with emotion.

he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to prepare himself for what was coming. the stakes felt impossibly high now, but the pure, overwhelming connection of sharing their very first time together made the risk entirely worth it. holding his breath, he slowly began to guide her shorts down her hips, both of them freezing at every tiny rustle of fabric, completely locked in a tense, suffocating silence as they prepared to cross the line.

every single movement had to be completely slow and deliberate now. holding his breath, michael wrapped his long arms securely around her waist, his touch incredibly gentle as he prepared to shift their positions.

with absolute care, he rolled them over together on the mattress, making sure the heavy blankets muffled the slight creak of the bed springs. she felt a sudden, dizzying rush of air as she was lifted, and a second later, she was the one lying flat on her back against the soft pillows, with michael's tall, slender frame hovering completely over her.

he rested his weight on his forearms on either side of her head, careful not to crush her, his chest heaving silently against hers.

looking down at her in the dim moonlight, his dark eyes were completely wide, filled with a mixture of raw reverence and absolute nerves. being on top made everything feel intensely real, the heavy heat of his body pinning her down and leaving them both completely exposed to the unfamiliar territory they were about to explore together.

hovering over her in the quiet room, michael completely froze, his breath catching so hard in his throat it felt like his heart had stopped entirely.

the view of her lying beneath him in the dim moonlight was completely breathtaking. with her dark hair splayed out across his pillows, her cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful crimson, and her lips slightly parted as she gasped for air, she looked more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. the shadows cast a soft glow over her bare shoulders and the gentle rise and fall of her chest, making the moment feel almost sacred to him.

he was completely, utterly transfixed.

his large, expressive eyes widened as he drank in every single detail, a wave of profound reverence washing over his face and melting away a fraction of his frantic nervousness. he felt incredibly small, yet unbelievably lucky, to be the only person in the world looking at her like this. his gaze dropped to her lips, then drifted back up to meet her eyes, his entire body trembling slightly from the sheer emotional weight of the view before him.

sensing the weight of her eyes on him, michael swallows hard, his face burning an even deeper shade of crimson. he slowly shifts his weight, sitting back on his knees just enough to give himself room, though he never takes his gaze off her for more than a second.

with trembling fingers, he reaches down to the hem of his pajama shirt. his movements are incredibly hesitant, a textbook display of his deep, natural shyness. he hesitates for a long moment, his knuckles brushing against his stomach, before he slowly lifts the fabric up and pulls the shirt over his head, discarding it quietly onto the edge of the mattress.

without the shirt, his tall, slender frame is completely exposed to the dim moonlight. his shoulders are lean, his chest rising and falling in rapid, silent breaths that reveal just how fast his heart is racing.

he pauses again, his hands hovering nervously over the waistband of his pajama pants. he looks down at her, his large, dark eyes filled with a beautiful, raw vulnerability, silently checking to make sure she's still okay with every single step he takes. slowly, carefully, and without making a sound, he slides the remaining fabric down his long legs, completely shedding his final defense and leaving himself just as exposed and vulnerable as she is.

returning to her side, he hovered over her once more, the sudden heat of his bare skin against hers sending a massive jolt of electricity through both of their bodies. for a second, neither of them moved, just listening to the synchronized, frantic racing of their hearts in the absolute quiet of the room.

then, michael leaned down and closed the final distance between them.

their lips met in a kiss that was completely different from before—it was deeper, heavier, and charged with the raw knowledge of what they were about to share. michael’s mouth was burning hot against hers, his lips parting softly to drink in her quiet gasp. it started off incredibly tender and hesitant, a gentle tasting born from his natural shyness, but as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, the kiss instantly deepened.

he let out a low, shaky vibration against her mouth, a soundless moan of pure surrender.

his long fingers slid into her hair, gripping the strands gently to tilt her head just right, deepening the angle of the kiss. they moved together in perfect, breathless harmony, their tongues tangling in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that completely erased the outside world. the kiss became their lifeline, a way to pour all their overwhelming love, desire, and anxiety into one single point of contact, while keeping them both completely locked in the silent, forbidden safety of the dark.

breaking the kiss for just a fraction of a second to catch his breath, michael rested his forehead against hers, his eyes completely dark and hooded with intense desire. slowly, deliberately, he let his hands begin to wander.

his long, slender fingers started at her bare shoulders, his palms burning hot against her skin. he traced the delicate line of her collarbone, his touch so light and careful it felt like a silent reassurance, a way to make sure she was still with him at every single step. a full-body shiver ran through him as he slid his hands down the sides of her ribs, his thumbs lightly brushing against the sensitive skin there.

every time her breath hitched, his hands would freeze for a second, his large eyes scanning her face in the moonlight to check on her before he kept going.

gaining a little more confidence from her warm response, his hands wandered lower, mapping out the gentle curve of her waist. his palms smoothed over her hips, pulling her body just a fraction closer to his bare chest so he could feel the frantic, rhythmic pounding of her heart against his own. it was a slow, intoxicating exploration, his hands memorizing every single inch of her shape in the absolute silence of the bedroom.

breaking the kiss just enough to look at her again, michael rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants. his large, expressive eyes scanned her face, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and her dark hair completely fanned out across his pillow.

"you're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice incredibly low and raspy, trembling with an intensity that came straight from his heart.

he brought one hand up to gently cup her cheek, his thumb softly brushing over her warm skin. his gaze drifted down her body, taking in the soft contours of her silhouette in the dim moonlight before returning to meet her eyes.

"you're completely magnificent like this... i can't even breathe," he murmured against her lips, his fingers sliding into her hair to hold her close. the sheer awe in his voice made the words feel like a sacred promise, entirely stripped of any pretense, leaving only the raw, breathless truth of how deeply she captivated him in the quiet darkness.

the agonizing wait and the intense closeness had pushed them both to a point where they couldn't endure the distance for another second. hovering directly over her, michael’s breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, his entire body trembling from the sheer effort of holding himself back. he slid his hands down to frame her face, his long fingers tangling gently in her hair as he tilted his head down, his dark eyes wide, dark, and completely consumed by a desperate, protective tenderness.

"can i..." he choked out, his whisper so low it was almost lost in the quiet room. his throat swallowed hard as he explicitly forced the words out, his face burning with a beautiful, raw shyness. "can i enter you now? please, sweetie... i want to be inside you so bad."

hearing his raw request broke the last shred of her restraint. she looked up into his eyes, her gaze completely clouded with a heavy, overwhelming desire that had become almost painful to bear.

"yes," she breathed out, the word escaping her lips as a soft, slightly begging whine. she arched her hips up just a fraction against him, her fingers digging desperately into his shoulders. "yes, michael... please. now. i can't take it anymore."

her pleading tone sent a violent shiver straight down michael's spine. the raw vulnerability of her voice, combined with her explicit permission, completely shattered his remaining control, leaving them both completely breathless as he prepared to finally cross that final, sacred line.

holding his breath, michael slowly slid his weight down between her thighs, his long body trembling with an intensity he had never felt before. the absolute silence of the room made every single heartbeat feel like a thunderclap against his ribs.

with his face burning a deep, feverish crimson, he reached down between them. his fingers were shaking violently as his hand closed around his length, his touch incredibly hesitant. it was a completely surreal sensation—the intense, throbbing heat of himself held in his own hand, completely bare and exposed to the quiet night.

slowly, with agonizing care, he guided himself forward until the very tip of his warmth brushed directly against her opening.

the initial point of contact was completely electric. just that tiny, feather-light touch sent a massive jolt straight up his spine, making his vision blur for a fraction of a second. for her, the sensation was just as overwhelming—a sudden, blooming heat right at the threshold, a soft, damp friction that felt incredibly large and intimidating, yet intensely desired.

he didn't push forward. because it was their very first time, he simply held himself right there, hovering at the absolute edge of her. the hypersensitive skin of his tip rested gently against her, feeling the frantic, fluttering pulse of her body welcoming his heat.

"oh god..." michael whispered, a tiny, broken gasp escaping his lips.

he froze completely, his arms locking on either side of her head as he looked down into her eyes. his chest was heaving silently, his raw, dark gaze completely locked onto hers, making sure she was breathing through the sudden, intense rush of nerves as they both hovered on the exact precipice of becoming one. taking a deep, shaky breath, michael braced his weight on his forearms, his eyes locked completely onto hers as he made the conscious choice to move forward.

with agonizing slowness, he began to push inward.

the immediate sensation was unlike anything either of them had ever imagined. for michael, it felt like being pulled into a tight, incredibly hot, and velvety glove that wrapped around his sensitive skin with a breathtaking pressure. the sheer warmth of her body enveloping him made his head spin, a low, helpless gasp dying at the back of his throat as he forced himself to stay completely in control, moving only millimeter by millimeter.

for her, the feeling was a sudden, intense fullness that stretched her open, a deep, heavy warmth that filled the ache inside her with a stunning reality. it was tight—almost painfully so at first—making her jaw clench automatically as her body adjusted to the unfamiliar weight and shape of him taking up space inside her.

"shh... just breathe, sweetie, just breathe," michael whispered, his voice completely wrecked and cracking with emotion as he felt her body tense slightly.

he stopped moving entirely, burying his face in the crook of her neck, letting her get used to the initial stretch. he could feel the frantic, rhythmic pulsing of her walls squeezing tightly around him, a sensation so incredibly intimate and intense that a violent shiver ran through his entire length.

slowly, as she let out a long, trembling breath and relaxed beneath him, he pushed just a fraction deeper, discovering the intoxicating friction of their skin sliding together for the very first time. they were completely suspended in the quiet darkness, both of them overwhelmed by the raw, magnificent reality of finally being connected, one slow, careful inch at a time.

the intense tightness of her body was almost too much for him to handle. as he pushed a fraction deeper, the sheer, crushing warmth of her walls enveloping his sensitive skin triggered a sensation so acute, so entirely overwhelming, that his control completely fractured.

"ah... oh god..."

the sound slipped past his lips before he could stop it—a low, helpless, and completely broken groan that vibrated deep in his chest. he instantly buried his face in the pillow right next to her ear, his teeth clenching hard as he tried to swallow the rest of the sound, terrified of being too loud but completely powerless against what he was feeling.

it felt entirely incredible. because it was his very first time, he had never known that a sensation could be this pure, this intensely hot and demanding. the way her body gripped him so tightly, molding perfectly to his length with every millimeter he moved, was sending waves of sweet, agonizing friction straight up his spine.

his long fingers dug desperately into the mattress on either side of her head, his knuckles turning white as his hips gave a tiny, involuntary twitch forward, sinking just a little bit further into her breathtaking warmth. he was completely dazed, completely undone by the magnificent reality of how tight and perfect she felt around him.

hearing his broken groan right next to her ear, combined with the deep, slow movement of him filling her completely, it became impossible for her to hold back anymore.

"mhnn..."

a soft, breathless whimper escaped her lips, a sound of pure surrender that she tried to muffle by biting down on her lower lip. the sensation of him sliding against her tight, sensitive walls was completely intoxicating, a wave of intense heat that rippled straight through her core and made her toes curl against the sheets.

hearing her voice, michael’s entire body went rigid for a split second. his eyes snapped open, looking down at her through the dark, completely wide and burning with a new, dark intensity. the sound of her groaning because of him, because of what his body was doing to hers, sent a violent rush of adrenaline straight to his heart.

it was the ultimate confirmation that she was feeling the exact same beautiful, overwhelming pleasure, breaking down the last of his hesitation as they melted completely into the rhythm of their very first time.

the shared vulnerability of their voices completely broke the dam. holding his breath, michael slowly, carefully pulled back just a fraction of an inch before sinking back into her, establishing a very slow, incredibly gentle rhythm of movement.

every single glide of his skin against hers was pure fire. the friction of her tight warmth wrapping around him with each slow push was so intense that they both felt entirely overwhelmed.

"mmh..." michael choked out a muffled groan, his eyes instantly widening in panic as the sound slipped out.

he immediately reacted, burying his face directly into the crook of her neck. his lips pressed hard against her skin, using her shoulder to physically smother the quiet, breathless sounds that kept threatening to tear from his throat. his entire body was trembling, his long muscles locked tight as he tried to absorb the sheer pleasure without making a sound.

she was struggling just as hard. as he slid deeper, a sharp, incredibly sweet wave of sensation hit her, forcing a soft gasp up her throat. she instantly clamped her hand over her own mouth, her fingers pressing tightly against her lips to stifle the whimper that followed.

they lay completely locked together in the dark, the room completely quiet except for the rustle of the sheets and the heavy, synchronized sound of their frantic breathing. every slow, shallow movement was a battle against their own voices, their bodies melting into an intoxicating, silent rhythm as they fought to hide every single breath and groan from the rest of the world.

the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside her, combined with the agonizing effort to stay quiet, became too much to bear. she needed to anchor herself to him, to the reality of who was holding her so gently in the dark.

she wrapped her arms even tighter around his neck, pulling him down until his ear was right against her lips.

"michael..." she breathed out, her voice a tiny, trembling whisper that was thick with emotion and desire.

hearing his own name slip from her lips in that desperate, intimate way hit him harder than any of the physical sensations. michael’s entire body shuddered, a soft, fractured gasp escaping him against her skin. his rhythm broke for a second as he froze, his fingers digging into the mattress as if he were trying to keep from completely losing control right then and there.

it was the sweetest, most vulnerable sound he had ever heard, and it made him press his hips forward just a fraction deeper, completely undone by the way she said his name in the quiet darkness.

he buried his face deeper into her hair, his eyes squeezed shut as her voice echoed in his mind. hearing his name like that made it completely impossible to hold back the overwhelming wave of love and desire crashing over him.

"i'm here... i'm right here," he breathed against her ear, his voice barely a shadow of a whisper, completely wrecked.

he couldn't help himself anymore. the rhythm of his hips became just a fraction faster, a little deeper, as the sheer bliss of her tightness drove him forward. every slow glide inside her was an intoxicating torture. he wanted to move harder, wanted to lose himself completely in her, but the absolute necessity for silence kept his movements agonizingly controlled, making the pleasure twice as intense.

"mmnnh..."

another helpless groan bubbled up from his chest, and michael quickly brought his own hand up, biting down hard on the side of his index finger to physically block the sound from leaving his mouth. his shoulders shook with the effort, his lean muscles straining under the dim moonlight as he poured all his energy into staying quiet.

beneath him, she was reaching her own limit. every time his hips connected with hers, a deep, beautiful warmth rippled through her core. she pulled her hand away from her mouth just long enough to arch her back, her fingers digging deep into the muscles of his bare shoulders, before burying her face directly into his chest to smother her own desperate whimpers.

they were both completely drowning in the sensation, their skin slick with a light sweat, desperately clinging to each other in a frantic, beautiful battle against their own voices.

the friction of their bodies moving together in that tight, agonizingly slow rhythm was pushing them both completely past the brink of what they could handle. every single slide of his skin against hers was pure, undiluted heat.

clinging to him as he sank deep inside her once more, she couldn't contain the truth of what she was feeling anymore. she pressed her face right into the crook of his neck, her breath burning hot against his skin as she whimpered it out.

"michael... oh god, it’s too good... it feels too good," she confessed in a desperate, broken whisper, her fingers tightening like vices on his bare shoulders.

hearing her say those exact words—hearing the sheer, unfiltered pleasure in her trembling voice—sent a violent shockwave straight through michael's entire frame. his hips buckled slightly, sinking into her as far as he could possibly go, and a long, shuddering gasp tore from his lungs.

"i know... i know," he choked out against her hair, his voice completely ruined and dripping with a raw, breathless ecstasy. "it's... it's too much, sweetie... you feel so amazing around me... oh god."

he couldn't even pretend to maintain his composure anymore. the sheer bliss of how tightly she gripped him, combined with the intoxicating knowledge that they were driving each other crazy in the absolute quiet of the night, made him lose his breath entirely. he squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth clenching hard as he buried his face back into the pillow, both of them completely lost in the overwhelming, beautiful madness of how incredible it felt to finally be one.

driven completely past the point of no return by her words, michael’s control dissolved into pure, instinctual need. the slow, shallow movements gave way to a deeper, more urgent rhythm, his hips driving into hers with a desperate, heavy friction that made the mattress creak softly beneath them.

every time he buried himself fully inside her, the intense, velvety heat of her walls wrapping around his length sent a violent shudder through his spine. he was completely breathless, his mind spinning from the sheer, overwhelming ecstasy of it.

"mhnn... please..." she whimpered against his neck, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist to pull him even closer, wanting every single bit of the incredible pressure he was giving her.

the feeling of her thighs locking him in, completely surrendering her body to his, made michael let out a sharp, ragged gasp. he instantly brought his hand up to cover her mouth, his long fingers gently pressing against her lips to catch the beautiful, loud whimpers that were starting to escape her. at the same time, he bit down hard on his own lower lip, tasting the copper tang of blood as he fought to swallow a loud, deep groan of his own.they were moving together in a frantic, sweating, and beautifully messy harmony. the quiet room was filled only with the wet, friction-heavy sounds of their bodies colliding and the agonizingly muffled sounds of their pleasure. michael’s chest was heaving against hers, his heart hammering so violently it felt like it would burst through his ribs, completely consumed by the magnificent, forbidden fire of holding her like this in the dark.

as they fell deeper into the rhythm, the initial shock and nervousness completely melted away, replaced by a pure, intoxicating confidence. their bodies began to adapt to the incredible sensation, formatting a perfect, seamless harmony that made the pleasure amplify a thousand times over.

michael found his stride, his long frame moving with a fluid, mesmerizing intensity. he wasn't hesitant anymore; he knew exactly how she felt around him now, and the sheer familiarity of her tight warmth made him crave more. his hips drove forward with a heavier, more deliberate force, sliding deep into her core and drawing out the sweetest friction they had ever experienced. every single plunge felt deeper, hotter, and infinitely more intense than the last.

she arched her back completely off the mattress, entirely consumed by the waves of ecstasy rolling through her. she didn't just endure the fullness anymore—she chased it, her hips instinctively rising to meet his every downward stroke, locking him in a breathless, tight embrace that drove him absolutely wild.

"oh god... sweetie... sweetie," michael unraveled, his voice a frantic, breathless loop against her ear.

he couldn't keep his eyes closed anymore. he looked down at her, his large, dark eyes completely glazed over with an intense, unadulterated passion. the sweat was trickling down his temples, his muscles fully flexed and straining under the moonlight as he pushed them both higher and higher. the need to stay quiet was still there, but it was being utterly crushed by the sheer magnitude of how good they were making each other feel, turning the silent bedroom into a pressure cooker of raw, beautiful desire.

she couldn't hold it in for another second. as he plunged deep inside her again, a wave of pure, overwhelming ecstasy crashed through her body, threatening to shatter the silence of the room.

desperate to smother the sound, she reached up and grabbed him by the back of his neck, pulling his head down with a fierce, sudden urgency. she slammed her lips against his, locking them together in a deep, frantic kiss, and let out a long, heavy groan right into his mouth.

the sensation of her hot, breathless whimpers vibrating directly against his own tongue sent an absolute electric shock straight to michael’s core.

"mmnnh... !"

michael let out a muffled, choked-out gasp into the kiss, his mind completely fracturing. the raw intimacy of swallowing her groans, of feeling her voice melt directly into his own throat while he was buried deep inside her tight warmth, was too much. his hands gripped her waist like a vice, his knuckles turning white as his hips began to drive into her with a new, completely unchecked intensity. they were literally drinking each other’s voices in, their mouths completely sealed together as they shared every single breath, gasp, and desperate moan. the kiss became a chaotic, beautiful battleground of silent pleasure—each downward stroke of his hips drawing a new, muffled whimper out of her that michael immediately captured and swallowed whole, both of them completely drowning in the suffocating, magnificent heat of the moment.

locked together in that suffocating, deep kiss, the absolute silence of the rest of the house only amplified the sounds they were making in the dark. as the rhythm grew heavier and the friction between them reached a fever pitch, a new, incredibly raw sound began to fill the quiet room.

it was the unmistakable, rhythmic slapping of their skin colliding—the wet, heavy sound of his hips striking hard against hers with every deep, unchecked plunge.

the sound was so intensely intimate, so explicitly loud in the quiet darkness, that it made michael’s mind spin completely out of control. every time he drove forward, the slick friction of their sweat-sheened skin meeting created a steady, intoxicating echo that seemed to vibrate straight through the mattress.

"mmnph... !"

michael groaned heavily into her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers as he tried to swallow his own reaction to the sound. his face was burning, completely undone by how raw and primal everything had become. the sheer physics of their bodies completely melting into one another was no longer a secret kept just by their breathing; the room was alive with the heavy, frantic pace of their collision.

hearing the slick, heavy slapping of his skin against hers only pushed her further over the edge. she arched her hips up higher, meeting every single strike with a desperate force of her own, the sound of their impact growing louder, faster, and completely undeniable as they lost themselves entirely in the magnificent, sweating heat of their rhythm.

the intense, friction-heavy rhythm and the suffocating closeness were building toward something completely uncontrollable. every deep, wet plunge of his hips sent waves of blinding heat straight up his spine, and michael could feel the undeniable, electric tension pooling heavy and tight at the base of his stomach. he knew exactly what was happening. it was a completely new, terrifyingly beautiful sensation that threatened to rip his consciousness away entirely.

beneath him, she was riding the exact same volatile wave. the heavy, relentless friction of him filling her so deeply had coiled a tight, hyper-sensitive knot of pure ecstasy deep in her core. it was stretching tighter and tighter with every single strike of their skin colliding, pushing her to the absolute absolute edge of a cliff she had never jumped from before.

"michael... michael..." she gasped out, tearing her mouth away from his just long enough to breathe, her eyes completely blown out and unfocused in the dark.

"i know... i feel it too, sweetie," he unraveled, his voice dropping into a desperate, frantic pant.

the realization that they were both about to cross that final line together sent a massive surge of adrenaline through his muscles. michael’s pace fractured, becoming faster, harder, and completely desperate as he chased the tightening coil inside him. his hands gripped her hips, pinning her down to meet the sudden, intense acceleration of his movements, both of them completely breathless as the overwhelming pressure built to an absolute breaking point in the quiet darkness.

the shared peak of that first time is an absolute revelation, a sudden blur of uncharted sensations that washes over them both at the precise same second.

for her, the climax arrives as an intense, electric release that starts from the very center of her being and ripples outward. it is a feeling of total surrender and burning warmth, where her internal walls begin to contract in helpless, rhythmic, and incredibly sensitive waves around him. each pulsing spasm is a stunning mixture of relief and pure pleasure that completely steals her breath, making her lose all sense of time and space. she discovers a profound physical release, a beautiful wave of fulfillment that leaves her shivering and completely anchored to him.

for michael, feeling those tight, desperate contractions wrapping around him is the ultimate trigger. the peak of his pleasure is so sharp and concentrated that it feels as though his heart completely skips a beat. a blinding warmth rushes up his spine before exploding into a deep, heavy release, his entire length pulsing as he pours himself fully into her velvety heat. every single muscle in his long back locks into rigid, straining lines as he gives in to a total loss of control, melting into a physical fusion he never could have imagined before tonight.

together, they finally figure out how their bodies truly connect and respond to one another in the dark. they discover the intoxicating domino effect of their intimacy—how her tight, pulsing warmth triggers his own release, and how his deepest push answers hers perfectly. they experience the heavy, drifting afterglow where their racing hearts slowly sync back up, and their slick skin cools against the sheets. even the extreme sensitivity that lingers right after, making the tiniest movement almost too intense to bear, becomes a new language they share as they lie tangled together, catching their breath in the quiet room.

the heavy, frantic sound of their breathing gradually slows down, echoing softly in the absolute quiet of the room. neither of them moves. wrapped tightly in the heavy warmth of the blankets, michael slowly lifts his head from the pillow, his long curls damp with sweat and falling slightly into his eyes as he looks down at her.

their eyes meet in the dim moonlight, completely wide and wide-open with awe.

looking at each other, still entirely breathless, the reality of what they just did finally begins to sink in. a beautiful, overwhelming wave of realization washes over them both. they aren't just a boy and a girl hiding in the dark anymore; they have completely crossed the line into something entirely new, sharing an ultimate, permanent bond that belongs only to them.

michael's large, dark eyes trace every single feature of her face, glowing with a soft, protective adoration that is completely unfiltered. his long fingers tremble slightly as he reaches up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead, his touch incredibly tender.

"we... we really did it," he whispers, his voice still completely ruined, a low shadow of a sound that carries the immense weight of their shared secret.

she looks back up at him, her chest still heaving slightly against his, her heart hammering a steady, frantic rhythm right under her ribs. seeing the absolute devotion in his gaze makes a soft, emotional smile break across her lips. the initial shock of the intensity melts away into a deep, comforting warmth. they lie there completely locked together, silently acknowledging the beautiful magnitude of their very first time, utterly consumed by the magnificent reality that they now belong to each other completely.

the reality of the ticking clock starts to hover over the quiet room, but looking up into his soft, adoring eyes, the very thought of getting up and leaving becomes completely unbearable. she doesn't want to break the spell. she doesn't want to pull her skin away from his warmth, step out into the cold air, and pretend the world outside still matters.

she wants to stay. she wants, more than anything, to spend the entire night wrapped up in his arms and fall asleep right next to his heart.

clinging to him a little tighter, she buries her face back into his chest, her fingers gently curling into the fabric of the sheets beneath him.

"i don't want to go," she confesses in a small, fierce whisper against his skin, her voice holding a desperate honesty. "michael... i want to stay here. with you. all night."

hearing her say it—hearing that she wants the exact same thing he’s been secretly praying for—makes michael’s heart swell so painfully it brings a sudden warmth to his eyes. a breathless, incredibly relieved smile breaks across his lips. he doesn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second.

"then stay," he breathes out, his voice cracking slightly with emotion as he instantly tightens his long arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. "please don't leave, sweetie... stay right here with me. sleep here."

he pulls the heavy blankets all the way up over their bare shoulders, tucking them in so perfectly that they are completely hidden away from the rest of the world. he kisses the top of her head, his lips lingering against her damp hair, completely overwhelmed by the beautiful, comforting reality that he doesn't have to say goodbye to her tonight.

he smiles into the quiet darkness, the sheer happiness of her decision making him feel completely invincible. he brushes his thumb gently across her cheek, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips before speaking.

"i'll find a way, sweetie," he whispers, his voice thick with a fiercely protective tenderness. "i'll sneak you out before anyone is even awake, or i'll hide you right here in my room. i'll make sure nobody sees you, i promise."

but then he pauses, looking down at her face illuminated by the faint moonlight, and the absolute devotion in his eyes grows even deeper. his fingers tangle gently in her hair, pulling her just a fraction closer against his chest.

"and you know what? even if they do see you... i don't care," he confesses, a soft, defiant laugh escaping his chest. "let them see. i really don't mind anymore. i'm so tired of hiding everything, and i'm definitely not letting you go tonight. all i care about is right here. i just want to stay with you."

the absolute certainty in his voice leaves no room for doubt. he shifts his body slightly, anchoring her against him so perfectly that their heartbeats seem to sync up in the quiet room. he pulls the heavy comforter tightly around them both, sealing them away in their own little world, completely indifferent to whatever consequences tomorrow might bring as long as he gets to wake up with her in his arms.

she feels the steady, comforting beat of his heart beneath her cheek, his words hanging in the warm air of the bedroom like a promise. hearing him say that he doesn't care about the risk, that he just wants to protect her and keep her close, makes a sudden rush of pure emotion tighten in her throat.

she looks up at him, her eyes shining in the dark as she drinks in the sight of his face, so open and completely vulnerable just for her.

"i love you," she breathes out, the three words escaping her lips in a tiny, fierce whisper that shatters whatever quiet distance was left between them.

michael freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire frame going completely still against hers as the words hit him. his breath hitches softly in his chest, his large eyes widening slightly as if he can't quite believe the sheer beauty of what he just heard.

then, a soft, incredibly broken sigh escapes him, and his face softens into an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion.

"oh god... i love you too, sweetie," he unraveled, his voice cracking with the heavy weight of how much he means it. "i love you so much."

he leans down instantly, burying his face in the crook of her neck and holding her so tightly it feels like he wants to melt their bodies together. his hands cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he presses desperate, warm kisses all over her jaw and her shoulder, completely undone by the perfect, beautiful certainty of her love.

Her friends had gone all out, shots for every planet in the solar system, cocktails named after famous black holes, and way too many toasts to 'Dr. Y/N, the woman who talks to the stars.' She laughed, danced and accepted every congratulatory drink like the champion she was. But somewhere between the third and fifth round, the line between 'celebrate' and 'lightly buzzed' had blurred into full on tipsy, then delightfully, gigglingly drunk.

By the time she stumbled out of the Uber, the world felt soft and sparkly around the edges. The porch light glowed warm and welcoming, just like the man waiting inside.

She fumbled with her keys for a solid thirty seconds, giggling at her own clumsiness, before finally pushing the door open. The familiar scent of home, Jaafar’s favorite vanilla candle mixed with the faint trace of his cologne, wrapped around her like a hug.

There he was.

Jaafar was sprawled on the couch in the living room, long legs stretched out, wearing a black hoodie and gray shorts, looking unfairly cozy and handsome under the glow of the TV. Some cooking competition show played quietly in the background, but his attention shifted the second the door clicked shut.

His eyes lit up, that signature smile spreading across his face as he took her in: hair a little wild, dress slightly rumpled from dancing and a tipsy smile.

'Baby,' he said, voice warm with amusement. 'There’s my brilliant astrophysicist.'

She didn’t even hesitate. The second she saw him, her heart did a full flip and her feet carried her straight across the room. He barely had time to sit up properly before she was climbing into his lap, straddling his thighs with zero grace but maximum enthusiasm.

'Jaafar,' she breathed happily, arms looping around his neck as she settled her weight against him. Her knees sank into the couch on either side of his hips and the hem of her dress rode up high on her thighs from the movement. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. 'Hi. Hi hi hi. I missed you so much. Did you know I missed you?'

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into hers. Strong arms came around her waist instantly, steadying her. One hand slid down to rest possessively on her bare thigh, his warm palm smoothing over the skin where her dress had hiked up. The touch sent a little spark through her even in her hazy state.

'I missed you too, star girl,' he murmured, thumb tracing slow circles on her thigh. 'Sounds like the party was a success.'

'Mhmm,' she hummed, nuzzling closer. Her fingers played with the soft curls at the nape of his neck before slipping under the collar of his hoodie, seeking more skin. 'They kept buying me drinks ‘cause I’m a doctor now. A real one. I can explain dark matter and gravitational waves and…and you’re so warm. Why are you always so warm? It’s unfair.'

Jaafar’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. His hand stayed firmly on her thigh, squeezing gently as she shifted in his lap. 'You’re drunk, baby.'

'Uh-uh, celebratory drunk,' she corrected, pulling back just enough to look at him. Their faces were inches apart. Up close, his eyes were even prettier, warm brown with those long lashes. 'There’s a difference. I earned this. And I earned coming home to the most beautiful man on the planet.'

She leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. Then another to his jaw. Then one right on the corner of his mouth, her tongue teasing lightly against his skin. His grip on her thigh tightened, fingers digging in just enough to make her sigh happily.

'You’re ridiculous,' he murmured, but his grin was huge. He tilted his head to catch her next kiss properly, lips meeting hers in a deeper, slower press. The kiss quickly turned heated, her hands wandering under his hoodie now, palms sliding over the smooth planes of his chest and down his sides.

She broke the kiss only to trail her lips along his jaw and down to his neck, murmuring, 'Look at you…these cheekbones, these eyes…your smile should be illegal.' Her fingers touching his abs through his skin, dipping lower toward the waistband of his shorts. 'I told everyone at the party how lucky I am. They were all jealous.'

Jaafar let out a low chuckle that sounded a little rougher now, his free hand sliding up her back while the one on her thigh moved higher, slipping just under the hem of her dress. 'Alright, drunk compliments incoming. Let’s get you some water and into bed before you really start something, yeah?'

'Nooo,' she whined, tightening her arms around his neck and grinding subtly against him as she pressed closer. Her dress was practically bunched at her hips now, and his warm hand felt electric on her bare skin. 'I’m comfy right here. Your lap is the best seat in the house. Better than any fancy PhD celebration chair.'

He raised an eyebrow, still smiling, but his breathing had picked up. 'Is that so?'

'Mhm. Throne for Dr. Y/N.' She kissed him again, deeper this time, messy and needy from the alcohol, but full of pure heat and adoration. Her hands roamed freely under his hoodie, pushing it up so she could feel more of him, nails lightly scratching down his chest. He groaned softly into her mouth, his hand squeezing her thigh harder.

'Baby…' he warned playfully between kisses, but he didn’t stop her. Instead, he kissed her back just as eagerly, tongue brushing hers while his fingers continued their slow exploration along her thigh.

When she finally pulled back for air, she stayed glued to him, cupping his face with both hands. 'I love you. Like…universe-expanding levels of love. Bigger than any nebula I’ve ever studied. You’re my favorite cosmic event. And so fucking pretty it hurts.'

Jaafar giggled, actually giggled, and tried to hide it by pressing his face into her shoulder, but his hand never left her thigh. 'You’re gonna be so embarrassed tomorrow when I remind you of all this.'

'Won’t be embarrassed,' she declared confidently. 'I tell you you’re beautiful every day. Tonight I’m just…extra honest. Because look at you.' She traced his jaw with her fingertip, then leaned down to kiss his neck again, sucking lightly. 'Perfect jawline. Perfect lips. Perfect everything. How did I get so lucky?'

He caught her wandering hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles even as his other hand stayed high on her thigh, holding her in place. The gentle gesture contrasted with the heat in his eyes. 'I’m the lucky one. Coming home to my brilliant girlfriend who just earned her doctorate and still chooses to climb me like a koala.'

She gasped dramatically. 'Koala? Accurate. I’m never letting go.' To prove her point, she hugged him tighter, pressing her entire body against his and tucking her face back into his neck while her hands continued their lazy exploration under his hoodie.

Jaafar let her have her way for a few long heated minutes, kisses turning sloppy and needy, his hand stroking higher up her thigh, occasionally slipping under the fabric of her dress to tease the soft skin there. Every shift of her hips drew quiet and amused groans from him.

Eventually, though, he shifted beneath her with a sigh. 'Baby…as much as I love you using me as furniture, you need water, comfy clothes and sleep. Come on.'

She made a pitiful noise of protest but let him help her up anyway, mostly because he stood with her still wrapped around him, carrying her like she weighed nothing. Her legs locked around his waist instinctively, dress still hiked up as she kept kissing his neck and jaw the whole way to the bedroom.

'My strong, handsome boyfriend,' she cooed against his ear. 'Carrying his very accomplished, very drunk, very horny doctor girlfriend. This is peak romance.'

He was full on laughing now, the sound bright and warm despite the flush on his cheeks. 'You’re something else tonight.'

In the bedroom, he set her gently on the edge of the bed. She immediately reached for him again, grabbing the front of his hoodie and pulling him down into another deep kiss. He indulged her fully, cupping her face with both hands as he kissed her back, slow, sweet and full of quiet hunger. His hands wandered down her sides, brushing over her thighs again as he helped peel the dress the rest of the way off.

With endless patience, and a fair bit of self-restraint, he slipped one of his oversized t-shirts over her head. She kept interrupting with grabby hands and more kisses: on his shoulder, his stomach when the hoodie rode up, on his lips every time he came within reach. Her fingers kept dipping toward his waistband until he gently caught them with a chuckle.

'Alright, star girl. Water first.'

He disappeared to the kitchen for a minute and returned with a glass of water and some painkillers. She drank obediently while leaning heavily against him, her free hand still tracing patterns on his chest.

Back in bed, she didn’t give him a chance to settle on his own. The second he climbed under the covers, she was crawling into his arms, leg thrown over his hips, body pressed flush against him. Her hand slipped back under his freshly changed t-shirt, resting possessively on his bare skin.

'Best night,' she mumbled, already drifting as the exhaustion and alcohol caught up. 'Graduated…celebrated…came home to you…Perfect.'

Jaafar pressed a long kiss to the top of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair while his other hand settled back on her thigh under the shirt. 'Wouldn’t trade it for anything. Sleep now. I’ve got you.'

And because (Name) loves him, she stays longer than she should. She keeps giving him chances he hasn’t earned because she sees the man he could be and mistakes that potential for a promise. That’s the mess at the center of their relationship—the “I can fix him” mentality of a woman who deserves better and the “I want options” guy who thinks the best option is going to wait forever. The gag is neither of them are confused about how they feel about each other, the feelings are actually the easiest part. Jackie already knows he wants to marry (Name) someday. The problem is that someday keeps moving further away. Every time he asks for more time, he assumes she’ll still be standing exactly where he left her. Deep down though, he knows there’s a very real possibility that one day she’ll wake up, realize she’s spent years waiting for a man who already knows she’s the one, chooses to not choose her still, and decide she’s tired of waiting for him to catch up. And he’ll be damned if he lets another man take you away from him.

What makes Jackie so difficult to leave is that every complaint (Name) has about him is real, but so is every reason she loves him. The problem has never been that Jackie doesn’t care; he cares just enough to keep her holding on. Every time she reaches her breaking point, every time she decides she’s tired of waiting, tired of sharing him, tired of feeling like she’s standing in line for a future that never seems to arrive, Jackie somehow senses it. He becomes softer. More attentive. More present. And suddenly he’s calling just to hear her voice. Suddenly he’s showing up at her door with flowers, gifts, sweet treats. Suddenly he’s holding her a little longer when he hugs her goodbye, looking at her with that look that makes her feel like she’s the only woman in the world.

And Jackie knows exactly what to say and exactly what to do.

He knows how to hold her when she’s upset and slowly talk her down from the ledge of every reason she has to leave. He’ll tell her he’s trying. Tell her he’s been thinking about things. Tell her he’s getting older now and starting to see life differently. He’ll talk about the future in vague, beautiful pieces. A house somewhere quiet. Waking up next to her every morning. Growing old together. Knocking her up. All these things when he’s digging in her guts with nine thick inches of dick, mind you. So, poor girl doesn’t even know left from right or up from down because he fucks her so good—pressing down on her tummy so he can feel himself rutting into her.

These are the kind of conversations he’s avoided with her for years, and they suddenly spill from him so naturally that she starts to wonder if maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment she’s been waiting for.

Maybe he’s finally ready.

The insane part is that Jackie usually believes himself when he’s saying it. In those moments, looking at her, holding her, fucking her, imagining a future that feels so comforting rather than.. restrictive, and he genuinely means every word. That’s what makes him so convincing because isn’t delivering these bullshit lines. He’s speaking from whatever emotion he’s feeling at that exact second and when Jackie loves, he loves completely. The problem is that his certainty only seems to exist in the moment. Once the emotion fades, once life resumes, once the pressure disappears, so does the urgency to change.

That’s why (Name) keeps getting pulled back in. Because every version of the future she’s ever wanted exists somewhere inside Jackie. She can see it. Sometimes he lets her see it too. She catches glimpses of the husband he could be, the father he could be, the man who would spend the rest of his life loving her. Those glimpses are powerful enough to make her stay another month. Another year. Powerful enough to convince her that maybe all he needs is a little more time.

But.

If Jackie is the source of (Name)’s uncertainty, Michael is the complete opposite. There is nothing uncertain about the way Michael feels about her because his crush is so painfully obvious.

Everyone notices it eventually. The way he watches her when he thinks she isn’t looking. The way conversations he’s half listening to seem to brighten the second she joins them. The way he suddenly becomes hyper aware of himself whenever she’s nearby, straightening his posture, fixing his clothes, stumbling over words he’d normally say without thinking. Michael is utterly, hopelessly gone, and the worst part is that he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to hide it.

Unfortunately for him, (Name) knows.

She figures it out much earlier than he realizes and finds it almost impossible not to tease him about it. He’s just so cute—and granted, there is a little age gap but it’s nothing crazy. Michael is four years younger than her so naturally, she’s endeared by him because he makes it so easy to dote on him. He blushes when she compliments him. Gets flustered when she touches his arm. Completely short circuits whenever she cups his jaw and tells him how pretty he is. She’ll smile at him across a room and spend the next ten minutes watching him try to recover. There’s something almost irresistible about how sweet he is, how transparent he is. Michael wears every emotion openly, and when he looks at her, it’s like watching someone hand over all their secrets without realizing it.

What Michael loves most about her isn’t one singular thing. It’s the totality of her. Her confidence. The softness. The way she carries herself like a woman who knows exactly who she is and what she wants. He notices everything, from the sound of her laugh to the way she fills a room simply by walking into it. Even her presence seems capable of rearranging his priorities. There have been moments where he’s caught himself standing beside her and become so acutely aware of his own lankiness that he’s genuinely considered spending more time in the gym. And she’s never suggested he should, but being around her makes him want to be the best version of himself. He just.. has these thoughts worrying about if he could be able “handle” all of her from her hips, to her thighs, her breasts—he doesn’t think he has a chance in hell but still. He understands why she’s with his big brother.

But anyway, around (Name), Michael becomes strangely domestic without meaning to. He remembers little things. He carries things for her before she asks. He saves her a seat. If she’s tired, he’s immediately concerned. If her feet hurt after a long night, he’ll end up sitting on the floor in front of her, gently rubbing the ache from them while she talks about whatever happens to be on her mind. And there’s no expectation of getting something in return. Taking care of her simply comes naturally to him. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize he's doing it until somebody points it out and embarrasses him.

Unlike Jackie, Michael isn’t holding anything back. His affection is constant, uncomplicated, and sincere. He looks at (Name) like she’s already something precious. Like she doesn’t need to become anything more to earn his devotion. And while she finds his crush endlessly adorable, there’s a small part of her that tries not to think too hard about it. Because every time Jackie leaves her waiting, every time he asks for more time, every time he chooses freedom over certainty, Michael is there in the background offering the exact thing she’s been asking for all along without ever demanding she choose him back.

And that’s.. not good.

The party had settled into that golden hour that made everything look softer than it really was. The pool shimmered beneath the setting sun, throwing ribbons of orange light across the patio. Music drifted from the speakers, low enough to blend into the conversations and laughter around them. People leaned against the bar with drinks in their hands, clustered together in little groups, their skin still warm from a day spent in the sun.

(Name) couldn’t enjoy any of it.

The farther she got from the pool, the quieter everything became. The music was still there, buried beneath the sound of splashing water and laughter, but it felt distant now and muted. She stopped near the side of the house where the shadows had started to creep across the stucco walls, holding her glass that had been bleeding condensation

Of course he followed her.

Jackie rounded the corner a minute later, irritation already written across his face. His sunglasses were pushed onto the top of his head, one hand resting on his hip as he looked at her.

“Now what you stompin’ off for?” He asked, stopping a few feet away. There wasn’t much concern in his voice anymore. Mostly annoyance. “I been lookin’ for you. What’s your problem?”

(Name) stared at him. “My problem?”

“Yeah, your problem.” Jackie gestured vaguely toward the party behind them before letting his hand fall. “You've been givin’ me attitude all afternoon.”

She laughed in disbelief. “I’ve been giving you attitude?”

Jackie immediately sighed and tipped his head back.

“Nah, see, here we go.” He dragged a hand across the back of his neck and looked away toward the pool for a second. “I knew it was gonna be somethin’.”

“No,” she shot back, shaking her head. “Here you go, Jackie.”

“Baby, I was standin’ there talkin’.” Jackie pointed vaguely toward the party behind him before looking back at her. “That’s all I was doin’.”

“You were flirting with those girls in front of my face. Do you understand how embarrassing that is? How pathetic you make me look in front of your family and friends?” (Name) asks, a bewildered look on her face.

“I was not.” He laughed once through his nose and adjusted the sunglasses sitting on top of his head. “See, that's what I'm talkin’ bout."

“Jackie, literally nothing is funny right now.”

"I wasn—” He stared at her for a moment before throwing one hand into the air. “You know what. Sometimes I think you make your mind up before I even open my damn mouth.” He took a few steps closer, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. “You decide what happened and then that’s it.”

“Oh my God.” (Name) looked away, rubbing her forehead.

“I'm serious.” He responds.

“No, baby. You’re not, you’re actually being very unserious right now and it’s about to piss me off.”

“Baby.” Jackie pointed toward the backyard again. “Half them folks over there was standin’ around talkin’. Was I supposed to sit by myself in a corner all day?”

(Name) laughed, but there wasn't an ounce of humor in it. “You always got a smartass answer.”

“‘Cause you always got an accusation.” He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight onto one leg. “It gets old.”

Her expression hardened. “You know what gets old? Watching you do this to me every single time.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m crazy.”

Jackie's face tightened immediately. “Ain’t nobody callin’ you crazy.”

“You imply it enough.”

He rubbed both hands down his face and let out a long breath. “Lord have mercy.”

“No, seriously.” She stepped closer now, her drink sloshing dangerously in the glass. “You flirt with women right in front of me and then somehow I’m the problem for having eyes—Jackie, we’ve had conversations about you sleeping with women outside of me. So, I don’t know why you’re playing dumb. Yes, I’m going to feel upset when I see you whispering in another girl’s ear and touching on her!”

Jackie looked away for a second, jaw working and clearly irritated. “See?” He pointed at her. “That right there. That’s what I'm talkin' about.”

“No, Jackie, what’s crazy is that you genuinely think this is normal.” For a moment neither spoke and music drifted through the evening air. A burst of laughter erupted somewhere near the pool. Jackie’s gaze dropped to the ground before returning to her face.

Jackie's patience finally snapped.

“Nah,” He spread his arms wide and took a step back. “The fact that I gotta stand here defendin’ myself over a conversation.”

“It wasn’t just a conversation, Jackie!”

“For God’s sake.” He looked up at the sky before looking back at her. “I didn’t sleep wit’them girls yet.”

Silence.

The second the words left his mouth, the fight drained from her face and the disappointment landed slowly. He saw it happen, saw her shoulders sag, saw her look away.

“..Yet?” (Name)’s voice was so small.

Jackie’s expression immediately shifted. Knowing. He told on himself. “Aw, c'mon.” He stepped forward, one hand reaching out. “That ain’t what I meant, babygirl..”

“But that's what you said.” She’s tearing up.

“You know what I mean.” He watches how she can’t even look at him anymore—but she never could when she was about to cry.

“(Name)..” Jackie opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. She set her drink down on a nearby table with a sharp clink and grabbed her heels. “Baby, hold on.”

“’M going inside, I’m all partied out..” She said quietly, brushing past him.

“You really gonna walk away over this?” Jackie asked, following her a few steps.

(Name) turned before Jackie could stop her, her shoes dangling from two fingers as she headed back toward the house. The concrete was still warm beneath her bare feet, damp in places where pool water had been tracked across the patio. Each step left a faint wet print behind her. Her pace was quick, bordering on a storm, shoulders stiff with frustration as the sounds of the party swelled and faded around her. The loose ties of her bikini skirt fluttered against her thighs while her hair clung slightly to the back of her neck from the lingering heat of the day.

She didn’t look back. The only indication that Jackie had spoken at all was the brief swallowing of her throat. The movement of her body carried the urgency of someone trying very hard not to cry, not to turn around, not to give somebody one more chance. Even the rhythm of her walk felt determined, her heels knocking softly against one another where they hung from her hand while the sunset stretched her shadow long across the wet concrete ahead of her.

By the time (Name) made it inside the house, the party felt like it belonged to another world.

The music was still there, but just muffled through walls and glass. Every so often she could hear a burst of laughter or the distant splash of someone jumping into the pool, but it all sounded far away now. Detached like she was listening to it from underwater.

She wandered through the kitchen first, passing half empty bottles and abandoned cups, countertops were crowded with evidence of a good time. People drifted in and out of rooms without really noticing her and she wasn’t sure where she was going. She just knew she needed to be somewhere Jackie wasn’t.

Eventually she found herself standing in front of the laundry room, the door was partially open and the room was small, warm, and quiet. Smelled nice too.

Perfect.

(Name) slipped inside and nudged the door shut behind her. The hum of the machines immediately wrapped around her, steady and comforting in a strange sort of way. There was something nice about the simplicity of it. No music. No conversations, just white noise.

She climbed onto the dryer and sat down, setting her heels on a towel hook beside her. For a moment she simply stared at the opposite wall. Her drink remained in her hand, condensation continuing to gather against the glass before dripping onto her fingers.

The adrenaline from the argument was beginning to wear off. But that was always the worst part, because the anger never stayed. It always dissolved into something that felt uncomfortable to sit in.

Her shoulders slumped slightly as she leaned forward, massaging her own neck with the opposite hand. The dryer vibrated faintly beneath her. Somewhere down the hall, somebody laughed. A door opened and closed.

She barely registered any of it. Instead, her thoughts drifted back toward Jackie despite her best efforts. The argument replayed itself automatically, each line hurt more now than it had been in the moment. The dismissiveness. The frustration. The way he’d looked at her when he thought she was overreacting. The way she’d almost let him pull her back in again.

Almost.

The glass felt cold against her palm and she watched a droplet of water slide slowly down its side before falling onto her thigh.

For a long time she simply sat there, disassociating.

Michael didn't realize he was looking for her until he couldn't find her.

The party had settled into that dreamy part of the evening where everything felt warm and golden. Music drifted across the backyard, people gathered around the bar with drinks in their hands, and laughter seemed to rise from every corner of the patio. Normally, Michael would’ve been right in the middle of it. Instead, he kept catching himself scanning the crowd. Looking toward the pool. The patio doors. The groups of people clustered beneath strings of lights. Every few minutes his eyes searched for the same person before he could stop them.

At first he didn’t think much of it. Maybe she’d gone inside. Maybe she’d gotten caught talking to somebody. But as the minutes passed, an uneasiness began settling into his chest. He’d seen the look on her face earlier. Seen her watching Jackie. Seen her walk away. Michael had always been the sort of person who noticed things, especially when it came to her. The longer she remained missing, the harder it became to focus on anything else.

Eventually he gave up pretending he wasn’t distracted and slipped inside the house. The cool air immediately swallowed up the noise of the party. He wandered through the kitchen, then the living room, barely registering the people he passed along the way. His attention remained fixed on one thing. Finding her, and the house suddenly felt much bigger than it had an hour ago.

When he finally noticed the faint light spilling from the closed laundry room door, something in him relaxed before he even opened it. Sure enough, there she was. Sitting on top of the dryer in her bikini with a drink still dangling loosely from her fingers, staring at absolutely nothing. For a moment Michael simply stood in the doorway. Relief washed through him so quickly it almost felt silly. She wasn’t hurt, at least from what he could see. She was just somewhere far away inside her own head. And somehow, after spending the last fifteen minutes searching for her, the sight of her sitting alone in a laundry room felt like finding exactly what he’d been looking for.

For a moment, Michael simply stood in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame as he looked at her. The dryer hummed softly beneath her while she stared down at the drink dangling from her fingers. Outside, the party carried on without them. Music drifted through the walls, accompanied by distant laughter and the occasional splash from the pool.

“Hi.” The quiet greeting was enough to pull her from her thoughts. (Name) looked up, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased when she saw him standing there.

“Hey, lovebug.” The nickname immediately softened his expression. Michael stepped into the room, letting the door close shut behind him. His eyes moved over her face for a moment before he asked the question she’d known was coming.

“You okay?”

(Name) glanced down at her drink and shrugged lightly. “I’m okay.”

Michael didn’t respond right away, he just looked at her. The silence stretched long enough to make it obvious he didn’t believe her. But she smiled anyway, small and unconvincing. “Really. I'm fine.”

His hands disappeared into his pockets. “Did Jackie make you cry?”

The question caught her off guard enough to make her laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh. More surprise than anything else. “What?”

“Did he?” Michael's expression remained completely serious. He wasn’t teasing, genuinely wanting to know. (Name) looked away toward the tiny window above the washer.

“No. But almost..” A truthful answer. “Tired of crying over the same thing..” She says under her breath.

His jaw tightened slightly as he looked down at the floor. “He makes you sad a lot.”

The words seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her. Almost immediately he looked away, like he’d accidentally said something he'd been keeping to himself for a very long time. The laundry room fell quiet again, filled only by the hum of the machines.

“Michael.” He looked up. “I don't wanna talk about Jackie.”

Something softened in his face immediately. “Okay.”

And just like that, he dropped it. No pushing. No questions. No attempt to convince her otherwise. He simply moved farther into the room and leaned against the washer across from her, content to sit in the quiet with her if that’s what she needed.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Michael remained leaning against the washer across from her, his hands tucked into his pockets while the dryer beneath her hummed steadily. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt strangely safe.

Then, without looking at her, he said it. “I wouldn’t treat you like that.”

The words were so quiet she almost thought she’d imagined them. Michael was staring at the floor when he said it, the toe of his sandal nudging absentmently at a crack between the tiles. He looked embarrassed before he’d even finished the sentence.

(Name) blinked.

The comment tugged at something inside her despite herself. She was still upset. Still angry. Still carrying the emotions of the argument with Jackie. But there was also something undeniably cute about Michael standing in a laundry room trying very hard not to confess the world’s most obvious crush.

A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, yeah?”

Michael immediately looked like he regretted opening his mouth. “Forget it.”

“No.” She shifted slightly atop the dryer, tilting her head. “Go ahead.”

His face flushed. “There ain’t nothin’ to go ahead with..”

“Michael.” He groaned quietly and looked away and smile on her face grew. “And what do you know about making me happy?”

She meant it teasingly, lightly. You know, playfully. The sort of question she expected him to stumble over. But, Michael surprised her.

“A lot, actually.”

(Name)'s smile faded a little and Michael swallowed.

“I know you like extra ice in your drinks even when everybody tells you it waters ‘em down. I know you pretend not to care what people think until somebody you love says somethin’ mean and then you think about it for three days.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I know when you’re genuinely happy because you start talkin’ with your hands more.”

(Name) stared at him and Michael wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring at the floor.

Still talking.

“I know you get quiet when somethin’s wrong, even when you’re tellin’ everybody you’re fine. I know you hate being embarrassed in front of people. I know you act tougher than you are.” His voice had become quieter now, thoughtful.

“I know you like when somebody remembers little things.” Michael finally looked up and he second he saw her expression, realization hit him. His eyes widened like he’d suddenly become aware of everything he’d just admitted. Inadvertently admittedly his feelings for her.

“Oh.” He immediately pushed himself away from the washer. “Oh, man.” A nervous laugh escaped him. “’M sorry..”

“Michael—” (Name) can barely get a word out before he’s stumbling over his words.

“No, that was weird.”

“It wasn’t.”

"It was." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, already retreating toward the door. ”I shouldn’t’ve said all that.” The poor thing looked mortified but really, he’d accidentally handed her pages from a diary.

“‘M sorry,” he repeated. “Forget I said any of that.” He reached for the doorknob. That’s when she hopped off the dryer.

“Michael.” This time her voice stopped him and his hand froze.

Slowly, he turned around and (Name) was looking at him with an expression he’d never seen directed at him before. For lack of better words.. it was suddenly feeling a little too grown. He’s only ever been envious of this look because it’s what Jackie gets. Never in his life would he have thought he’d even been remotely close to unlocking.. this..

(Name) stared at him for a few seconds before tilting her head.

“Can you keep a secret, papa?” Michael blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then he nodded immediately. Once. Twice. So quickly it was almost funny.

“Yeah. ‘Course I can.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “C’mere.”

He hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room. The closer he got, the more nervous he seemed to become. By the time he reached her, his hands were practically glued to his sides. (Name) reached up and slipped her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck, and the movement stopped him completely. His breath caught as he looked down at her, doe eyed and uncharacteristically speechless.

Gently, she pulled him closer. Michael followed without resistance, one hand finding the edge of the dryer to steady himself as she closed the distance between them and led him into a kiss. It was soft and tender, the kind of kiss that felt like an answer to a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask out loud.

When she pulled away, Michael remained exactly where he was. Frozen. His eyes searched her face for a long moment, disbelief and hope flickering across his expression so openly that it nearly hurt to look at. As if he genuinely couldn’t decide whether what had just happened was real. And somehow, that look affected (Name) far more than the kiss itself ever could.

Their lips find each other again hungrily, moving in sync with one another. The air is thick with nervous energy as their figures collide lips meeting in a clumsy, urgent rush. No soft buildup this time around, no gentle lean in; just teeth accidentally clashing before they find the right angle. (Name) tries her best guiding him through it but he seems to be really eager to even be touching her.

One hand grips the back of his neck tightly—fingers tangled in curls that’s slightly damp from the pool while her other presses flat against his chest, his heart pounding like it might burst. Mouths open messily, not quite synced and when tongues finally meet, it’s sweet from candy and salty sweat. A quiet mmph escapes him as their noses squish together again and again.

The second kiss left Michael strangely still.

When they pulled apart for air, he didn't go very far. His forehead settled against hers almost immediately, his eyes closing as though he were trying to gather himself. One hand remained braced against the dryer beside her while the other hung loosely at his side. The laundry room hummed around them, the sound of the machines blending with the distant music and laughter filtering in from the party outside. Neither of them seemed to notice. Michael, especially, looked completely disconnected from everything beyond the small space they’d carved out for themselves.

“We should stop.” The words came out so quietly she almost thought she'd imagined them.

“Huh?”

Michael swallowed hard. His eyes stayed closed for another second before he finally opened them. “We should stop..” It didn’t sound like something he wanted. It sounded like something he was forcing himself to say.

For a moment he simply looked at her. Really looked at her. Then his gaze dropped, as though holding eye contact made it harder to think. His forehead remained resting against hers, neither close enough nor far enough to make the situation any easier.

“I’m havin' a hard time thinkin’..” A shaky breath left him. “I know how I feel about you..” The confession was quiet and matter-of-fact, because at this point it had become impossible to deny at this point.

“And I know you just had a fight with Jackie.” He shuts his eyes tighter. “I don’t wanna be somebody who takes advantage of that..”

The honesty of it landed harder than she expected. For all the longing written plainly across his face, there was still that stubborn gentleness in him. The part that cared more about doing the right thing than getting what he wanted.

Yet he still hadn’t moved away.

If anything, he seemed incapable of it.

His eyes drifted shut again and he let out another slow breath.

“But if we keep kissin’..” His voice faltered for the first time all evening. A faint flush climbed into his cheeks. “I don't think I’m gonna want to stop..”

The admission hung between them in the soft hum of the laundry room. Michael looked almost embarrassed by his own honesty, but he didn't take it back. He simply remained there with his forehead resting against hers, looking completely overwhelmed by her, a man who’d been in love for far too long and was finally running out of ways to hide it.

She reaches up and caresses his face, eyeing him with those pretty eyes he’s only ever dreamed of even though he can’t bring himself to open his own eyes just yet. She peppers kisses all over his face before leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me, Michael?”

Michael nods against her. “I-I do,” He swallows. “But I’ll need your help..” He says shyly, he’s not very experienced quite yet—not like his brothers.

The moment stretches, humid and thick with anticipation as (Name) smiles, fingers hovering just above Michael’s wrist where his hand rests at his side. Her grip is firm but warm as she drags Michael’s palm down the curve of her hipbone, over fabric damp with choline and pool water. She presses hard until his fingers slip beneath the elastic waistband; the hot skin of her pussy meeting his fingertips that jerk reflexively at first contact.

She gently guides his wrist up and down, “Like this..” She says resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“Soft..” Michael whispers as he plays with her, but its short lived before there’s a knock at the door and they both scramble.

“(Name), baby. You in there? I wanna talk. ’Ya got me feelin’ bad..”

Jackie.

⟡ ۫ . ✉️ — in the winter of '69, eleven year old michael jackson met his darling wife, the mother of his children, on his first day at gardner street elementary school. in the sandbox during recess was where he first laid eyes on the beautiful girl he would go on to call his own.

the girl in question hadn't noticed him at first, partly because michael was always very shy and quiet outside the stage, but also because she—our sweet, ditsy reader—was lost in her own world. as that happy little child, you often didn't notice the people around you when you were busy with something.

then when you did look to the side, you began your very first conversation with the boy who had been observing you. shy little michael thanked the heavens that you'd been the one to say something, because even at first glance he thought you looked really pretty, and while his mother had brought up the sweet boy to be a confident gentleman with the ladies, his shyness often overwhelmed the ability to spark conversation—especially with such an angelic girl as yourself.

you thought he was very cute—but in that boyish, adorable sort of way, not bearing the burden of those fluttery butterflies that michael was dealing with upon first sight. at eleven years old, and without really having had such jittery feelings for anyone before, he wasn't quite sure how to understand said feelings. all he knew was that he had been placed beside a very beautiful girl, and that made him very happy.

once you'd started talking, he was determined to lengthen and drag out whatever it was that you ended up discussing, because he quickly realised that he would happily listen to you talk forever, and because he worried that if your conversation ended, you would walk away and he'd have to restart an instigation of your friendship all over again.

but that first conversation took you both all the way to next period, a class that luckily you shared, and beyond that to lunch, where by the end of the day it became clear that two sweet, doe-eyed children were entering a dear friendship, one that was sure to extend past the four walls of the classroom.

a few months later, michael eventually left in favour of being homeschooled, but you lived close by, and your relationship happily blossomed. you were the only one who saw him for who he really was—not the cute pop star everyone wanted to say that they knew, but the caring little boy, who you were of course so privileged to say that you knew, but who mattered so much more than a claim to fame. while many around you and in the media were beginning to judge michael as he grew into his adolescence through misunderstanding his personality, his best friend knew everything about him, and there was nobody he felt safer with.

however, as you both turned fourteen, the forceful nature of michael's circumstances triggered a turn for the worse. you were growing up in two very different households. where michael's was strict and absent of care, yours was much more relaxed and loving. you could pretty much do whatever you wanted, within generous limits—staying out at night with friends as long as you were back in time for curfew, spending your own allocated hours on studying rather than being forced to do so on your parents' terms.

michael, however, experienced the exact opposite, controlled by his father, joseph jackson, and there had been multiple nights initially where you had gone over to his house with the intention of either inviting him out or asking if he wanted to hang with you in his bedroom, but despite how covert you attempted to be, joseph was constantly on alert, where he always saw and heard everything. especially late at night, when the house was at its quietest. many times he shunned you away, and you knew he wasn't to be messed with, so you never retaliated or protested.

sometimes you were in fact lucky enough to make it inside without anyone other than michael and katherine noticing—katherine who always supported your presence and kept it a secret from her husband—but one night, where you had been so certain that nobody else was aware, joseph found you at the top of the stairs as you headed to the bathroom. sinister and cruel as he always was, he now forced you to leave, and for good this time, making it clear to you that you would never be seeing michael again. you had been at a loss for words, utterly dumbfounded at why on earth his resort to this was supposedly necessary, but joseph only told you that nothing in the world mattered to him more than his son's career, ever-promising now that his voice was beginning to bloom into its youth, and therefore there could be no distraction. you wanted to go out and have fun with your best friend, or if not at least have the same harmless sleepovers you'd always had, but joseph was explicitly certain that you would prove to be nothing but a needless distraction from michael's focus on his craft.

at the time, you hadn't understood exactly how your presence and his career were linked—other than joseph's extreme over-protection of said career, which you eventually had to accept as the sole explanation—but you would find out the depth of it all eventually.

seven dreadfully long years went by without your very best friend. you hadn't even said goodbye to him, and it pained you both equally. joseph had felt no concern when he informed michael of what he'd told you, and if the boy hadn't already been certain of his father's relentless cruelty, this was now a whole other level of evil. joseph had taken away the one person who truly understood him, and at that he cried all night.

from that point on, sometimes you would see each other in the street—like the times where you'd be hanging with your friends directly opposite the entrance to the recording studio, supposedly coincidentally, but more accurately wanting to get a glimpse of the boy you missed dearly. it hurt so much to look at each other, knowing that three years of friendship had been forced to come to an end all because michael had been cursed with such a horrible father. he had influence and control in every part of michael's life, somehow always there in his presence, so it wasn't even like you could be sneaky and meet up in secret. attempted secrecy was what had caused the trouble in the first place.

you each wondered if things might be different in a few years. you were four away from turning eighteen, and while it seemed like a lifetime until adulthood would begin, there was slight hope in that things might be different when that time came. surely michael wouldn't still be under the oppression of joseph's constraints?

but eighteen came and went. two years prior you had moved with your family to new york, so meeting up with michael in los angeles was incredibly unlikely, and because it had been so long since you last saw each other, you began to feel awkward if you even suggested to your mother the opportunity to fly out to see him. what if he no longer cared about you? what if you hadn't even entered his mind in that time? after all, you had only been friends for three, and michael was a busy man in an even busier industry. surely he must have copious amounts of friends by now. you knew he'd struggled to attain them as a child, but the boy had always been incredibly charming, so certainly he must have better friends than you at this stage in his efflorescing career. perhaps he even had a girlfriend. weirdly, you found yourself searching for the answer to that question in the newspapers more often than you'd like to admit.

you were experiencing him only through the medium of music and television, always eagerly waiting for his next live TV appearance, buying each jackson 5 album as soon as they were released. you couldn't believe your horrible luck—that this beautifully talented young man had been your person, for three straight years, only to be stripped from you without warning.

the jacksons visited new york multiple times on tour, and every one of those times you purposely avoided attending, despite how much you craved to see michael in person again. you believed it would hurt too much, and that he might see you and... well, what would he think of you? would he be emotional to see you, as you would be to see him? or would he think you were using the night as a way to creep back into his life, to use him like everyone else wished to? you weren't even sure whether or not joseph had told him the truth. he had, but the possibility that michael had completely misunderstood your departure nagged at you anxiously. there were too many reasons not to be faced with him after all that time.

but your worry couldn’t have been more baseless, because michael missed you painfully. he felt he had never experienced such a loss as great as the day you disappeared, and while you may have guessed that he'd forgotten about your mere existence, the exact opposite was true. michael loved deeply and thoroughly, so not a day had passed where he hadn't thought of your name and your face. he owed great thanks to the existence of photography, because without it he wouldn't have the three pictures of you that always rested safely in his bedroom, those pictures that kept you with him no matter how far you were in reality. he often sat and wondered if you still looked the same, if you wore a different hairstyle now or sported a different fashion. he always wondered about you, and whenever he was in new york, he looked for you in every crowd. you never appeared, but he held strong hope that one day you would. he considered if perhaps he hadn't scanned the crowd with enough focus, and you'd been there all along.

in your desolate little bubbles, so stuck in melancholy over a friendship lost, neither of you could have predicted that soon enough—after some more painfully patient waiting—time would bring you back together, and elevate your once platonic love to define the two of you as forever sweethearts.

september, 1979 ♡

it was late afternoon in encino—the sweet sunlight of early autumn painting the greenery, its familiar warmth coating the air—when you stepped out into your hometown for the first time in five years. everything still looked the same, for it hadn't really been that long in the grand scheme of things. but for a girl who'd left at sixteen, those years had been experienced as akin to a lifetime. this place was where you were born, where you'd done everything for the first time, and now as an adult you were reentering what had birthed you.

your reason for returning was that your aunt was gravely ill, and you had been instructed to take care of her children while she was in hospital. initially, you had been so panicked for her that you hadn't felt the rush of second-thought that you usually had whenever the suggestion of returning to encino was brought up. you'd wanted to visit for so long—of course you had—but that uncertainty over michael and over joseph had consistently deterred you. you had essentially resorted to hoping that fate would bring you and michael together again, because you wished to absolve yourself of any responsibility in the matter. there had been opportunities, and you had chosen not to take any of them.

and still you wondered—if he was merely your best friend, why did it matter so much what he might say if you were to visit him? why did the thought of him rejecting your visit or misjudging your departure hurt you so badly you felt like you might throw up?

ironically, it seemed fate had now in fact intervened. through negative familial circumstances, you now had a reason to return to your hometown, the neighbourhood in which michael still inhabited—albeit with the same man who had forced you away. it deeply confused you how michael had now reached twenty one without yet escaping from joseph's control, but then again that family were always the most tight-knit group there ever was, and you knew michael was likely very afraid to get up and leave.

you also knew that he had released his debut solo album one month ago, and you'd bought it instantly—listened to it close to a hundred times, in complete awe of his talent. off the wall was so different to the sound produced of the jackson 5, and you'd hoped that with this venture into a solo career, he wouldn't be far off from separating himself from his father entirely. you always kept up to date on the latest news surrounding the family, hoping tirelessly that such separation would be soon, but still it seemed michael was trapped under joseph's power.

from the moment you stepped foot into encino, you couldn't stop thinking about him. the thought of his existence consumed you even more than it had done all these years, because now there was a very likely chance the two of you might run into each other. perhaps you wouldn't, but you couldn't be so pessimistic.

you needed to buy some new toys for your cousins who you were taking care of, and so you ventured off into the nearest toy store. it was big enough to have a worthy selection.

you scanned the aisles, walking up and down with a basket and dropping various teddybears and games into it as you went. you hummed in content, for the store was mostly empty at this time on a weekday, and you appreciated the calm.

and then all of a sudden, something mildly hard hit your shoulder, seemingly from out of nowhere. immediately you furrowed your eyebrows and whipped your head around to see who the culprit was. something had been shot at you from the barrel of a toy gun, and you chuckled to yourself, assuming it must have been a kid messing around.

as you turned back, you noticed a man beside you, smiling apologetically. the man was bald, in his fifties—incredibly familiar, although you couldn't pinpoint a name. "excuse me, ma'am. he was aiming at me."

you laughed again. growing up in a big, boisterous family, you knew how kids were. "oh, don't worry about it. at least he's having fun."

and then a head poked around the corner of the aisle, shooting a teasing smile at the man beside you, and what you saw certainly wasn't the face of any kid.

it was michael.

michael joseph jackson, the boy you'd been estranged from for the better part of the 1970s, was standing right at the corner of a random toy store in encino. your mouth widened in shock, but then you realised—of course michael was in a random toy store in encino. dressed in a plaid long sleeve and jeans, he still wore the same essence of the boy you knew, now enhanced by a visible maturity. and you’d seen him a lot over your years of distance, even if only on a screen or in pictures, but to see him now in person only affirmed just how handsome he was. you had always told him so, even before you were both teenagers, but he'd always shrugged off each compliment. now girls were desperate for his attention, and you always wondered how he was handling it.

he was still smiling at the bald man, toy gun held in his hands, and in an instant you recalled who that man was. bill bray—michael's bodyguard. joseph had assigned him to be of michael's assistance when he was thirteen, and you had to admit he was a great choice. how heartwarming that eight years on, here he was, still shopping for toys with that young boy, now a man.

bill didn't recognise you. it had been too long, and if you hadn't instantly recognised someone as distinctive as bill, it would've been a miracle for him to have done so of you.

you both stood together as michael's glance flicked from his bodyguard to the girl standing opposite him. it was a natural subtle movement of his eyeballs, but immediately upon the alteration he took a fast double-take, mouth opening as if to say something, but his vocal cords found no words.

"mikey..." you whispered, that long-lost nickname falling so instinctively from your lips.

michael’s eyes had lit up, but his expression still held a reflection of shock. you were really here—right in front of him.

"wh…” he started to speak, slowly as if trying to work out whether he was hallucinating or not. had he entered the stage of grief where he was seeing things that weren’t really there?

but his countenance only grew happier as he took in your appearance. you really were right in front of him—finally, after all these years.

“applehead…” he grinned, but still standing at the corner of the aisle in disbelief.

you chuckled at the familiar nickname, it sounding so silly after so long, but your heart warmed incredibly so. he still saw you in that way. he still saw you as his childhood best friend. as silly as it sounded to bill, to michael you were still his applehead, even at twenty one years old, seven years distanced.

smiles spread across both of your faces, and bill watched with fondness as he remembered exactly who you were. michael had never possessed many friends, and as his closest, you were the most memorable. it also helped that he had continuously mentioned you over the years. so much reminded him of you—things he saw, media he consumed, things that made him wonder if you might have liked them too, or perhaps you were watching the same thing as him at the same time…

michael often spoke his thoughts out loud with people he was comfortable with, so indeed bill had heard a lot about you.

now, the heart of the man opposite you was quite literally jumping up and down in his chest. this moment was what he’d wanted for so long, and by the look on your face, it relieved him to realise just how much you’d clearly missed him too.

he took a few steps forward, passing the toy to bill, a wide smile decorating his handsome face.

your smile mirrored his, and without another word, the two of you still unsure exactly what to say after all this time, michael initiated what you always used to greet each other with.

“c’mere, honey…” he sighed happily, enveloping you into a hug, his arms wrapping tight around your waist. honey? he’d never called you that before, and you felt something strange in your chest at the sound of the word from his lips.

with no hesitation, your arms threw themselves around his neck as you smiled against his warm chest, and the two of you giggled in pure glee. you each had missed this just as much, and michael’s hugs were truly special. how had you survived seven years without them?

“i missed you,” you both said in unison, chuckling again at the synchronicity. your words muffled against his chest as he spoke his into the crown of your head, taking in the scent of your hair.

“god, you have no idea…” he sighed, before pressing a warm kiss to your forehead and pulling away to look at you. bill was of course still standing there, but michael seemed to have forgotten about him altogether.

you both looked at each other in silence for a few moments, bright smiles on your faces that said everything without the need for words. your smiles somehow equally spoke of the sadness of years past, and the happiness of such a long time ago, with the beautiful relief of the current moment.

"so what are you doin’ here?” he asked in delighted disbelief. “i thought i might never see you again…”

"oh, i'm here to take care of my cousins for a little while," you explained, still beaming with joy. "just shopping for some toys. i really think fate brought us here. i can’t believe i’m looking at you right now."

the pretty smile ahead of you grew evermore. michael tugged you back into his embrace with playful aggression, and you squealed as you fell forward into his warmth again.

“mikey—” you laughed, but it wasn’t a real protest. you felt so safe in his arms, how he now held you to his chest. “you have somebody waiting, remember?”

“i have somebody right here, i know,” he said softly, still smiling and still holding you so tight, rocking you in his arms. his voice had always been so soft and gentle, but in this moment you realised it now seemed even more so.

you allowed him to hold onto you for a little longer, and despite michael being the one to initiate the hug, you really had no issues with being held in the warmth you’d missed so much. you’d be glad to live in this one moment forever.

“would’ya come to my place?” he whispered, still not letting go of you. “like old times?"

“to hayvenhurst?” you asked anxiously, hiding your face in his neck. you knew joseph still lived there.

“yeah, i wanna show you my room,” he smiled, and you could hear the smile in his tone, as you always could. he had always been such a happy, curious boy, but who simultaneously carried so much sadness. you hoped life had been better to him in recent years.

“it’s a lil different now. i have a pet monkey. his name’s bubbles.”

at that you pulled back in surprise, laughing as you did. “a pet monkey? and he stays in your room?”

he nodded as if it was a given that he’d share his living space with a monkey. but truthfully, when it came to him you should’ve predicted nothing less.

“michael…” you shook your head in amusement.

“so, d’you wanna come?” he raised a brow, a little shyly.

you almost visibly hesitated, but didn’t want to give him any impression that you weren’t interested in spending time with him. your reaction to seeing him had made that clear enough, but michael had seemed slightly shy to ask twice, as if he’d read your anxieties.

"yeah, of course—i'd love to mikey." you smiled to mask your worry.

but he could see through you well enough, the same way he always had. he furrowed his brows, and then almost immediately understood what was wrong.

"are you nervous about joseph?" he asked, weaving his long fingers between yours seamlessly.

you took a deep breath, looking at where you were interlocked, then looking back up again. "mhm. i know we're adults now but... it's his home, and—y'know... he did kick me out and tell me to never come back again."

"repeat that first part," michael said with that beautiful, reassuring smile. "you said it yourself: we're adults now. he can't hurt you."

you smiled sadly. "so does that mean he's stopped hurting you?"

michael squinted and squeezed your hand. "i fired him. as my manager."

your eyes widened. "for real?"

"yeah..." he chuckled under his breath. "i couldn't say it to his face, but we got it done in the end. yeah, he still lives with us an' all, but he's not in control anymore."

"are you sure?" you asked, still a little nervous at the prospect of a supposedly dismissed joseph still living in the same space as michael, that same space he would be taking you.

michael nodded again, opening his mouth to respond, but all of a sudden there was the happy shout of a child nearby.

"michael jackson?" the voice of a young girl called out.

you laughed happily and tapped his chest. "i'll let you deal with that."

michael turned back to wave at the fan, then gestured to her that he'd be one moment, before turning back to you.

"and yes," you added sincerely, "i'll come back to your place. you can give me a room tour."

your best friend's face lit up again, and you felt a strange twinge of emotion for the second time in two minutes.

"d'you wanna play twister? i'm just buyin' it here. my brothers don’t play w’me no more." he chuckled under his breath, but he held up the game in bill's cart with so much light in his eyes it strangely made you want to cry. and oh, poor bill was still standing there, waiting patiently for this standstill to end.

"i'd love to, mikey," you grinned, squeezing his hand that you noticed you were still holding.

after the little girl wanting his attention, there were several others—children, teens, adults—and the toy store quickly turned into a meet and greet with the one and only michael jackson. in the meantime, you paid for the toys in your cart, then stood and watched michael interact with the kids, and the smile on your face didn't falter the entire time. he was so lovely and gentle with them, even the ones that were a little boisterous. it was in that moment you knew that fame would never change the sweet boy he was within.

once he was finally done with signing autographs for everybody who had lined up, bill took the two of you home to hayvenhurst. michael sat in the back of the car with you, holding your hand the whole way. it reminded you of how you'd always hold his whenever as kids you'd walk back together anxiously, knowing that joseph's patience threshold was particularly low that day. you'd squeeze his hand as you walked, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles to soothe his nerves much like the way a gentleman might do for his girl—ironically, the very thing michael was doing for you right now. certainly a gentleman, but not yet in possession of a girl to call his.

michael definitely succeeded in soothing you now. neither of you talked much during the ride, mostly because you were too busy taking in the scenery around you, so immersed in the reality that you really were back home again.

and as you entered the all too familiar home, you couldn't have been luckier. joseph was out, and you discovered that he would continue to be until late at night, so you had nothing more to worry about. there was still that underlying concern you had for michael's wellbeing in general, but you had gratitude for the fact that his father at least wouldn't be ruining your reunion. you could have this one day together.

you greeted michael's brothers and sisters, talking with them for a while where michael impatiently waited for you to devote your attention to only him. then you spoke with katherine, his mother, who felt deeply sorry for what had happened, and quite guilty that she didn't attempt to sway joseph in another direction at the time. but you had to forgive her, because you knew that if you had been in her position, you wouldn't have had the courage to stand up for anything against that man.

michael was struggling to hide his frustration by the time you both finally reached his bedroom.

"what is it?" you laughed, nudging his arm. "you've been scowling at everybody for the last thirty minutes."

"it's nothin'," he shrugged, pushing open the door while trying to conceal the smile you always brought to his face. "i want you to myself, silly," he added, now certainly smiling again.

you rolled your eyes playfully. "i haven't seen them in seven years. i think a short conversation per person can be justified."

"whatever, honey," michael sighed.

again, that unfamiliar feeling pressed inside your chest, and now you were certain it was literal butterflies. what the fuck?

but before you had a chance to process what on earth was going on with your emotions, you blinked once and michael had a monkey in his arms. a real life pet monkey. you blinked a few more times to ground yourself in the chaos of the sight before you, and started to giggle.

"this is bubbles," he smiled, and his friend stared up at you with curiosity and intrigue.

you raised a brow, crossing your arms to your chest. "am i seeing things?"

"no," michael laughed softly.

"and what happened to rosie the crusher? she still here somewhere?" you asked in amusement, referring to michael's pet snake from when he was thirteen.

michael set bubbles down, and the latter skipped off into a corner to settle himself again. "well, joseph made me get rid of her a couple years back. i don't know where she is now."

you sighed in dismay, but you were also quite glad that this time you wouldn't be hanging out in a room where a snake was slithering around in the corner. yes, you understood michael more than anybody, but you were never quite sure what had possessed him to want a snake of all things.

over the next hour, you caught up on everything you'd missed of each other's lives over the time you'd been apart. you congratulated michael on his recent album, which really was an incredible work of art, especially considering it was his solo debut. you made sure he understood just how talented he was, and he kept blushing every time you did so—just as he had done those years ago.

then, after a lot of talking, you played twister together—beside bubbles, who kept eagerly trying to join in, so eventually michael had to let him join, and that made for a very humorous afternoon. you played for a long time, because you knew how much michael loved that silly game, and it made you so happy to see him having so much fun—for there was an underlying anxiety surrounding your best friend in the back of your mind.

being a famous musician could often bring more horror than happiness, and even though michael was flourishing now, you saw the innocence in him, the sweet angel desperate to experience a childhood that you lived and he didn't. the world could hurt this caring angel, and if that did happen, there was nothing you could do to stop it. so, as you played together you couldn't help but feel quite sad—despite the genuine smiles and laughter—because michael wanted to live in true freedom and a complete, child-like paradise, but you seriously feared that the world wouldn't understand that. the media already nitpicked at him, and you knew how deeply insecure he was as a result of his father's comments and abuse—no matter what you said to try to console his thoughts about himself—so your anxiety about what the future might hold made you want to freeze time.

perhaps you'd be wrong. perhaps the whole world would see him as you do, and therefore show him nothing but love and care. you would never infantilise michael, but he was a sensitive soul, and even as teenagers you knew that he had a gift, but with such gifts often came sacrifice and pain.

now, you shook your head of the thoughts, but something else tugged at you—something physical now, a pain building in your lower abdomen.

your period. fuck.

you grimaced with the pain, and despite how much fun michael was having, he quickly noticed the change in you.

"y'okay?" he asked, concern written in his eyes.

"um, yeah," you murmured, but the look on your face said otherwise. "cramps coming on, y'know..."

his brows raised automatically in response. "oh, is it—?"

"yeah, and i'm... not exactly prepared either."

god, this was fucking embarrassing. but you'd known michael for years, and he'd always cuddled you and done anything he could to soothe you whenever it was that time of the month—as opposed to how much of a taboo subject everyone else treated it. it had been the early '70s, and those things just weren't talked about, but michael never understood the need for anybody to suffer in silence.

"hey, don't worry," he said in that beautifully soft tone of his. "i'll go to latoya's room."

you smiled to yourself despite the pain, so in awe of how gentle he had always been (while busying yourself with watching bubbles mess around in his designated corner) but your smile quickly shifted into an expression of cringe when you looked down and saw a splotch of blood seeping through your jeans. thankfully, they were a dark blue denim, although the stain was still visible despite that.

you cursed to yourself, but then michael was back in the room, holding a pair of lounge pants, with panties and a sanitary pad underneath.

"here," he smiled, handing them to you.

"are these latoya's?" you smiled back, but you still felt very embarrassed. "thank you so much, michael... and remind me to thank her later before i leave."

michael nodded, then got settled under the comforter, while you went into the bathroom and changed. then quietly you got under the comforter too, turning on your side facing away from him, already knowing that he would spoon you, because this position had been custom whenever you were suffering with cramps in his presence.

"i'm sorry for ruining the afternoon," you sighed. sure, you'd had a great time so far, but you knew michael would have had all sorts of games planned, especially for the friend he hadn't seen in years, and now you were both instead confined to his bed.

"shh," he whispered, weaving his arms around your waist as you got settled, your head cosy against the pillows. "you've ruined nothin'. get some rest, and if you fall asleep, i'll be here when you wake up."

content in his embrace, you did fall asleep pretty quickly, and the ache miraculously subsided in order for you to do so. michael stayed resting against your back the entire time, and when you woke, you had almost forgotten where you were.

it took you a moment, but you remembered as soon as you opened your eyes. "michael?" you muttered sleepily, turning around to face him.

"hey, sleepyhead," he grinned, stroking your hair.

"how long was i asleep?"

"uh, like an hour? i don't know, i fell asleep too at one point."

you yawned, still so tired, and still feeling a little guilty about what your afternoon had turned into. you remembered your cousins, and how you needed to have arrived by tonight, but it was a relief that there were still a few hours left of the afternoon.

"i need to tell you somethin'..." michael said all of a sudden.

"yeah?"

there was more quiet, as he seemingly hesitated to say what he'd intended to, and then the words fell out.

"i wrote she's out of my life about you," he said all of a sudden, breaking the silence.

you whipped your head up to look at him. “what? seriously?”

“yeah…” he turned away shyly, but you held his jaw to guide his face back to you.

“michael… i know you write some of your own songs but i never…” you paused, running a hand over your face. “i love that song but i never even thought for a second that you would write something about me. let alone something so beautiful.”

there was more silence, where michael was glad he’d told you but he was so shy now that his cheeks were burning up.

“mikey, stop looking away from me,” you gently urged, cupping his jaw again.

his beautiful brown eyes looked into yours, the orbs shining under the filter of sunlight through the window, and suddenly, crazily, you understood everything you were feeling.

you were beginning to fall for your best friend. hell, perhaps you’d already fallen.

“how long have you felt this way?” you asked quietly, fingers still delicately playing with his soft hair as he now shuffled downward to lay his head on your chest. it felt so intimate, as though it was your very first cuddle in this position despite having laid this way together many times in the old days. but the intimacy arose from how different everything was now. the subtext of romance had emerged out of nowhere, and neither of you knew how to feel. in fact, the very purpose of michael sliding down to meet your chest was so that you couldn’t see his expressions of pure embarrassment.

but you didn’t care one bit. he was opening his heart to you about something he’d clearly spent so long harbouring inside himself, and even though he’d had to wait so long, now was the perfect time—because you were beginning to realise that you felt the same.

strangely, it didn’t feel to you like the beginning of falling. more accurately it was the start of an understanding of what you’d been experiencing for much longer than you realised. michael’s brothers would always tease the two of you because they claimed to be certain that you were both in love, and the comments had always made you feel a certain way. not genuine irritation at everybody being so wrong in what they said, but rather a jittery sensation that wondered if there was some truth in their remarks. it was always difficult for one to analyse those sort of feelings as a young child, especially if the feelings surrounded somebody who they were sure they only attached platonic love to. for example, sometimes you would play fight, and you’d feel all giddy and notice the butterflies jumping in your stomach, but that had been the product of adrenaline from the playfight itself, you’d assumed.

you had always brushed off all those little things, and only now was all of it catching up to you, as you looked down at that boy’s pretty head resting on your chest. he still hadn’t answered your question.

“michael,” you whispered.

“yeah?” he still wouldn’t look up.

“please answer me.”

“sorry, what was the question again?”

“i said how long have you felt this way about me? in the song you write that you kept your love for the girl locked deep inside. that’s really about me?” your voice faded a little, cracking with emotion.

“honey, i’ve always felt this way,” michael murmured against your skin, toying with the strap of your shirt.

your eyes widened in shock. “always?”

he nodded. “since the day we met. i just remember noticin’ the pretty girl beside me and thinkin’… i hope she talks to me.”

and joseph jackson had been very aware of those feelings, so he hadn't exactly been wrong in what he assumed. incredibly wrong in his response, but correct in believing that michael would become distracted by you. he had always been distracted by you, but what a beautiful distraction to have. you inspired his writing, so that could only be a positive.

“mikey…” you began, completely stunned at this revelation. “why didn’t you tell me? it’s been so long…”

“well, i had a lot to lose. i could see y’ just wanted to be my friend and nothin’ more, so i didn’t wanna ruin what we had. it’s really difficult, y’know, to feel so in love with your best friend. and—like i said in the song, it really did cut like a knife. i thought you were never comin’ back to me.”

“so your brothers were right…” you shook your head in disbelief, still coming to terms with everything.

“well, not entirely. half right. they always said you felt the same.”

you froze at that, and michael felt the restraint where he was attached to your body. he looked up a little as you tried to maintain a neutral demeanour, then he looked back down again. you had to tell him now.

“i do,” you blurted out. your hands were fiddling with his hair like a stim toy, trying desperately to act normal despite your anxiety. but really, there was nothing to be anxious about, because now you knew for certain that he felt the same way.

“you—?” michael looked up again in confusion, brows furrowed as he moved to sit up against the headboard beside you.

“feel the same way. yeah," you said slowly, shuffling a little where you laid. “but i didn’t even realise that’s what i’d been feeling until today, actually. and i don’t know when it first started but… i do remember getting butterflies around you sometimes… when we were younger. i just didn’t know what they meant, so i ignored them.”

michael started to smile, and so did you. this was the best possible conclusion to the separation you’d both had to endure. here you’d been, each assuming that the other might have lost interest, but the exact opposite was true. that morning you would’ve never predicted that by afternoon you’d reunite with the man you’d wanted to see for seven years, let alone that you’d be confessing your love to each other in the bed you used to playfight in as kids.

“c’mere, baby," he said to break the short silence.

“baby?” you raised a brow.

“yeah, that’s what guys call their girls.”

“have you had a girl before?”

“no, uh,” he laughed shyly. “you’d be my first.”

“and who says i want to be your girl, michael jackson?” you teased.

“oh i think you wanna,” he smirked. “you’re blushin’ right now, sweetheart.”

"no, i'm not," you protested, but weakly, and you hid your face in embarrassment.

"shh," michael whispered, dragging your hand away before pulling you down so that you both lay on your sides facing each other.

you squealed softly as he pulled you to him, and his eye contact was so strong that you grew impossibly shyer. "mikey, stop it..."

"stop what?" he grinned even more, running his hand up and down your waist. since when did he get so confident? perhaps it was because it was you he was with, but you were experiencing the opposite, where because it was michael, this all made you so ridiculously anxious.

you shut your eyes tight, a playful smile on your lips, and gently he tapped one of your eyelids. "hey," he whispered. "look at me, 'm serious."

you opened your eyes again—sort of reluctantly because the way he was looking at you was still too much to handle, especially because all of this had suddenly happened so soon, with no room for preparation.

"y'gonna kiss me?" you asked sweetly, noticing the way his brown eyes kept shifting their attention from your eyes to your lips.

he nodded quickly, and you giggled, turning your own attention to one of the teddybears beside you.

"c'mon, don't try tellin' me you never kissed anybody before," michael said, the happiness on his face impossible to wipe away. "i know you have."

you looked at him properly. "no, i've never kissed my best friend before. that's what's happening here."

michael bit his lip, chuckling at you. "don't think about it too much, sweetheart."

your heart fluttered like crazy. "you're really enjoying these pet names, huh?"

he only nodded again, this time so enamoured of the thought of kissing you that he had no need to say anything else. and his heart was aching at how beautiful you looked, so cosy and shy in his bed, beaming because of him. so much time had passed since you were teens, but to you both it felt like no time at all as you laid there together.

and then finally, he cupped your cheek and leaned in. your warm smiles collapsed into each other as his lips touched yours, and you couldn't believe this was really happening. you kissed softly and sweetly, mouths moving in a slow rhythm, and instinctively you interlocked his fingers with yours. it had just felt right to do so.

you kissed for about fifteen seconds, before you were the one to pull away. you needed to take a minute to process what had just happened. "that was weird," you giggled.

michael furrowed his brows.

"no," you squeezed his hand, "not a bad kind of weird. very good, actually..." you smiled wide, still blushing. "it's just... we're best friends, y'know?"

"but can't we be both lovers and friends, baby?" he asked, a teasing smile on his lips each time he called you one of those names.

you pulled a playful scowl. "you're doing that on purpose."

"doing what?" he tugged you even closer, and started to play with your hair while his other hand still held yours.

"calling me baby, honey, sweetheart..."

"course i'm doin' it on purpose, applehead." he messed with your hair, and you ruffled his in turn. he always hated anyone else touching his hair but you, and even with you he squinted at the touch. "now here's another one..." he kissed your nose. "my pretty dove."

it was almost as if everything he'd ever wished to intimately address you as was now coming into fruition.

"okay," you spoke against his lips—to disguise how that new pet name sent shockwaves of butterflies through your body—the softness of his lips touching your own now as you prepared to initiate another kiss. you pecked his lips once and spoke again. "i like how the words sound coming from you."

you both fell into another slow kiss, this time with slightly more passion, but mostly just gentle and a little messy, while you both practiced trying to make this feel normal. but as soon as your lips had met the first time, you both knew that this was what home felt like. what a waste all those years had been without this very feeling.

"you're a good kisser, michael," you giggled, playing with his fingers.

"yeah?" he smiled brightly.

you responded with more kisses, soft ones to his waiting mouth.

"and such a sweet talker..." you added.

"well, i'm not tryin' to be."

"oh i know," you said quietly. "but you do have such a pretty voice. not just when you're singing."

"yeah?" his face lit up even more, apparently not expecting you to think that of him. "how come y'never told me?"

"i thought it might get you all flustered. like right now," you laughed, squeezing his cheek before he playfully smacked your hand away.

"i mean, i'm a little flustered already, honey," he admitted.

now you decided you'd contribute to your side of the intimacy too, aside the handholding you'd initiated. "i can see that, baby."

"baby," michael repeated with a smirk. "are you tryna tease me?"

"maybe," you giggled. so did he, and again you resumed your kisses that soon spiralled into a gentle makeout.

"i love kissin' you, sweetheart. i've been wantin' this for so long, you really have no idea..." michael whispered against your cheek as he peppered kisses up and down your face.

"i love kissing you too, mikey... so much..."

it must have been at least an hour that the two of you continued to make out, so peaceful in the quiet of michael's bedroom, aside from those two minutes where marlon and jackie came in and teased the hell out of you both. they begged for confirmation that you were finally in a relationship, and without hesitation, michael declared that you were, while you covered your face again in shyness.

your time in encino was supposed to last for only a few weeks, but soon those initial weeks turned into months, which then turned into a whole year. michael had been right—joseph no longer had control over what he did in his personal life, therefore as much as he resented you, he surprisingly left you alone.

after your aunt recovered and could be back with her children, to her it seemed there was no longer a reason for you to stay in the area, but you told her that you'd actually be moving back into your childhood home, just a few miles from the jackson compound. she was pleasantly surprised to find that you had fallen in love with the boy she'd been so certain you'd marry while she watched you play as children. your mother had always agreed too, and you later found out that so had katherine.

michael won his first grammy in the year that followed, and he thanked you in his speech—his 'beautiful lady'—despite how you hadn't even been in contact with him when he'd made the song he won the award for. to him that didn't matter, because you'd been in his mind the entire time, and you meant more to him than anybody else, therefore you must share the achievement.

your love only continued to blossom as you grew into adulthood together, and by the mid eighties, you were a married couple, away from hayvenhurst and in your own little bubble elsewhere in california, eventually with three sweet children of your own. you might have suffered for seven years of adolescence, but perhaps that suffering had been a blessing in disguise, because everything panned out how it needed to, and you would forever be grateful that michael jackson, your sweetest friend, was the man you were indebted to for the rest of your life.

i’m sleepy as hell posting this so i hope there were no typos! :3 it also took me almost a whole week to write because i’ve been so busy but god i adore childhood friends to lovers so much…

he was just openly admiring you from across the candlelit table, his chin resting loosely against his knuckles while applause crashed somewhere else in the hall. his thumb moved in slow circles over the sensitive surface on the inside of your wrist below the table — distracted, affectionate, and almost lazy with the familiarity of it — like touching you had become second nature years ago.

‘though it is partly your fault,’ he would’ve told you if you’d confronted him about his lack of focus. the dress had made it nearly impossible for him to think about anything else.

versace had made it specifically for tonight.

black silk poured over your body like ink. fitted close through the waist, dropping lower across the hips, then falling clean against your legs. the fabric moved like liquid when you walked, dark enough to swallow the light before throwing it back in delicate flashes. the back dipped dangerously low, exposing the length of your spine beneath delicate strands of gold embellishment stitched into the silk like molten metal. the detailing arched across your shoulders and lower back in fine, constellated patterns, tiny crystals threaded between the goldwork so every flashbulb caught somewhere different.

michael had gone visibly quiet the first time he saw you wearing it in the hotel.

you still remembered the exact way he’d looked up from tying his cufflinks — a task he usually performed with effortless ease — only to forget how his hands worked.

“baby?” you’d laughed as he fumbled with the cuff.

nothing. just michael staring at you in silence, eyes roaming over the expanse of your body like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“…michael.”

his eyes had finally blinked back into focus.

“you can’t wear that,” he finally managed, his voice strained.

you’d choked on a laugh. “well, i thought showing up naked would be inappropriate.”

“no, i mean — ” he gestured vaguely toward your entire figure, visibly struggling to construct a coherent thought. “people are gonna see you.”

“well yes,” you’d said, stepping into your heels. “that is usually the purpose of attending public events.”

he had looked genuinely distressed about this for the rest of the evening, like he was mentally inventorying every available coat available in the tri-state area to drape over your shoulders the moment somebody looked at you for too long. it was a look of profound, adorable panic — the expression of a man who had realized too late that he was expected to share something he very much wanted to keep to himself.

which was precisely why you were currently fighting the urge to ruin his life a little bit, savoring the friction between his growing possessiveness and your own rising wickedness. the dress felt almost like a weapon in the way that you were more than happy to wield if it meant watching the poise of the world’s greatest performer continue to unravel below your presence.

onstage, the presenters for best music video exchanged rehearsed smiles beneath while the orchestra swelled softly through the ballroom. around you, entire tables straightened in anticipation, champagne glasses lifted, conversations cutting off mid-sentence as the cameras swept across the audience searching for reactions.

then the nominees began flashing across the displays overhead one by one: a montage of grainy cityscapes. screaming crowds. music video clips cut together in sharp bursts beneath the roar of the audience.

the opening shot from your newest single, sweet nothings, filled the LED screens surrounding the venue, your face appearing twenty feet tall in a way that made you reflexively cringe as the crowd erupted into cheers. a rain-soaked city flashed across the montage behind you, silver accents catching briefly against your stage costume beneath the neon haze while a few seconds of the chorus thundered through the speakers before the montage cut sharply to the next nominee.

beside you, michael inhaled sharply.

his arm slid instinctively around you, bringing you closer against his side as the final nominees were announced. the movement looked casual to everybody else, but you could feel the tension underneath it — the way his fingers flexed once against the silk of your dress before settling there.

because if you won this tonight, that was it. a full sweep.

artist of the year.

best choreography.

best direction.

and now this.

michael leaned down slightly, close enough for only you to hear him over the music. “you okay?”

you laughed once through your nose, though it came out tighter than intended. “ask me in thirty seconds.”

he let out a chuckle at that, but his eyes stayed fixed on the stage. the envelope hadn’t even been opened yet, and somehow both of you already looked like you were bracing for impact.

"and the award goes to — "

the presenter paused for a grueling few seconds, the silver cue card catching the harsh glare of the broadcast cameras while the entire room collectively held its breath. cameras swept across the nominees one by one, flashing nervous smiles to the people at home.

beside you, michael’s hand found your knee so quickly it surprised you. then —

your name echoed into the audience.

your entire table celebrated instantly, a symphony of crashing silverware and jubilant shouts of glee.

before you could even properly process the win, michael was already on his feet beside you. he was clapping harder than anybody else in the auditorium, he looked at you with such open pride that it made your eyes sting. 

“oh my god,” you mumbled, stunned and lightheaded as your composure cracked.

“you won,” he breathed, already halfway out of his chair. he gripped your shoulders, squeezing them tight with excitement. then he pulled you toward him, pressing a quick kiss against your cheekbone. “baby, you won!” 

“i didn’t doubt you for a second.”

you giggled, still trying to comprehend the praise surrounding you. “well, it’s nice one of us didn’t, because i definitely did.”

michael just shook his head, smiling like the idea itself was ridiculous.

the pins and needles in your foot vanished the second you stood. you tilted your head up to kiss him quickly — lipstick, laughter, adrenaline, all of it catching between you until the intensity of the ballroom rushed back into view. then you turned toward the stage.

though you didn’t miss the way his eyes dipped shamelessly as you walked away, his focus dropping to the curves of your dress before he dragged himself back up to public decorum.

unbelievable behavior.

the applause swelled around you as you climbed the stairs, the award finally settling into your grasp — heavier than you’d expected, cool against your palms. your reflection flashed briefly across the giant monitors surrounding the stage, chandeliers scattering fractured gold across the darkened auditorium as the crowd continued howling somewhere beneath you.

michael smiled up at you from his seat the entire time, he watched with the same intent attention he always wore whenever you talked about something you loved. his eyes felt like an anchor in the blur of bright flashes and indistinct faces, steadying your nerves every time they threatened to slip. even from across the hall, his admiration felt almost tangible.

adjusting the microphone, you gave the standard opening first: thanking the academy. your team. the collaborators who pushed your vision. supportive friends. your family.

everything was going perfectly normal.

then near the end of the speech, your eyes drifted back toward michael again. and there he was, still staring.

there was something so endearing about him —  chin tucked into his fist, eyes fixed on you with complete and utter adulation  — that you felt the first spark of trouble curl through your chest before you could stop it. 

“and of course,” you started warmly, “shoutout to donatella versace for custom-making this dress for me tonight.”

polite applause scattered through the room. michael nodded approvingly from his table.

then you looked directly at him. a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

and instantly his expression shifted into pure suspicion. the man who had spent the night in a daze of adoration suddenly sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the specific brand of mischief that always accompanied that particular curve of your lips. it was a look he knew far too well.

“…and shoutout to my husband michael jackson—”

the audience burst into cheers the second his name left your mouth, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. michael ducked his head, laughing coyly while the cameras swarmed toward him.

you finished your sentence, the words pouring into the microphone with devastating precision:

“—because he’ll definitely be taking it off me later.”

silence.

for one glorious, suspended moment, the entire ballroom simply forgot how to function. the oxygen in the auditorium seemed to vanish, sucked out by the collective gasp of a thousand industry elites. the monitors cut to him immediately.

michael froze mid-applause, his hands hovering inches apart as if the signal to clap had been abruptly severed from his brain. his eyes went wide behind impossibly long lashes as the reality of what you’d just said hit him in real time.

the room lost its mind.

laughter surged through the auditorium in waves. people doubled over at their tables. the front row was a scene of total disarray; one prominent actress nearly fell out of her chair, needing to catch herself against the edge of the table while she desperately gasped for air.

meanwhile, you remained the picture of composure at the podium. with the award still resting beside you, you simply took a small sip of water and peered over the rim of the glass with wide, innocent eyes as though you hadn’t just publicly assassinated your husband’s dignity on live television.

“oh my god,” somebody screamed from somewhere near the back of the room, the exclamation cutting through the general din and triggering a fresh wave of delight from the audience.

at the center of the storm, michael looked like his soul had left his body. several celebrities at the surrounding tables were leaning over to congratulate him like he’d won an award himself, grabbing his shoulders, patting his back, laughing so hard some of them could barely get words out. all while michael sat there flushed deep enough to show through his stage makeup, seeming seconds away from disappearing directly into the upholstery of his chair.

by the time you returned to the table, he was hiding his face behind the nearest object he could find. which was currently a decorative vase.

“you are unbelievable,” he whispered hoarsely the second you slid back into the chair beside him, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the frenzied energy of the moment.

you smoothed your dress innocently. “what?”

“why would you say that?” he asked, lowering the vase just enough to reveal dazed, dark eyes. “in front of everyone?”

“because it's true.”

michael made a small, wounded noise deep in his throat, a huff of air that was part wheeze and mostly protest. around you, the nearby tables continued to ignore the actual ceremony, their occupants openly staring at the two of you and whispering behind their programs.

“oh, look at him. how precious! he's red!” somebody pointed out nearby.

they were right. the flush climbing up michael’s neck had become impossible to hide.

“baby,” he hissed under his breath, actively trying to crawl beneath the tablecloth.

a tiny stab of sympathy hit you then. you leaned closer, catching his face in between your hands and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek in apology.

unfortunately, that only made the nearby tables react even louder.

michael squirmed slightly as you kissed the corner of his mouth next, trying your very best to comfort him while simultaneously making the situation worse. his entire face had gone hot beneath your touch, eyes darting everywhere except directly at you while the cameras continued circling like vultures.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper-giggled, you're kisses beginning to falter as you collapsed against him. your composure giving out entirely.

“no you’re not,” he muttered, voice muffled into your shoulder as he tried to hide his face.

and honestly?

he was right.

the rest of the ceremony passed in a haze of cameras and secondhand mortification. every time somebody referenced your speech in the following categories, the broadcast cut back to your table, catching michael in his bewildered state all over again.

at one point, an interviewer approached your table with a grin already threatening disaster.

“so! about the dress—”

michael vanished before the question even finished.

one second he was beside you, the next he was halfway across the venue at concerning speed, pointing back toward you in silent delegation as he abandoned you to deal with the consequences alone.

fair enough.

eventually, sometime past midnight, the two of you finally escaped the barrage of flashbulbs and microphones and retreated back to your hotel suite.

the second the door shut behind you, michael turned and pointed at you accusingly.

“you embarrassed me,” he declared, though his voice lacked any real bite.

you folded in on yourself immediately, kicking off your heels to be abandoned near the doorway as you finally gave up trying to behave. you flicked a hand at him in a dismissive motion. “you survived.”

he stood by the massive window, his eyes fixed on the view overlooking los angeles, the city glittering below him like scattered diamonds. a faint pout was still playing on his lips. “barely.”

michael shook his head, his attention drifting back to you again — it followed the delicate detailing along the sides of the dress, the dangerously cut back, the way the fabric clung to every dip and swell of your body. the remnants of your stage makeup still surviving, smudged.

“i was traumatized,” he muttered weakly.

“oh please, you were smiling the whole time.”

“i was under a lot of peer pressure.”

“sureee.” you started walking toward him, letting your palms glide over the satin lapel of his suit jacket. you danced your fingers across the intricate military-style embroidery, feeling the raised threads beneath your touch. michael’s eyes tracked every motion, sharpening with desire the closer you got.

“so,” you murmured, letting go of him and turning around, showing off the gold zipper that ran down your lower back. you glanced over your shoulder at him with a playful little smile. “you gonna take this off me or what?”

something in his expression shifted.

the shy embarrassment that had followed him around all evening finally broke just enough for something steadier to ease itself underneath. his grip closed around your waist, pulling you flush against him hard enough to make you lose the rest of your sentence.

“careful,” he murmured, finally looking at you directly. “you’ve been causing problems all night.”

his voice had dropped an octave. it sent a pulse straight between your legs. 

“oh, now you wanna act brave?” you teased, even as your heart raced.

michael let out a muted laugh before clasping your zipper and bringing it down agonisingly slow, tooth by tooth, letting the cool air skim across the newly exposed skin as the material gradually loosened around your body.

“you done putting on a show for everybody else?”

you opened your mouth, but he spun you around before you could answer. one strong hand slid under your thigh, lifting your leg high against his hip, forcing you to balance as he pressed you flush against him. the other hand settled possessively at the base of your spine, fingers splayed across the heat of your body.

“because,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “i’ve been wanting to get you alone since the second you stepped out in that dress.”

the zipper traveled lower under his fingers. the dress loosened, slithering further down your shoulders and arms, barely clinging to your chest. michael’s touch slipped inside, gliding over your ass before hooking into the thin strap of your underwear. he yanked at it until it was taut, letting it snap sharply against your flesh with a soft sting that made you gasp.

he smiled at that. his mouth was on you — brushing your jaw, grazing your neck with his teeth, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“hm,” he hummed, satisfied, feeling the way you trembled against him. “guess you’re done.”

he traced slowly up your spine, tugging the zipper the rest of the way down. the silk dress unraveled completely, descending further until it pooled softly around your waist and exposed the full swell of your chest. michael pulled back just enough to look at you properly.

there was still a voracity there, obvious and impossible to miss, but tangled up with something quieter too — something almost reverent in the way his eyes moved over you like he still couldn’t fully believe you were real, let alone standing here in front of him like this.

only then did he cup your face with both hands and kiss you.

the kiss started deep and warm. but the hunger he’d been holding back all night quickly took over. it grew heavier, more consuming. his tongue brushed yours, teasing as your fingers traveled to his hair. you melted into him, a soft sound leaving your throat while he tilted his head and kissed you even deeper.

one hand stayed at the nape of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted, while the other skimmed down your bare back. every time you tried to gasp for air, he chased your lips again, refusing to let you go. his kisses turned slower, more sensual — lingering presses mixed with gentle bites to your bottom lip.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your mouth, voice rough and low, before diving back in. the moment stretched until your lungs finally started protesting.

you pulled back first, forehead brushing his as you tried unsuccessfully to steady yourself.

your fingertips smoothed lazily along the buttons of his jacket, “does that mean you liked the speech?”

michael let out a light chuckle, thumb brushing slowly across your bottom lip while his eyes stayed fixed on yours. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered.

he leaned in again, mouth trailing from yours to your jaw, then lower. kisses pressed along your décolletage one by one, lingering beneath your ear before drifting down the column of your neck.

the longer he kissed you, the less restrained he became.

what started gentle turned heavier, more deliberate — the scrape of teeth, the pull of his mouth against your skin, the sting that followed whenever he sucked hard enough to leave colour behind. he took his time with it, savoring every inch, leaving a trail of bruises. by the time he finally lifted his head, faint marks had already begun blooming across your throat and collarbones beneath the dim hotel lighting.

“i loved every second of it,” he admitted quietly, lips grazing your skin between words. “even when i wanted to disappear into the floor.”

another kiss.

“all i could think about was getting you back here and ripping this damn thing off you.”

the dress hung low on your hips now, threatening to slip further. michael’s attention fell down. eyes outlining the way the fabric clung to your silhouette, gold detailing twisted beneath his fingers from how tightly he’d held you — it completely ruined for anyone else.

“actually keep it on a little longer,” he murmured. he tugged the material up slightly, only to let it fall again. “i’m not finished admiring it yet.”

his palm slid along the curve of your waist.

“…or you.”

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Jaafar did not think he was insane for this.

Desperate, maybe. Reckless, perhaps. A man driven half-mad by patience, certainly. But insane? No. There was nothing insane about going to retrieve what had always, in some quiet and ancient part of him, belonged to him; nothing deranged about finally reaching for the woman he had spent years orbiting like some punished god circling the same forbidden star, condemned to watch her glow from a distance while lesser men warmed their hands at her fire.

Because he had been patient.

He had been kind.

He had been more gracious than he was naturally inclined to be, if he was being honest, and Venus Taraji Hamilton had worked his last nerve — not the first, not the second, not even the frayed little string of restraint he kept tied around his pride for her sake, but the very last one.

And the worst part was that she knew what she was doing.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she announced her engagement at that family dinner, the one where the Jacksons and the Hamiltons sat together under warm lights and polished silver, mingling like two old bloodlines in some mythic hall, laughing over wine and legacy as if they had not all spent years pretending they could not see the storm gathering between him and Venus. She knew what she was doing when she let another man place a ring on her finger and then offered the news up like a blessing, like a toast, like it was not a blade laid carefully at Jaafar’s throat.

And he had not even been there.

That was what nearly made him laugh, though there was nothing funny about it.

He had been away filming, swallowed whole by the tedious, sacred, gratifying work of becoming his uncle — of bending his body, his voice, his spirit toward a man the world had already turned into myth — when his mother called to tell him the “good” news. The word had come through the phone bright and harmless, dressed in congratulations, but Jaafar had heard it for what it was.

A warning bell.

A prophecy.

A door closing somewhere it never should have been opened for anyone else.

The woman at the front desk, bless her heart, had been so visibly starstruck at the sight of him that she forgot the shape of her own job, her eyes widening, her smile trembling at the edges as though Hermes himself had stepped down from Olympus and asked for a room key. She was too dazzled to follow procedure, too flustered to question why a man who was not listed under Venus Hamilton’s reservation was asking for access to her floor, and though Jaafar made a quiet mental note to raise that with Venus once they left the hotel together — because no, they would not be booking here again, not if any pretty face with a famous name could charm his way past security — he still gave the woman a soft, devastating grin, thanked her like a gentleman, and made his way toward the elevators with the calm certainty of a man walking into a temple he believed had been built for him.

He rolled his neck as the elevator doors closed, the soft gold light catching along his jaw while he pressed the button for the penthouse suite — because of course Venus would be in the penthouse, of course she would spare no expense when it came to her own comfort, her own privacy, her own little palace in the sky; and yes, he assumed she had paid for it herself, because Venus Taraji Hamilton did not let men buy her luxury when she could purchase divinity with her own black card, and Jaafar’s assumptions about her were rarely wrong.

By the time the elevator climbed to the top floor, he had already loosened his shoulders, already swallowed the last bitter mouthful of restraint sitting beneath his tongue, already made peace with the fact that whatever happened next would happen because Venus had forced his hand — or at least, that was the lie he fed himself as the doors parted with a quiet chime.

The corridor beyond was hushed and expensive, all muted carpet, low lighting, and the kind of silence that belonged to people who paid not to be disturbed. Jaafar stepped out just as a room service attendant approached her door, tray balanced carefully in hand, knuckles lifted and ready to knock.

“I got it,” Jaafar said smoothly.

The man paused, recognition flickering across his face, quick as lightning over the Aegean, and Jaafar only smiled — that easy, devastating smile that had opened doors long before he ever touched a handle — before slipping two crisp hundred-dollar bills into the man’s hand with a murmured, “Keep the change.”

It was enough. Of course it was enough.

The attendant blinked down at the money, then back up at him, already retreating with a polite nod, and Jaafar waited only until he disappeared around the bend of the corridor before he turned toward Venus’s door, slid the keycard from his pocket, and let himself inside like a man entering a room he had already claimed in every version of the future that mattered.

The suite was quiet when he entered, too quiet, the kind of expensive silence that did not feel empty so much as carefully arranged, curated by money and taste and the kind of woman who had learned very early that peace was something you could purchase if you knew which floor to book and which people to keep outside the door.

Venus had left pieces of herself everywhere.

Not mess, never mess, because Venus did not do mess unless it was emotional and even then she had the nerve to make it look intentional, but evidence; a white satin heel tipped lazily near the chaise, a pearl earring abandoned on the marble console, a bridal shower sash folded over the back of a chair as if the words printed across it had offended her and she had stripped them from her body the moment she crossed the threshold. There were flowers everywhere, blush roses and white peonies spilling from glass vases like offerings left at the altar of some beloved, cruel goddess, and along the far table sat champagne, untouched cake, little gift bags tied with silk ribbon, and enough pale, pretty bridal nonsense to make his jaw tighten.

Bride-to-be.

The phrase seemed to glare at him from every corner.

Jaafar shut the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound small but final, and for a moment he simply stood there with the room service tray in his hands, taking in the ridiculous theatre of it all; Venus in white, Venus with flowers, Venus celebrated, Venus wrapped up and handed toward another man as though she were not the same woman who had once laid beneath him until dawn with her fingers twisted in his hair and his name broken soft against her mouth.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and humourless.

“Playing house,” he murmured under his breath, setting the tray down on the dining table, his eyes drifting toward the half-open bedroom door. “You really lost your mind.”

A sound came from deeper in the suite then — the low rush of running water, maybe the bathtub, maybe the shower, and beneath it, faint but unmistakable, the soft hum of Venus’s voice carrying through the room like smoke from an oracle’s bowl. She was singing to herself, absentmindedly, some old song he had heard her play in the car years ago, back when he was still young enough for her to laugh at him without consequence and old enough to know he hated every man who made her smile.

For one second, one dangerous, merciful second, the sound softened him.

It brought him back to summers in too-large houses where their parents drank wine on patios and Venus wandered barefoot through kitchens, hair piled on top of her head, skin glowing in the heat, calling him baby Jackson when she wanted to irritate him and Jaafar when she wanted something. It brought him back to being sixteen and furious at his own age, watching her leave parties with men who had full beards and real cars and the audacity to place hands at the small of her back. It brought him back to twenty-four, when she had stopped laughing long enough to look at him properly, and the whole world had tilted on its axis like Olympus itself had leaned down to see what they would do.

Then he saw the ring box on the dresser.

Not the ring itself — no, that was probably still on her finger, where she insisted on wearing her lie — but the velvet box it had come in, open and waiting, black against all that bridal white like a funeral flower.

Whatever softness had risen in him went cold.

He crossed the room slowly, every step measured, his body held with the kind of restraint that was not peace but the last wall before ruin. He touched nothing at first. He only looked. At the flowers. At the sash. At the programme from the shower with her name printed in elegant script beside the name of a man Jaafar had never liked, not because the man was cruel or foolish or unworthy in some obvious way, but because he had committed the unforgivable sin of arriving late to a story and acting like he had written the beginning.

That was what sickened him.

The arrogance of it.

To meet Venus in the middle of her life and think a ring gave him claim to what Jaafar had known since boyhood.

The bathroom door opened.

Venus stepped out wrapped in a white robe, steam curling behind her like mist from some sacred spring, her hair pinned up loosely, tendrils escaping around her face, her skin bare and luminous from the heat. For half a breath she did not see him. She was looking down, twisting a lotion cap back into place, comfortable in the privacy she had paid for.

Then she lifted her head.

And stopped.

The air changed so violently it felt like a god had entered the room and taken offence.

Venus’s hand tightened around the bottle. Her eyes moved over him once — the open collar, the tension in his shoulders, the calm, terrible set of his face — and then, slowly, to the door behind him.

“Jaafar.”

His name did not sound like surprise.

It sounded like warning.

He smiled, but there was no joy in it. “Venus.”

She blinked once, as if giving herself time to decide which version of herself would answer him: the friend, the almost-lover, the bride-to-be, the woman who had spent years stepping over the same burning line and acting shocked when her feet blistered.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“Our room, for tonight,” he said lightly, glancing around. “Apparently. Since security downstairs is decorative.”

Her mouth parted, disbelief cutting through her composure. “You bribed your way into my room?”

“I tipped a room service attendant.”

“You got a keycard.”

“I smiled.”

“Jaafar.”

There it was again, sharper now, but he only tilted his head, watching her the way he always had, like there were languages written beneath her skin and he had spent his life learning how to read them.

“You should be more careful where you stay,” he said. “Front desk nearly fainted. Didn’t ask for a thing. You could’ve had anybody walking in here.”

Her brows lifted. “But I got you.”

Something flickered across his face.

A wound, quickly dressed.

“Yes,” he said, voice lower. “You got me.”

Venus looked away first, which would have pleased him once, back when every crack in her composure felt like victory, but now it only made something bitter twist inside him. She moved toward the dresser, setting the lotion down with deliberate care, as if the ordinary motion could restore order to a room already splitting open around them.

“You need to leave.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

Her shoulders tensed.

The room went still.

Jaafar took one step closer, not enough to crowd her, not enough to touch, only enough to make the distance between them honest. He watched the line of her throat shift when she swallowed, watched her fingers curl once at her side before she remembered herself and smoothed them out.

“Say it,” he repeated softly. “Tell me to leave, Venus, and I’ll go.”

She turned on him then, eyes bright with anger, but anger had always suited her too well, had always made her look like Athena before war — beautiful, armed, impossible to reason with because she had already decided she was right.

“You don’t get to do this,” she said.

A small laugh left him, quiet and stunned. “I don’t get to do this?”

“No.” She pointed toward the door. “You don’t get to show up here, today of all days, and act like I owe you some performance.”

“Today of all days,” he repeated, tasting the words like poison. “Your bridal shower.”

Her jaw tightened.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Don’t.”

“No, really.” His eyes dropped to her left hand, to the diamond sitting there with all the smug confidence of a thief in a palace. “Beautiful ring.”

Venus tucked her hand slightly into the sleeve of her robe.

The movement was small.

It still ruined him.

“Don’t hide it now,” Jaafar said, his voice dipping, something harsher bleeding through. “You wore it all afternoon.”

Her eyes flashed. “You weren’t even there.”

“No,” he said. “I heard.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I heard.”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Beyond the glass doors, the city glittered beneath them, distant and indifferent, all those lights burning like the scattered remains of some fallen constellation. Venus stood in the middle of the suite in white, damp from steam, furious and beautiful and guarded to the bone, and Jaafar thought, not for the first time, that the Greeks would have started a war over less. Men had crossed seas for faces like hers. Men had burned kingdoms for women who looked at them with less history than Venus had in one raised brow.

He had waited years.

He had swallowed years.

And she stood there wearing another man’s promise like he had never touched the truth of her.

“You announced it at dinner,” he said finally. “With both our families there.”

Her lips pressed together.

“I wasn’t there.”

“You were filming.”

“I was working.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” He stepped closer again, then stopped himself, his hands flexing once at his sides. “You don’t know, because if you knew, if you had any idea what it felt like to get that call from my mother, to hear her tell me you were engaged like she was telling me the weather, like she wasn’t handing me a blade wrapped in ribbon—”

“Jaafar,” she said, quieter now.

“No.” His voice cut through the room, not loud, but final. “No, you don’t get to soften me right now. You don’t get to say my name like that and make me remember I love you before I finish being angry.”

Venus went still.

There it was.

Not implied. Not dressed up in teasing, jealousy, old friendship, bad timing, childhood history, or whatever else she liked to use as fabric to cover the naked thing between them.

Love.

Plain as a wound.

Her eyes searched his face, and for one brief, devastating second she looked afraid.

Then she looked away.

And that, somehow, was worse.

Jaafar laughed again, but this time it was almost broken. “Look at you.”

“Stop.”

“No, look at you.” He gestured toward her, toward the robe, the flowers, the ring, the whole immaculate crime scene of her denial. “You’ll stand in front of a hundred people in white and smile until your face hurts, but you can’t look me in the eye when I tell you the truth.”

Her voice sharpened again because softness had gotten too close. “The truth according to you?”

“The truth according to both of us.”

“There is no both of us.”

He stared at her.

The silence that followed was cruel.

Then Jaafar nodded slowly, once, as if she had finally said something so absurd it brought him clarity.

“No both of us,” he echoed.

Venus’s throat moved.

He looked at her mouth, then back to her eyes.

“So I imagined it?”

She said nothing.

“The way you used to wait for me at parties even when you pretended you weren’t?” he asked. “The way you’d touch my arm and then act like you forgot your hand was there? The way you couldn’t stand any woman near me, but had the nerve to call me childish when I noticed?” His voice dropped. “That night? I imagined that too?”

Her face changed.

Not much.

But enough.

“Don’t bring that up.”

“There she is.”

“Jaafar.”

“No, there she is,” he said, almost tenderly now, and that tenderness felt more dangerous than the anger. “That’s the woman I came to see. Not the bride. Not the designer. Not whatever perfect little statue you’ve been posing as all afternoon. You.”

Venus wrapped her arms around herself, the robe pulling tighter, and for the first time since she had stepped out of the bathroom, she looked less like a goddess carved from marble and more like a woman cornered by her own heart.

“You have no right,” she said, but it came out softer than she wanted.

“I know.”

“You waited years.”

“I know.”

“You said nothing.”

“I said everything except the words.”

“That isn’t enough.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes burning. “It wasn’t. And I hate myself for that. I hate that I let you make me your secret without even asking. I hate that I stayed close enough to bleed and called it friendship because I was scared if I asked for more, you’d shut the door completely.”

Her lips parted.

He shook his head, almost smiling at the irony of it, at the humiliation of his own honesty.

“But I’m not twenty-four anymore, Venus. And you don’t get to keep talking to me like I’m some boy with a crush you can outgrow on my behalf.”

Her eyes flashed again, wounded this time. “I never said that.”

“You never had to.”

That landed.

He watched it land, watched her absorb it, watched the pride on her face tremble under the weight of everything she had refused to name. Outside, the city kept glowing. Inside, the room felt ancient, fated, like every choice they had ever avoided had finally risen from the floor and stood between them.

Venus turned away, one hand lifting to her forehead.

“I’m getting married,” she said.

“I know.”

“You keep saying that like it means nothing.”

“No,” Jaafar said quietly. “I’m saying it because it means everything.”

She looked back at him.

His voice lowered.

“That’s why I’m here.”

For a while, she only stared at him, and he let her. He let the truth sit there. He let the ring shine. He let the flowers wilt in their vases. He let every ghost of every almost between them crowd into the room and bear witness.

Then Venus whispered, “Why today?”

His face hardened, not with anger this time, but hurt.

“Because today they celebrated you leaving me.”

Her expression cracked.

Just barely.

But he saw it.

He always saw her.

“Jaafar…”

“Don’t marry him,” he said.

The words left him cleanly.

No poetry. No metaphor. No myth.

Just the thing itself.

Venus looked like he had reached into her chest and closed his hand around something living.

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I’m not asking.”

Her eyes narrowed, instinctively bristling.

He corrected himself, softer but no less firm.

“I’m telling you the truth before you ruin all three of us.”

“All three?”

“You. Him.” His eyes held hers. “Me.”

Her breath shook once, barely audible.

“He loves me,” she said.

Jaafar nodded. “I’m sure he does.”

“He’s good to me.”

“I hope he is.”

“He’s stable.”

“I hate him already.”

Despite herself, something almost like a laugh broke through her anger, tiny and disbelieving, and the sound struck him straight in the chest because there she was again, his Venus, the girl who used to laugh at him across dinner tables, the woman who had never once understood how dangerous her joy was in his hands.

He smiled faintly, but it faded too fast.

“He can be good,” Jaafar said. “He can be stable. He can love you properly, on paper. I’m not saying he’s a bad man.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you don’t love him like you love me.”

The room went silent.

Venus did not deny it.

That was the first confession. Not spoken, but there, heavy and bright as the diamond on her hand.

Jaafar’s gaze dropped to it again.

“Take it off,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Take it off.”

“No.”

His jaw flexed.

“Then tell me you love him.”

She stared at him.

“Tell me,” he said, stepping closer, “and I’ll leave.”

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Jaafar watched her fight herself, watched pride wrestle with truth, watched fear lay its pretty hands over her throat. He should have felt victorious. Some small, ugly part of him did. But most of him only felt tired. Tired of the game. Tired of being a shadow at the edge of her life while other men stood in daylight beside her.

Venus looked down at her ring.

For one moment, her thumb brushed over it.

Jaafar stopped breathing.

Then she whispered, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

His voice was almost gentle. “But you’re glad I did.”

Her eyes lifted.

The space between them seemed to collapse without either of them moving.

“Tell me to leave,” he said again, quieter now.

Venus swallowed.

Her eyes shone, furious and helpless and hungry with five years of silence.

“Leave,” she said.

But it was weak.

A word without a spine.

Jaafar tilted his head. “Like you mean it.”

She said nothing.

“Venus.”

That did it.

The sound of her name in his mouth, low and broken and reverent, seemed to pull something loose from her. She crossed the last of the distance first, not gracefully, not carefully, but like a woman stepping off the edge of a cliff she had spent years pretending was only a balcony.

Her hands hit his chest.

For one second, it could have been a push.

Then her fingers curled in his shirt.

Jaafar looked down at them, then back at her, his face changing in slow, devastating recognition.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He did not touch her yet.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you already know.”

His voice softened.

“I do know.”

Venus’s breath caught.

And when he finally lifted his hand, he did it slowly, giving her every second in the world to stop him, to step back, to choose the door, the ring, the life waiting for her with polished shoes and sensible promises. But she did not move. She only stood there, trembling with anger or want or grief, and let his knuckles brush the side of her face.

The touch was barely anything.

It still ruined the room.

Her eyes closed.

Jaafar’s thumb grazed her cheek, and his voice came like a prayer dragged through smoke.

“You don’t get to marry him with my name still sitting in your throat.”

Venus opened her eyes.

Then she kissed him.

Or he kissed her.

Later, neither of them would be able to say who moved first, only that the distance between them finally gave up pretending it had ever been real. One moment they were standing in the middle of a room full of bridal flowers and lies, and the next Venus had both hands in his shirt and Jaafar had one arm around her waist, pulling her to him with a sound low enough to shame thunder, kissing her like he had spent years starving politely at a table where she kept passing him empty plates.

It was not gentle at first.

It was not sweet.

It was punishment and relief, accusation and apology, the breaking of a drought, the return of a tide, the kind of kiss that made Venus stumble back against the dresser and sent one of the little perfume bottles rolling onto its side. Jaafar caught the edge of the furniture with one hand, caging her without trapping her, his other hand still at her waist, still careful despite the storm in him.

He pulled back first, breathing hard, his forehead nearly touching hers.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

Venus’s eyes were dark, unfocused, her mouth parted, her fingers still holding him like she hated him for being solid.

She looked at him.

At the door.

At the ring.

Then back at him.

And instead of answering, she reached down with a trembling hand, slid the diamond from her finger, and placed it on the dresser beside them.

The sound it made against the marble was small.

Tiny.

Almost delicate.

But to Jaafar, it might as well have been the fall of Troy.

The sound of that ring touching marble should have sobered him.

It should have reminded him that this was not some flirtation tucked beneath a dinner table, not some old private joke passed between them in a crowded room, not another almost they could dress up in denial and leave behind before sunrise. It should have reminded him that there was a man somewhere in the world who believed Venus Taraji Hamilton was his fiancée, that there were mothers planning flowers and aunties saving dates and a whole wedding slowly assembling itself around a lie beautiful enough to pass for a blessing.

But all Jaafar felt, watching that diamond sit cold and useless on the dresser, was satisfaction.

Not relief.

Not surprise.

Satisfaction.

Because the ring was pretty, yes. Expensive, certainly. Tasteful in the way Venus’s things were always tasteful, all quiet wealth and polished restraint, a stone chosen by a man who had clearly studied her enough to know what would look good on her hand.

Cute.

That was the word that came to him, cruel and dismissive and almost amused.

The ring was cute. The engagement was cute. The idea of Venus walking down an aisle toward that man, smiling beneath flowers, letting him take her hand like he had ever once held the storm of her properly, was cute in the way children playing at kingdoms was cute; elaborate, earnest, and entirely dependent on everyone pretending the crown was real.

Because it would never be him.

That man could give her vows, houses, honeymoons, clean promises wrapped in white linen and family approval, but he would never have what Jaafar had. He would never know what it was to be twenty-four and finally have Venus look at him like she had run out of excuses. He would never know her laughter turning breathless in the dark, her pride slipping, her voice losing all its sharp edges around his name. He would never know the unbearable intimacy of being wanted by a woman who had spent years insisting she knew better.

He could marry her.

He could not touch the myth.

Jaafar looked from the ring back to her, and whatever Venus saw on his face made her breath catch.

“There,” he said softly.

Venus’s eyes narrowed, but it was a fragile thing now, anger trying to stand upright on trembling legs. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

His mouth curved.

That was the problem with him, she thought distantly — one of many, really, but the most dangerous one in that moment — Jaafar had always been beautiful, always, even when he was too young and too eager and too irritatingly sure of feelings she refused to take seriously, but adulthood had given his beauty weight. It had put command in his shoulders, arrogance in his stillness, a slow, devastating patience in the way he watched her as though he had never needed to chase because history itself had already handed him the ending.

He stepped closer, and the room seemed to shrink around him.

“I’m not pleased,” he said, though the lie sat shamelessly on his tongue.

“You look pleased.”

“I look right.”

Her lips parted.

He smiled then, not sweetly, not kindly, but with the kind of confidence that had ruined her once before, the kind that did not ask permission to exist because it had never doubted its own welcome.

“Don’t confuse the two.”

Venus should have slapped him.

She truly should have.

There were several sensible, dignified things she could have done. She could have snatched the ring back up, put it on her finger, and ordered him out. She could have reminded him of her fiancé, her family, the bridal shower downstairs, the months of planning, the life waiting for her beyond this suite. She could have told him that whatever had happened between them years ago had been a lapse in judgment, a fever, a moment of weakness caused by champagne and nostalgia and the dangerous mistake of looking too long at a boy who had become a man while she wasn’t paying attention.

But then Jaafar lifted his hand and touched the belt of her robe.

Not pulling.

Not untying.

Just touching.

Two fingers against white silk, gentle enough to be respectful, bold enough to be obscene.

Her whole body remembered him before her mind could gather itself.

That was what made him so dangerous.

He did not have to rush. He did not have to beg. He did not have to perform hunger like men who were afraid a woman might forget they wanted her if they stopped proving it for more than ten seconds. Jaafar was worse. Jaafar stood in front of her with that unbearable calm, that dark-eyed certainty, that mouth still damp from kissing her, and looked at her like he had already seen the future and she was late to it.

“Still want me to leave?” he asked.

Venus swallowed.

His gaze dropped to the movement of her throat, and the corner of his mouth lifted, barely.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’ve never been good at lying to me up close.”

“I’ve lied to you plenty.”

“No.” His fingers slid from the belt of her robe to her wrist, circling gently, thumb pressing once against her pulse like he was checking whether the truth was still alive beneath her skin. “You’ve performed for me plenty. There’s a difference.”

Her pulse jumped under his thumb.

He felt it.

Of course he felt it.

His smile deepened.

“See?”

The arrogance of him should have offended her into sanity.

Instead, it dragged her back five years.

Back to that first night, when the air between them had finally split open after too much wine, too much laughing, too many years of him looking at her as if age was a locked door and he had simply been waiting for the key to appear. He had not fumbled then either. That was what embarrassed her most when she let herself remember it. He had not been nervous in the way she expected him to be, had not treated her like some impossible older woman granting him mercy. He had looked at her like he had been preparing for that moment his whole life and had no intention of wasting it pretending he was surprised.

That was why she had let him in the first time.

Not because he was pretty, though God help her, he was.

Not because he was a Jackson.

Not because he was younger and flattering and hungry for her attention.

Because Jaafar had stepped into his want like a throne.

Because he looked at her like choosing him was not a risk, but a correction.

Because when she had whispered, “You’re too young for me,” he had only smiled, slow and wicked and impossibly calm, and said, “Then stop wanting me like I’m not.”

And now, years later, standing in her bridal suite with her ring abandoned beside them, he looked exactly the same.

Worse, actually.

Older. Sharper. More certain.

A grown man who had outlived her excuses.

“Jaafar,” she warned, but her voice betrayed her by softening around the middle.

His thumb brushed over her wrist again.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“My name,” he said, eyes lowering to her mouth. “The way you say it when you forget you’re pretending.”

Venus’s breath left her in a thin, irritated laugh. “You are so full of yourself.”

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No shame.

Just yes, smooth as oil over marble.

Her eyes flashed. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I didn’t take it as one.”

He moved then, not suddenly, not roughly, but with such surety that Venus found herself backing into the dresser before she had decided to move at all. His hand came to the marble beside her hip, caging her in only because she let herself be caged, his body close enough for heat, not pressure, his cologne and skin and rain-dark confidence filling her lungs until the room no longer smelled like roses and expensive soap, but like him.

Like trouble with a pulse.

Like the last honest thing left in the suite.

“You think that man downstairs doesn’t have an ego?” he asked quietly.

Venus lifted her chin. “He’s not downstairs.”

“Good.”

Her brows rose.

Jaafar smiled. “I don’t feel like being polite.”

“You were never polite.”

“I was very polite.” His eyes held hers, dark and amused. “Painfully polite. Saintly, even.”

She almost laughed, but she caught it too late, and he saw the corner of her mouth betray her.

His face changed at once.

Softened, but not weakened.

That was another thing she hated. How quickly he could find the girl in her. How he could strip away the designer, the fiancée, the woman with the immaculate public image, and uncover the Venus who used to sit barefoot on kitchen counters during family parties, eating fruit from a bowl and telling him to stop staring before she started charging him rent for the view.

“You remember,” he said.

“Remember what?”

“Me being polite.”

“I remember you being annoying.”

“You liked it.”

“I tolerated it.”

“You watched for me when I walked into rooms.”

Her smile vanished.

He leaned in a little, voice dropping, warm and low.

“You still do.”

Venus looked away.

He touched her chin, lightly, turning her face back to him with the kind of gentleness that somehow felt more commanding than force ever could.

Then he said, in Spanish, soft enough that it seemed meant for her skin more than her ears, “Mírame, mi Venus.”

Look at me, my Venus.

Her lashes fluttered.

That did something to her. He saw it. He had known it would.

Not because the words were complicated, not because he had dressed them in poetry, but because he said them like possession and worship were the same language when it came to her. Like her name belonged in his mouth with an accent of inheritance. Like he had not come to steal her from another man so much as retrieve her from a bad translation.

“No me mientas, preciosa,” he murmured.

Don’t lie to me, beautiful.

Her hands went to his chest, and again, for one breath, it could have been a push.

It was not.

Her fingers spread over him instead, feeling the steady, infuriating confidence of his body beneath his shirt, the calm rhythm of a man who should have been trembling but wasn’t, because Jaafar had never been afraid of wanting her. He had only been afraid of losing access to her. There was a difference.

“You think you can just come in here,” she whispered, “say a few things in Spanish, smile at me like that, and I’m supposed to forget I have a whole life outside this room?”

“No.”

His answer came too quickly.

Too confidently.

Her eyes searched his.

“No?” she challenged.

“No,” he said again, dipping his head until his mouth was near her ear. “I think you already forgot. I’m just the first person honest enough to say it.”

Her breath broke.

He kissed the space just below her ear, not enough to undo her, just enough to remind her that he knew exactly where to begin. Venus’s fingers tightened in his shirt, and Jaafar smiled against her skin because there it was again, the old truth rising between them like Aphrodite from seafoam, beautiful and shameless and impossible to drown.

“You’re engaged,” he murmured, his lips brushing her jaw.

“Yes,” she said, but the word came out thin.

“To a good man.”

“Yes.”

“With a good ring.”

Her eyes closed.

“A beautiful wedding coming.”

“Jaafar—”

“A cute little future,” he said, and this time the arrogance sharpened, turned golden and cruel at the edges. “Very cute, Venus.”

She opened her eyes.

He lifted his head and looked at her fully.

“But don’t stand here and insult me by pretending it holds a candle to this.”

The room went silent.

Every flower, every gift bag, every delicate bridal ribbon seemed suddenly ridiculous.

Venus stared at him, and Jaafar stared back with no apology at all, his face close to hers, his hand steady at her waist, his whole body speaking in the language of a man who had already compared himself to the competition and found the competition wanting.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You think one night means more than a proposal?”

Jaafar’s expression shifted.

The smugness did not leave him, not entirely, but something older moved beneath it, something wounded and devoted and frightening in its certainty.

“No,” he said. “I think our one night meant more than his whole proposal.”

Venus’s lips parted.

“And that’s why you’ve been running from it for five years.”

The words hit her so cleanly she had no defence ready.

He watched her absorb them, watched anger flare and fade behind her eyes, watched the truth settle where pride could not immediately reach it. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, and still he did not pull her in. Still he waited.

That made it worse.

He was giving her the dignity of choosing her own ruin.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.

She inhaled.

“Tell me,” he repeated, quieter. “Tell me you don’t remember how it felt to stop fighting me.”

Venus’s eyes glistened, furious with him, with herself, with the ring sitting beside her like a witness.

“You don’t get to make this romantic.”

His smile was faint. “Baby, I didn’t have to make anything.”

Her face tightened.

He lowered his voice.

“You did that when you took the ring off.”

For a moment, Venus looked as if she might break.

Then she kissed him again, and this time there was nothing accidental about it.

She reached for him with both hands, pulling him down to her like she was tired of losing arguments to her own body, tired of being noble, tired of being sensible, tired of standing in rooms full of flowers while pretending she was not haunted by a man who had learned too young how to want her and too well how to wait.

Jaafar caught her immediately.

Of course he did.

One arm closed around her waist, the other bracing against the dresser as her back met marble and her mouth opened beneath his, and the sound he made was low, pleased, almost victorious — not surprised, never surprised, because in Jaafar’s mind this had always been where they were going. Every engagement party, every avoided conversation, every man she put between them, every year she spent calling him younger like it was a spell strong enough to keep him out; all of it had only been a delay.

Not a denial.

Never a denial.

He kissed her like he wanted her to understand that.

Like he wanted the memory of him to bruise every future she tried to build without him.

When his hands found her waist again, he lifted her easily onto the edge of the dresser, and Venus gasped against his mouth, one hand flying to his shoulder while the other knocked into the perfume bottle behind her. It clinked against the marble, sharp and delicate, but neither of them looked at it.

Jaafar did pull back then, only enough to see her.

And that was almost worse than the kissing.

Because he looked at her with his lips slightly swollen, his shirt gripped in her fists, his eyes dark and alive with the kind of masculine satisfaction that made Venus want to curse him and kiss him harder in the same breath. He looked beautiful and unbearable, like Apollo with a grudge, like a prince arriving late to a wedding he had every intention of interrupting.

“What?” she snapped, because his silence was too much.

He smiled.

“You’re mad.”

“I am.”

“No.” His thumb brushed her lower lip, slow and possessive. “You’re mad because you missed me.”

Her stomach turned over.

He leaned closer.

“And you’re mad because I know exactly how much.”

Venus shook her head, but there was no conviction left in it. “You’re so arrogant.”

“I had to be,” he said. “You gave me nothing else.”

That quieted her.

His face softened, just slightly.

“I had to believe this meant something,” he said, his voice lowering into something almost tender. “Even when you acted like it didn’t. Even when you put that ring on. Even when you smiled for everybody today like you weren’t sitting there lying through your teeth.”

Venus’s throat worked.

“Jaafar…”

He kissed her once, slower now, less punishment than proof.

Then he rested his forehead against hers.

“Do you know what I thought when my mother told me?” he asked.

She did not answer.

His hand slid up her back, holding her with maddening steadiness.

“I thought, she’s really going to make me come get her.”

Venus huffed out a laugh, broken and disbelieving, even as her eyes shone. “You are insane.”

“No,” he said, smiling against her mouth. “Desperate, maybe.”

Her hand rose to his face before she could stop herself, fingers grazing his jaw, and the touch stole some of the triumph from him. For a second, the ego, the confidence, the controlled arrogance all thinned, and beneath it was the boy who had loved her too early, the man who had waited too long, the friend who had stood beside her life while slowly starving on what she refused to give him.

Then he turned his face and kissed her palm.

Soft.

Devastating.

“Pero no estoy loco,” he murmured. “No por ti.”

But I’m not crazy. Not for you.

Venus closed her eyes.

And Jaafar, seeing the surrender move through her before she could name it, smiled like a man watching the gates of Troy open from the inside.

“Does he even know how you like it?” he murmured against her skin, his mouth moving slowly over the slope of her shoulder, not quite kissing, not quite sparing her either, his lips ghosting over the small pale scar she had carried since childhood — a thin, stubborn little mark from the summer she had fallen off the monkey bars and scared everyone half to death, including him, though he had been too young then to understand why seeing her hurt had made something violent and helpless twist inside his chest.

His thumb brushed beneath it now, reverent and possessive all at once, as though he remembered not only the scar but the girl who had earned it: Venus at twelve, furious with tears in her eyes because everyone kept fussing over her, swatting hands away while pretending she was not shaken; Venus at sixteen, rolling her eyes when he asked if it still hurt; Venus at twenty-eight, arching beneath his mouth like she had finally stopped pretending she did not know exactly what he had grown into.

Jaafar smiled against her shoulder, slow and arrogant, because that was the thing her fiancé would never understand.

He could learn her schedule, her favourite flowers, the cut of her gowns, the polite version of her smile.

But Jaafar knew the scar, he knew Venus, better than anyone would.

“Hard from the back while you watch.” Venus shuddered as he pressed another kiss against her shoulder, a hand weaving around her waist as he drew her back into him

“I’m telling you right now, Venus,” he murmured, his voice low against her skin, all velvet and warning, the kind of calm that came before gods split seas and men burned cities for women they had no intention of losing. “There ain’t no way in hell you were walking down that aisle with me still alive.”

Venus went still beneath him.

Not because the words shocked her — no, some part of her had known, had always known, that Jaafar’s patience had limits, that beneath all his charm and careful restraint was a man arrogant enough to believe fate itself had made a mistake by giving her another man’s ring — but because hearing him say it out loud made the whole room feel smaller, hotter, more dangerous, as if every flower from her bridal shower had suddenly become funeral lilies.

He lifted his head just enough to look at her, his mouth close to her shoulder, his eyes dark with five years of swallowed want and wounded pride.

“You really thought I was gonna sit there?” he asked, almost amused now, and somehow that was worse. “In a suit? Smiling? Watching him take your hand like I don’t know what it feels like when you stop fighting me?”

Her breath caught.

Jaafar’s thumb brushed over the old scar on her shoulder, gentle in a way that did not soften the possession in his voice.

“Baby, please,” he said, the faintest smile touching his mouth. “I would’ve objected before the preacher got his mouth open.”

“So this what you gon’ do for me,” he whispered, his voice low and steady against her throat as his fingers found the silk ties of her robe, tugging once, slow enough to make her breathing change, deliberate enough to make it clear he was not rushing a thing.

Venus’s hands tightened against his shoulders.

“Jaafar—”

“No,” he murmured, kissing beneath her jaw, the word warm against her skin, almost gentle, though nothing about him felt soft right then; not the set of his mouth, not the weight of his hands, not the impossible certainty in his voice as the silk loosened beneath his fingers. “You done talked enough. You done lied enough too.”

Her breath caught, and he smiled like he heard it, like even that belonged to him.

“You gon’ call downstairs,” he continued, dragging his mouth to the side of her neck, “and switch the card on this room to mine, because I’m not having another man pay for the place where I remind you who you belong to.”

Venus’s eyes fluttered shut.

“And after that,” he said, voice deepening, lazy and lethal with confidence, “you gon’ book five more days.”

Her eyes opened then, sharp despite the way her body leaned into him. “Five?”

“Five,” he said, without hesitation, as though he had already decided it somewhere between the elevator and her door, as though the number had been handed down from Olympus itself. “Maybe six if you keep looking at me like that.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, letting the arrogance of that answer sink into her skin.

“Then you gon’ take that pretty little ring,” he murmured, glancing toward the diamond sitting abandoned on the dresser, “put it back in its box, and give it back to that man when you get home.”

Venus stilled.

Jaafar lifted his head, his eyes finding hers, dark and calm and far too sure of himself for a man who had just walked into her bridal suite and started rearranging her entire life with his mouth on her neck.

“And you gon’ be kind when you do it,” he said. “Because he ain’t do nothing wrong except think he could marry a woman who was never really his.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

His thumb brushed her cheek, almost tender.

“After that,” he said, softer now, but somehow more devastating, “we gon’ change the invites.”

Venus stared at him.

The city glittered behind him, all gold and glass and distant little stars, but Jaafar looked brighter than all of it, beautiful with audacity, wearing his confidence like a crown he had no intention of taking off.

“You lost your mind,” she whispered.

He smiled.

“No, baby,” he said, dipping his head until his mouth hovered over hers. “I found my wife.”

Her breath broke.

Jaafar kissed the corner of her mouth, then the other, slow enough to be cruel and patient enough to be obscene, as if he had all the time in the world now that the ring was off her finger, as if the bridal suite, the flowers, the wedding plans, the man waiting somewhere with her future in his hands — all of it had become little more than theatre dressing around the only truth that had ever mattered.

“Because you and me?” he whispered, his mouth hovering against hers, his voice low and velvet-dark, heavy with the kind of confidence that did not ask to be believed because it had already crowned itself king. “We finna get married instead.”

Venus stared at him.

For one suspended second, the whole room seemed to hold its breath: the city burning gold beyond the glass, the white roses and peonies spilling from their vases like offerings at Aphrodite’s altar, the closed velvet ring box sitting on the dresser like a dead prophecy, and Jaafar standing between her knees with his hands on her waist and certainty all over his face, looking at her as if Zeus himself had leaned down from Olympus and told him, Go get what is yours.

Then Venus laughed, but it was not amusement that broke out of her, not really; it was disbelief, panic, fury, longing, and all the years she had tried to keep stacked neatly inside her chest finally rattling loose.

“You are out of your damn mind.”

Jaafar smiled, slow and devastating, his lashes low, his mouth still too close to hers. “No,” he said, and the word came out soft, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. “I’m done letting you act like you don’t know what this is.”

“This?” she echoed, breath catching despite the sharpness she tried to force into her voice.

“This,” he said, and pulled her closer with one sure hand at the small of her back, not rough, not careless, but with the calm authority of a man who had waited so long that waiting had become a second skin and now, finally, he was stepping out of it. “You and me. All these years. All this back and forth, all this timing our lives wrong on purpose, all this pretending we just kept missing each other by accident.”

Venus’s expression shifted.

There it was.

The little fracture.

The tiny betrayal of the face before pride could cover it.

Because that was the part neither of them had ever wanted to say out loud: whenever Venus was single, Jaafar had someone, some beautiful girl with bright eyes and a soft hand tucked through his arm, some woman smiling too widely in photographs as if she had not sensed the ghost standing between them; and whenever Jaafar was finally alone, Venus had someone, some polished man in tailored suits, some collector or architect or financier with the right watch, the right manners, the right age, the right everything except the one thing that mattered.

He was not Jaafar.

And they had done that dance for years.

Round and round, like two foolish mortals cursed by some bored Greek god, always reaching for each other only after placing somebody else in the way, always pretending jealousy was coincidence, always pretending the timing was tragic when the truth was far uglier.

They had both been cowards.

Venus swallowed, her hand tightening in the front of his shirt. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you weren’t part of it.”

Jaafar’s mouth stilled against her skin.

For the first time all night, something like guilt moved behind his eyes, but it did not weaken him; if anything, it made him more dangerous, because even his guilt came wrapped in confidence, wrapped in the quiet arrogance of a man who believed that everything he had done, even the mistakes, had still been orbiting her.

“You think I didn’t know?” Venus asked, her voice low now, shaking not with fear but with all the old hurt she had taught herself to wear elegantly. “You think I didn’t see you? Every time I was finally alone, there you were with somebody else. Some girl smiling at you like she had won something. Some girl wearing your jacket. Some girl touching your chest in pictures like she had permission to touch what I—”

She stopped herself.

Jaafar’s eyes darkened.

“What you what?” he asked softly.

Venus looked away.

He touched her chin and brought her face back to him, his fingers gentle, his gaze not gentle at all.

“No,” he murmured. “Finish it.”

“Don’t.”

“Mírame, Venus.” Look at me, Venus.

The Spanish left his mouth like heat over marble, intimate and inherited, not performed but pulled from somewhere deep in him, from blood and memory and the side of his family that had taught him affection could sound like command when spoken softly enough.

Venus’s lashes fluttered.

Jaafar saw it, of course.

He saw everything.

That had always been the problem with him.

He noticed too much, remembered too much, knew too much; he knew the scar on her shoulder from the monkey bars, knew the perfume she wore when she wanted to feel untouchable, knew the way she went quiet when she was hurt, knew that she laughed louder around people she did not trust and softer around people she did, knew that she hated being rushed in the morning, knew that she kept handwritten notes in a box like little relics from a private temple, knew that she could design gowns fit for goddesses and still sleep in old T-shirts when no one was watching.

Her fiancé knew Venus Hamilton.

Jaafar knew Venus.

That was the difference.

“No me mientas, preciosa,” he whispered, thumb brushing along her jaw. Don’t lie to me, beautiful.

Venus exhaled shakily, her fingers curling tighter in his shirt. “No me mandes.” Don’t order me around.

His smile came slow, pleased, wicked at the edges.

“Then stop obeying.”

Her eyes flashed, and for a second the woman he had known all his life came back in full force: sharp, proud, radiant, impossible, Athena with lip gloss and a temper, ready for war even with her robe loose at her shoulders and her ring abandoned behind her.

“You are so arrogant,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

No shame.

No hesitation.

Just yes.

Venus let out a disbelieving breath, but it trembled too much to be a laugh. “You’re not even going to deny it?”

“Why would I deny what you like about me?”

The sentence landed between them like a match dropped in oil.

Her mouth parted.

Jaafar tilted his head, watching her with that infuriating calm, that unbearable certainty, that grown-man confidence that had ruined her the first time because, God help her, he had not come to her like a boy begging for a chance, had not stumbled over his want, had not treated her like some older woman he was lucky to touch.

No.

At twenty-four, Jaafar had stood in front of her like a young Apollo already aware of his own beauty, already certain the sun would rise because he told it to, and when Venus had whispered, “You’re too young for me,” trying desperately to place four years between them like a locked gate, he had only smiled, stepped closer, and said, “Then stop wanting me like I’m not.”

And that was why she had let him in the first time.

Not because he was famous.

Not because he was beautiful, though he was beautiful in a way that felt almost offensive, all dark eyes and long limbs and mouth made for trouble.

Not because he was younger and wanted her with the devotion of a man who had turned longing into religion.

But because Jaafar had never made his desire feel uncertain.

He had looked at her like choosing him was not a scandal, not a mistake, not a lapse in judgment, but a correction the universe had taken too long to make.

And now he was looking at her that same way again.

Only worse.

Older.

Sharper.

More assured.

A man who had grown into every dangerous promise his younger self had made.

“You think one night means more than a proposal?” Venus asked, but the question came out too soft, too wounded, too much like she already knew the answer and hated him for making her ask it.

Jaafar’s hand slid from her waist to her back, firm and warm through the loosened silk. “No,” he said. “I think our one night meant more than his whole engagement.”

Venus went still.

“And that’s why you’ve been running from it for five years.”

The words hit her cleanly.

There was no mercy in them, but there was truth, and truth had always been more dangerous between them than touch.

“You don’t know that,” she whispered.

Jaafar smiled faintly.

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Venus.” He leaned closer, his mouth near her ear now, his breath warm enough to make her close her eyes against her will. “If he had touched anything in you that could make you forget me, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

Her breath broke.

There it was, the ego.

Not loud, not childish, not desperate.

Worse.

Certain.

Jaafar looked at her fiancé’s ring and saw something pretty. Expensive. Tasteful. Cute, even. He could admit that much. The man had chosen well. But the ring did not frighten him, the proposal did not humble him, the wedding did not make him feel beaten, because in Jaafar’s mind, all of it was surface — lace over a wound, flowers over a grave, a polished altar built on ground that had always belonged to him.

Her fiancé could give her a diamond.

Jaafar had given her a memory she could not survive.

Her fiancé could put her name on invitations.

Jaafar had his name sitting in her throat.

Her fiancé could stand at the end of an aisle.

Jaafar was the reason she would tremble before she took the first step.

“That ring is cute,” he murmured, glancing toward the velvet box.

Venus blinked, offended despite everything. “Cute?”

“Very cute.”

“You are such an ass.”

“But it ain’t me.”

Her lips parted, and Jaafar’s smile deepened because he felt it — the pulse jump beneath her skin, the old truth rising between them like Aphrodite from seafoam, naked and beautiful and impossible to drown.

“He can put a ring on you,” Jaafar said, his voice low and slow, every word deliberate. “He can stand in front of everybody and promise you stability, houses, children, Sunday brunch, whatever pretty little life he thinks he’s offering.”

Venus swallowed.

“But he can’t stand in a room where he ain’t even present and make you forget how to breathe.”

Her eyes shone.

“Jaafar…”

“No me corras más,” he whispered against her cheek. Don’t run from me anymore.

She closed her eyes.

He kissed the side of her face, just beneath her temple, so tenderly it nearly hurt more than the arrogance.

“No me corras más, mi Venus.” Don’t run from me anymore, my Venus.

Venus made a small, wounded sound, and his hand tightened at her waist, not to trap her, never that, but to hold her steady beneath the weight of what they were finally saying.

“You were my problem,” she whispered, the words slipping out in Spanish before she could dress them in English and make them safer. “Siempre fuiste mi problema.” You were always my problem.

Jaafar went still.

For the first time, the godlike certainty flickered.

Only for a heartbeat.

But Venus saw it.

She saw the boy beneath the man, the child who had watched her fall from monkey bars and cried after everyone else stopped fussing, the teenager who had scowled every time she brought someone older to a family party, the twenty-four-year-old who had kissed her like he had been waiting his whole life to prove he was no longer too young, the man standing before her now, beautiful and arrogant and wounded by every year she had refused to choose him.

So she said it again.

“Siempre.” Always.

His eyes darkened, but not with victory this time.

With ache.

“Venus…”

She shook her head, her voice trembling now, Spanish and English tangling together because one language was no longer enough to hold everything bleeding out of her. “Every time I tried to be smart, every time I tried to be good, every time I chose the man who made sense, the man who was there at the right time, the man who didn’t come with all this history, all this mess, all this—”

“Love,” Jaafar said.

The word cut through her.

She stared at him.

He stepped closer, until there was barely anything between them but breath and silk and five years of cowardice.

“Say it.”

Her eyes filled. “No.”

“Dilo.” Say it.

“No me mandes,” she whispered again, but weaker this time. Don’t order me around.

Jaafar smiled, soft and devastating.

“Then stop wanting to obey.”

Venus kissed him like she was furious that he knew her, furious that he could stand there wrapped in arrogance and tenderness and be right, furious that the whole world had made sense an hour ago and now every safe thing she had built was turning to ash in his hands.

Jaafar caught her immediately.

Of course he did.

He caught her like he had always known she would come to him eventually, like every year, every lover, every jealous performance, every photograph with the wrong person, every almost, every silence, every family dinner where they sat too close and said too little had only been the long road back to this room.

His mouth moved against hers with slow command, heat and restraint braided together, his hands firm at her waist, his body close but not careless, his confidence so complete it became its own kind of seduction.

He did not touch her like he was lucky.

He touched her like he had been chosen.

That was what ruined her.

Jaafar pulled back only enough to look at her, his mouth slightly swollen, his eyes dark, his expression beautiful in its shameless satisfaction.

“You’re mad,” he murmured.

“I am,” Venus breathed.

“No,” he said, thumb brushing her lower lip. “You’re mad because you missed me.”

Her face tightened.

He smiled.

“And you’re mad because I know exactly how much.”

“You are impossible.”

“I know.”

“You think you can just walk in here, speak Spanish, kiss me, tell me I’m marrying the wrong man, and I’m supposed to fall apart?”

Jaafar’s gaze moved over her slowly, from her loosened robe to her wet eyes to the ring box behind her, and when he looked back at her face, the arrogance in him glowed like Helios dragging the sun across the sky.

“No,” he said. “I think you already fell apart when you took the ring off.”

Venus’s breath caught.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the old scar on her shoulder, the one he knew before any man had thought to study her, the one her fiancé had probably seen but never understood.

“Does he even know how you like it?” he murmured against her skin, the question low enough to be wicked, tender enough to be cruel.

Venus’s eyes closed.

Jaafar kissed just above the scar, not quite on it, as if he were worshipping the memory as much as the woman. “Does he know this?” he asked. “Does he know you cried when you fell off those monkey bars, then yelled at everybody for acting like you cried?”

A breathless laugh slipped from her, broken and unwilling.

His mouth curved against her shoulder.

“Does he know you hate being called delicate, but you keep every fragile thing anybody ever gives you?” He kissed her again, slower. “Does he know you get quiet when you want something too much?”

“Jaafar…”

“Does he know you?” he asked, lifting his head, eyes locking onto hers. “Or does he just know how pretty you look behaving?”

That one hurt.

She looked away, but his hand found her cheek and brought her back.

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t hide now. Not after all this.”

Her eyes shone.

“I was scared.”

His face changed.

The arrogance softened, but did not disappear; it became protective, almost reverent, like Ares lowering his sword not because the war was over, but because the woman in front of him mattered more than victory.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” His thumb brushed under her eye. “You were scared because I wasn’t supposed to be it.”

Venus stared at him.

“I was supposed to grow out of you,” he said quietly. “You were supposed to laugh about my little crush until it became harmless. Then I got grown, and you got quiet.”

Her lips parted.

“And after that night?” His voice dropped, rich and low. “You couldn’t call me young anymore. Not honestly.”

Venus looked at him, and the shame of it, the truth of it, moved through her like heat.

Because he was right.

After that night, the four years between them had stopped feeling like a reason and started feeling like an excuse.

“You think very highly of yourself,” she whispered.

Jaafar smiled.

“Only because you taught me.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” he said, mouth brushing hers. “That first night? The way you looked at me after?” He shook his head slowly, almost amused. “Baby, I been unbearable ever since.”

A laugh broke from her, wet and helpless, and Jaafar grinned like the sound belonged to him too.

Then his expression softened again.

“Five years,” he murmured. “Five years of sitting beside you at dinners, watching you laugh, watching you touch my arm like you forgot what your hands do to me. Five years of you calling me your friend like it didn’t disrespect both of us.”

A tear slipped before Venus could stop it.

Jaafar caught it with his thumb.

“No llores, preciosa.” Don’t cry, beautiful.

Venus gave him a shaky, wounded smile. “You don’t get to make me cry and then tell me not to.”

“I know.”

“You’re cruel.”

“Only when you make me beg in silence.”

That undid something in her.

Not the kiss.

Not the Spanish.

Not the arrogance.

That.

The confession buried beneath the confidence.

Venus lifted her hand to his face, fingers tracing his jaw, and for one rare second Jaafar went still beneath her touch, all his ego quieting just enough for her to see the devotion underneath it.

“I did love you,” she whispered.

His jaw flexed.

“Don’t say it in past tense.”

Her breath trembled.

“Jaafar…”

“No.” His voice was soft, but absolute. “Don’t give me a grave when I came here for a future.”

Venus closed her eyes.

The room blurred around her: flowers, silk, glass, gold, the ring box, the city, the life she had built because it was safe enough to survive.

Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.

Really looked at him.

The boy she had known.

The man she had wanted.

The god she had tried to make mortal by calling him young.

“Te amo, Jaafar,” she whispered. I love you, Jaafar.

Jaafar stopped breathing.

Venus’s hand trembled against his face, but she did not look away.

“Todavía te amo.” I still love you.

For a moment, all the arrogance left him.

Not because it had been defeated, but because the thing beneath it — the thing he had armored for years with charm and ego and other women and pretty smiles in photographs — had finally been touched directly.

He looked almost stunned.

Almost young.

Almost like the boy who had loved her before he knew what to do with love that big.

Then his hand slid to the back of her neck, and when his confidence returned, it came back quieter, deeper, more dangerous, like Poseidon pulling the tide back before swallowing the shore.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

Venus’s eyes fluttered.

“Te amo.”

His thumb brushed her pulse.

“Again.”

“Te amo.”

Jaafar kissed her then like the words had given him back his own name, like Troy had burned, Olympus had opened, Aphrodite had laughed, and every wrong turn they had ever taken had finally led them to the only room where the truth was waiting.

And somewhere behind them, inside its velvet box, the ring sat closed and silent.

Cute.

Pretty.

Finished.

He picked her up with ease, as if all the years between them had only been training his body for this exact moment, one arm locked beneath her while the other swept across the counter with quiet arrogance, swiping the velvet ring box into his hand before tossing it farther down the marble as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience, some pretty little trinket left behind by a man who had mistaken proximity for possession.

Venus watched him with a shaky breath caught behind her teeth, watched the way his shoulders moved, the way his jaw flexed, the way he handled her with that infuriating confidence, as though carrying her was not effort but instinct, as though he had been waiting since boyhood to hold her without apology.

“Jaafar,” she whispered, but it came out too soft to be a warning.

He only looked at her.

That was all.

Just looked at her with those dark, devastating eyes, his mouth still touched by her, his face beautiful with victory and restraint, like some young god come down from Olympus with no intention of returning empty-handed.

Then, without looking away, he lifted her foot and pressed it against his chest.

The gesture should have been ridiculous.

It should have broken the tension.

Instead, Venus felt her breath leave her altogether.

Jaafar’s hand curled around her ankle, warm and steady, his thumb brushing once over the delicate bone there before he lowered his mouth to the ball of her foot, kissing her slowly, reverently, as if even that part of her deserved ceremony. His lips moved upward, over the arch, to her ankle, then higher, each kiss unhurried and deliberate, climbing her like a prayer spoken against skin, like he had all the time in the world to remind her that he did not worship gently when he had been denied for too long.

Venus let out a breathy sigh and shut her eyes, her head tipping back as heat moved through her in slow, golden waves, warm as Helios dragging morning over the sea.

Jaafar smiled against her skin.

Of course he did.

He heard everything — every unsteady breath, every swallowed sound, every little betrayal her body offered before her pride could stop it.

“Still think I don’t know you?” he murmured, his voice low, amused, unbearably sure of itself.

Venus’s lashes fluttered, but she did not open her eyes.

His mouth moved higher, his hand firm beneath her calf, the other steadying her with such control that she hated how safe she felt in his arrogance.

“Answer me, Venus.”

She swallowed.

“Eres insoportable,” she whispered. You’re unbearable.

Jaafar’s smile deepened against her.

“Y todavía me amas.” And you still love me.

Her breath caught, and when his lips brushed the inside of her knee, slow and warm and devastating, Venus’s fingers tightened in his shirt as if she needed something to anchor her before the last of her common sense slipped beneath the tide.

“Sí,” she breathed, barely audible, the word breaking out of her like surrender. “Todavía te amo.” Yes. I still love you.

Jaafar lifted his head then, eyes dark and triumphant, the kind of triumph that did not need to shout because it had already won.

“I know,” he said softly.

And God, that was the worst part.

He did.

She watched as he brought her knee to his shoulder, tossing the other over the other shoulder too. He looked up to watch her, his brown eyes meeting her own as he hiked up her robe and latched his lips onto her slit. 

He hadn’t tasted her in years, he realised, five years to be specific, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days ( not that he was counting, of course). He’d spent half of a decade wanting this, dreaming of the day they’d reconcile, and now that they were here, together, where they should’ve been all along, he didn’t think he’d be able to let it go again.

She bit her lip to stop her loud moans, grinding her hips against his face as he sucked on her clit, pulling it back before releasing and blowing cool air and watching with wonder as her mound twitched. He moved down to her pussy, running the tip of his tongue on the edges of her lower lips. He watched as she curled her toes when he spat on her lips and flattened his tongue to lick it up once more.  

He remembered it all, he remembered what she liked and how she liked it, he remembered how to curl his tongue when he ate it, he remembered how hard to suck and how much to curl his fingers the way she liked, the same way that made her writhe that one night burned into his brain more than he wanted to admit, more than it should’ve been; but fuck why wouldn’t it be? He kept her up all night, years of desire melding together into that one moment as her sighs and moans became his favourite symphony.

Just as the pressure began to build up, she tried to write away from him, the polished wood of the grand piano she was hoisted on making her movements smoother as she whined, but he just tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her back to where he wanted her. “Deja de estar jodiendo conmigo, Venus.”

Stop fuckin’ playing with me, Venus

And then he returned, adding two fingers and eating at the same time. Just like that, her mouth flew open with a moan, spurring Jaafar on, her hand tangling in his curls as he curled them to the right, an action he knew would make her lose the shred of sense she claimed to have.

With every moan, her chest rose, and the robe came looser and looser, the cool air caressing her skin, cooling her down and yet still she felt hot, like she wasn’t getting enough air in her lungs. He was making the Venus Taraji Hamilton succumb to him, the same Venus that claimed to have it all together, the one who was as strict as a ruler growing up, was here, with him. Her moans grew louder as she felt a pit form in her stomach, it wasn’t long until she released with a loud cry, succumbing to an orgasm so intense the corners of her vision whitnened, as she fought her consciousness. Like a beggar, he feasted at all he gave her, lapping her juices up as he groaned to himself. 

He lifted his lips, pressing a kiss to her lips, ensuring she tasted herself on his lips. Then he pulled her closer to him as he unblocked his belt with his left hand , the right tugging the robe away from her body. She cared for Kenan, she truly did, and that was perhaps the cruelest part of it all, because there was no easy hatred to hide behind, no convenient flaw she could point to and say, There, that is why this was never enough. He was kind to her, attentive when his life allowed it, successful in the steady, impressive way men like him were expected to be, and yet no matter how many times they had found their way into each other’s arms, no matter how familiar his touch became or how earnestly he tried to make her feel chosen, it had never compared to this.

Granted, they had both been busy. Venus had been drowning in fabric swatches, tailoring appointments, and sleepless nights designing Jaafar’s looks for the premiere of his movie, while Kenan had been consumed by boardrooms, acquisitions, and the endless machinery of his companies; their love, if she could call it that, had learned to exist in scheduled windows, between flights, after meetings, beneath the polite exhaustion of two people with too much to do and too little fire left to burn.

But with Jaafar, nothing felt scheduled.

Nothing felt polite.

Nothing felt like something she could fold neatly into the margins of her life and return to later.

This was consuming, unreasonable, almost mythic in its intensity, like some reckless offering laid at the feet of Aphrodite and set aflame before either of them could think better of it. Truly, Venus felt crazy — crazy for wanting this with him, crazy for wanting the very man she had spent years trying to outrun, crazy for craving him with a hunger so deep it frightened her, for wanting him to consume her whole again and again until the world outside the suite blurred into nothing, until the ring, the wedding, Kenan, and every sensible choice she had ever made became distant and weightless, until she could barely tell where Jaafar ended and where she began.

She felt the head of his dick nudging her entrance. While she was embarrassingly drenched she didn’t seem to care, not as her eyes met his, not as he took her hand and intertwined their fingers and became one, not even as her walls stretched around the familiar yet overwhelming stretc of him. 

“For better or for worse,” she whispered, the words trembling somewhere between a promise and a surrender as she gazed into his brown eyes, her fingers lifting to brush the loose hair away from his face with a tenderness that made the whole room feel quieter.

Jaafar stilled beneath her touch.

There was something unbearably intimate about it — not the heat, not the want, not even the wreckage of the ring sitting somewhere behind them — but this, Venus looking at him as if she had finally stopped running long enough to recognize the man who had been waiting for her all along.

Her thumb skimmed his temple, soft and reverent.

“For better or for worse,” she repeated, quieter this time, like she was testing the weight of forever in her mouth and realizing, with a terrifying kind of peace, that it sounded like him.

Jaafar’s eyes searched hers, the heat in them quieting for just a moment, softening into something more dangerous than desire, something old and aching and almost boyish beneath all that confidence.

He turned his face into her palm, pressing a kiss there, slow and deliberate, before his hand came up to cover hers.

“Para bien o para mal, en esta vida y en todas las que vengan después,” he whispered. 

“For better or for worse, in this life and the ones after it.” 

…

By the time Venus Taraji Hamilton was twenty-four, she had already mastered the delicate art of pretending not to notice when Jaafar Jackson looked at her. It was not that he was subtle, because God help him, he was not; he had the nerve to believe silence could hide devotion when devotion had already made a home in his eyes, when every glance he gave her lingered too long, burned too warm, settled too low in her chest to be mistaken for anything innocent. But Venus had grown skilled at turning away before the moment could become a confession, at laughing when he became too serious, at calling him young whenever the air between them grew too thick to breathe through.

Young. That was the word she kept like a little shield tucked against her ribs. Four years younger. Family friend. Baby Jackson, when she wanted to irritate him. Jaafar, when she forgot herself. He was twenty then, tall already, beautiful already, dangerous in the unfinished way young gods must have been before Olympus gave them thrones — all dark curls, long lashes, quiet confidence, and that strange, steady way of watching the world as though he expected it to open for him eventually. Venus should have known then that time was not going to save her.

They had ended up in the pet shop because of rain. That was what she would remember years later, though she could never decide if the rain had been coincidence or conspiracy, some private orchestration from the gods, as if Zeus had cracked open the sky just to push them beneath the same little awning on a quiet afternoon when neither of them had intended to be alone together. Their families had gone ahead to lunch, their mothers distracted, their fathers talking too loudly about old friends and business, and Venus had stepped away to avoid the chaos, ducking into the first open shop on the corner with Jaafar right behind her like a shadow with a heartbeat.

The bell above the door chimed when they entered, and inside, the world softened. The pet shop smelled faintly of cedar chips, clean water, birdseed, and rain-soaked pavement carried in on their shoes. Parakeets chattered near the window, bright as stolen jewels; sleepy puppies pressed their noses against glass pens; and a fat orange cat watched from a carpeted tower with the offended dignity of Hera herself. Everything inside felt warm and gold and strange, a tiny ark hidden from the storm outside, humming with life.

Venus shook rain from the ends of her hair, frowning at the dampness on her sleeves. “You didn’t have to follow me,” she said, though they both knew that if she had truly wanted him gone, she would have said so long before the bell above the door stopped ringing. Jaafar only leaned against the doorframe for half a second, pushing wet curls from his forehead, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who had just been caught trailing her through bad weather. “I didn’t follow you,” he said. “It was raining.” Venus gave him a look, and he smiled, and that smile was already a problem.

Not fully grown yet, not as lethal as it would become later, but enough to make her look away, enough to irritate her because she knew exactly what it would become once age finished carving patience into his face. Jaafar at twenty did not yet have all the weight he would carry as a man, but he had the promise of it, the early shape of confidence, the beginning of that infuriating certainty that one day, if he waited long enough, she would run out of excuses.

“You are so annoying,” she muttered, moving deeper into the shop, pretending to be interested in a display of tiny ceramic bowls painted with paw prints. Jaafar followed at an unhurried pace, hands in his pockets, watching her with the kind of calm that made her want to throw something soft at his head. There was no rush in him. That was the truly dangerous part. Even then, even young, even with all that longing sitting visibly beneath his skin, he had never behaved like a man afraid of losing the race. He behaved like someone who believed the race had already been won.

The aquarium section glowed blue in the back of the shop, and Venus saw it first. Against the far wall, beneath soft white lamps, glass tanks shimmered with small flashes of moving colour: goldfish, bettas, little silver schools of minnows flickering like coins tossed into sacred water. But in the largest tank, set slightly apart from the rest, two koi moved slowly through the water with a grace that made the whole shop feel suddenly hushed. One was white with patches of deep red across its back, bright as pomegranate seeds spilled over snow, and the other was black, orange, and gold, its scales catching light like pieces of Helios’s chariot broken across a river.

They circled each other. Not chasing, not fleeing, but turning in the same slow rhythm, one passing beneath the other, then beside it, then around again, their bodies folding through the water like silk ribbons pulled by an invisible hand. Venus stepped closer despite herself, and Jaafar came to stand beside her. For once, neither of them spoke. The rain tapped against the front windows, the parakeets quieted, somewhere in the shop a dog whined softly in its sleep, and there, before the koi tank, time seemed to lose its shape.

“They’re beautiful,” Venus whispered. Jaafar looked at the koi for a moment, then at her. “Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that she knew, without needing to ask, that he was not only talking about the fish. She turned toward him, ready to scold him, ready to call him young, ready to tuck the moment safely back into the box she kept for impossible things, but he was already watching her, and there was nothing boyish in his eyes. That was what stole the words from her.

At twenty, Jaafar should have looked at her with hunger, with impatience, with the clumsy intensity of youth. Instead, he looked at her as though he recognized her from somewhere older than memory, somewhere before language, before family dinners and age gaps and all the careful little rules people built around desire. He looked at her the way Orpheus must have looked back toward the underworld, not because he doubted what he loved was following, but because love itself had become unbearable without proof.

Behind them, a soft voice said, “They always know.” Venus startled slightly and turned. An elderly Japanese woman stood near the end of the aisle, small and neat in a navy cardigan, silver hair pinned back, a name tag clipped to her chest. Her eyes were kind, amused, and far too knowing, the way old women in stories always seemed to be, as though age had given them access to secrets the young kept embarrassing themselves trying to hide.

Jaafar straightened, polite at once, but the woman only smiled and stepped closer to the tank. “Koi are good to look at,” she said. “They teach patience. In Japan, koi are symbols of perseverance, strength, and good fortune. They swim against the current. They endure. Some stories say that when a koi is brave enough to climb the waterfall, the gods turn it into a dragon.”

“A reward for not giving up?” Jaafar asked, his eyes moving back to the fish, interest sharpening his face. Venus laughed softly before she could stop herself. “That sounds like something you would like.” He glanced at her, and there it was again, that little flash of arrogance she found so irritating because it suited him too well. “I have a high opinion of being right,” he said.

The old woman smiled like she had seen this exact argument a thousand years before in a thousand different forms. “Two koi together can also mean harmony,” she said. “Balance. A love that must keep moving, even when the water is difficult.” Venus’s smile faded a little. Jaafar went still beside her. The koi circled again, one pale, one dark, touching only for a second as they passed, then separating, then finding the same rhythm once more.

The woman lifted one finger, pointing gently toward the red-and-white koi. “That one always waits,” she said. “The black one goes ahead, then turns. The white one follows, then waits. They keep losing each other for one moment, but they do not panic. They know where the other will be.”

Something moved through Venus then, so quiet and sharp she almost missed it. They know where the other will be. Jaafar did not say anything, and that was worse. If he had joked, if he had smiled too widely, if he had made some arrogant little comment, Venus could have rolled her eyes and dismissed the whole thing, but he was silent beside her, his shoulder barely brushing hers, his attention fixed on the two koi as if the woman had reached into the water and pulled up some hidden truth he had not yet earned the right to say.

“There is another story,” the woman continued. “Not koi. A red thread. Many people mix the meanings now, but the old idea is that two people who are meant for each other are tied by an invisible red thread. It may stretch. It may tangle. It may take years.” Her eyes softened. “But it does not break.”

Venus’s heart gave one foolish, humiliating beat. She laughed because she had to. “That sounds dangerous.” The old woman looked at her with gentle amusement. “Only if you fight it.” Jaafar finally looked at Venus, and she felt it before she met his eyes. The thread. It was ridiculous. There was no thread, no bright red string looped around his thumb and her finger, no visible proof that the universe had tied them together behind their backs while they were busy pretending family history and four years could protect them.

And yet, standing there beneath the blue aquarium light, with rain blurring the windows and two koi circling like fate had given itself scales, Venus could almost feel it — something fine and red and impossible, a line drawn from him to her, not tight enough to trap, not loose enough to ignore.

Jaafar lifted his hand, and for one breath she thought he might touch her. He did not. He only reached toward the glass, placing two fingers lightly against it as the gold-and-black koi swam past. “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly. The old woman looked at him. “What?” Jaafar kept his eyes on the fish. “The thread. If it stretches.”

Venus turned to him, something in her chest going painfully soft. The question was too young and too old at the same time, too bare for a boy who had spent most of the afternoon smirking at her like confidence was armour. He did not look at Venus when he asked it, but she knew, somehow, that the question belonged to her. The old woman studied him for a moment, then said, “Only when one person keeps walking away and the other stands still.”

Venus forgot how to breathe. Jaafar’s hand dropped from the glass. Outside, thunder rolled faintly across the sky, low and distant, like Zeus had overheard enough and was warning them not to make him repeat himself. Venus cleared her throat, forcing a smile that felt too thin. “Well,” she said, “that’s dramatic for a pet shop.” The old woman laughed gently. “Love is dramatic everywhere.”

The two koi had begun circling more tightly now, one turning around the other in a slow, endless shape, like an infinity symbol drawn in water. “They look like they’re dancing,” Venus said, because it was safer than saying what she was thinking. Jaafar watched the fish, his face suddenly quiet and reverent, less like a young man sheltering from rain and more like Apollo standing at the edge of a prophecy he had not yet learned how to survive. “They keep missing,” he said.

“Only by a little,” Venus murmured. “They come back around.” Jaafar looked at her then. “Yes,” he said quietly. “They do.” Venus should have said something clever. She should have called him annoying again, reminded him that he was twenty, that she was twenty-four, that whatever lived under his skin when he looked at her was not something she could entertain without feeling like she had betrayed common sense itself. But the words did not come.

The old woman eventually returned with a tiny paper cup of fish food and handed it to Venus. “Here,” she said. “You feed them.” Venus took it carefully, then glanced at Jaafar. “Why me?” He shrugged, smiling faintly. “Maybe they like you.” She rolled her eyes. “Everything likes me.” His smile widened. “There’s that ego.” “Learned from you.” His expression shifted, amused and soft all at once. “I’m younger. How you learning from me?”

She froze. He knew it instantly. The forbidden thing had slipped between them again, dressed as a joke and yet not a joke at all. Younger. There it was. Her shield. Her excuse. Her little gate. Jaafar’s smile faded by inches. “You always mean it when you say that,” he said, and there was no accusation in his voice, which somehow made it worse.

Venus looked down into the cup, guilt sitting sharp beneath her ribs. “I didn’t mean—” “Yes, you did.” The words were quiet. Steady. Too honest. Then, before the moment could split open completely, he nodded toward the tank. “Feed them before they start judging us.”

Venus turned back to the koi and sprinkled a few flakes over the water. They rose at once, mouths opening softly, bodies brushing the surface, colour flashing beneath the blue light. Jaafar came to stand beside her again — not too close, just close enough — and for a while, they watched the koi eat in silence.

The black-and-gold koi moved first, then the red-and-white one followed, close enough that their fins brushed. A strange little hush moved through Venus as she watched them, and before she could stop herself, she imagined the invisible red thread the old woman had described. Stretching. Tangling. Crossing years. Looping around other lovers, other cities, other rooms, other mistakes. Never breaking.

When she looked down, her smallest finger was close to his hand. Not touching.

Almost.

Jaafar noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His gaze dropped to the narrow space between their hands, to the delicate almost of it, her smallest finger resting close enough to his that the air itself seemed to tremble there. Venus could have moved away. She should have moved away. She could have tucked her hand behind her back, reached for the paper cup again, made some sharp little comment to cut the moment down before it grew teeth.

But she did not.

For one dangerous second, their hands hovered side by side over the edge of the tank stand, his little finger near hers, the space between them so small it felt indecent; then Jaafar moved, barely, just enough for his pinky to brush hers. The touch was so light it could have been an accident, except Jaafar Jackson had never accidentally wanted her a day in his life.

Venus’s breath caught.

He did not look at her.

She did not look at him.

They stood there like that, hands almost touching, koi circling, rain falling, and Venus thought with sudden terror that maybe the gods did not always announce destiny with thunderbolts. Maybe fate arrived quietly. Maybe it smelled like aquarium water and cedar chips. Maybe it wore damp curls and a too-calm expression. Maybe your soulmate did not arrive with some grand, flaming sign from Olympus; maybe he simply stood beside you long enough for your body to recognize him before your mind could object.

“Venus,” Jaafar said softly.

She closed her eyes for half a second. “What?”

“When I’m older,” he said, stubborn as a prayer, “you gon’ stop saying that.”

Her eyes opened.

The shield rose in her immediately, familiar and automatic. He was twenty. She was twenty-four. That was supposed to mean something. That was supposed to protect her from the way he looked at her, from the quiet certainty in his voice, from the awful little truth sitting between them like the red thread itself had tightened around their fingers.

“Jaafar,” she warned.

But he only turned to her fully, his gaze steady, his voice low enough to belong only to her. “What you mean is you need a reason to act like you don’t feel this too.”

Venus went still.

The koi moved beneath them, red and gold and black and white, circling, circling, circling, two little gods trapped in glass and still somehow freer than she felt. She looked down and realized their pinkies were still touching. Barely. Almost nothing. Enough to ruin the air.

“You don’t know what I feel,” she said, but it came out too quietly to be convincing.

Jaafar’s gaze dropped to their hands, then lifted back to her face. “Yes, I do.”

The confidence should have made her furious. Instead, it made her afraid, because there was no cruelty in it, no demand, no childish arrogance dressed up as romance. Just certainty. Warm and calm and devastating. The kind of certainty that did not need to raise its voice because it believed time itself would eventually testify on its behalf.

Venus pulled her hand away.

Jaafar let her.

That was almost worse.

He did not chase. He did not grab. He did not make a scene. He only nodded once, as if this too was part of the pattern, as if she was the koi swimming ahead and he already knew she would circle back.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered.

His smile returned, softer this time, touched with something that made him look younger and older all at once. “You keep saying that.”

Before Venus could answer, the old woman passed behind them again and glanced once more at the tank, her expression warm with that unsettling wisdom old women in stories always seemed to possess. “They like you two,” she said.

Venus gave a weak laugh. “You think so?”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “They can tell when people are tied.”

Venus’s body went still.

Jaafar’s eyes moved to her face, but she kept hers on the water because looking at him right then felt too much like confession.

“By the red thread?” he asked.

The woman shrugged lightly, as if fate was not something to be proven, only recognized. “Maybe. Maybe by water. Maybe by something older.”

Venus tried to smile. “Older than what?”

The woman looked at them both, then at the koi moving below the blue light. “Than the reasons people make to stay apart.”

The words settled over them like a blessing and a warning.

Venus looked back at the tank.

This time, the koi were side by side.

No circling. No missing. No thin ribbon of blue between them. Just moving together through the water, slow and certain, two bodies following the same invisible current as though they had been doing it long before anyone thought to name it love.

For once, Jaafar said nothing.

He did not need to.

The rain softened outside, and soon their families would begin wondering where they had gone. The world would return with its noise, its rules, its ages, its careful little categories. Someone would call Venus’s phone. Someone would ask why Jaafar had disappeared too. Lunch would resume, parents would laugh, old friends would hug, and Venus would have to step back into a life where pretending was easier than admitting that something in her had shifted in the blue glow of a koi tank.

But for that one suspended moment, she let herself stand beside him.

She let herself feel the brush of his sleeve against hers. She let herself imagine the red thread. She let herself imagine two koi swimming through difficult water, separated by turns, tangled by timing, always circling, always returning, always finding the same current again.

And though she would not say it then, though she would spend years swallowing the truth until it grew teeth inside her, some quiet part of Venus knew.

Not hoped.

Not wondered.

Knew.

Jaafar Jackson was going to be the hardest thing she ever tried to outrun.

And one day, when she was tired enough, honest enough, brave enough, she would stop swimming against him and call it fate.

You're barely paying attention to the conversation they're having in front of you. Too enamored with your book and the soft playback of his new project playing in the speakers.

"You gotta stop being so shy, Mike. We know damn well you ain't shy with her, right?" Quincy points his finger in your direction, turning the attention directly to you. You bring yourself out of your own head and look up from your book. Michael scratches the back of his neck in contemplation, sighing softly before swiping his nose with his thumb.

"Okay, I'll try it once, but," he hesitates, and he looks towards you again. "I want her in there with me."

"Aight," Quincy signals for you to get up, and you look up in confusion. You were just here to keep Michael company during one of his late-night studio sessions. You finished your album with Quincy a few weeks ago, you just needed to finalize some paperwork with Epic Records, with the approval of being published.

So now that your job was over — temporarily — you and Michael finally got some time to yourselves, and what better way to spend time with each other than with your shared drive for music production? "C'mon, girl," Quincy holds his hand out, helping you off the comfort of the couch. You follow Michael into the booth, the door shutting quietly behind you. The familiar isolated silence is deafening; the only noise is shared breathing and the fumbling of Michael's headphones.

"Could you... maybe close the curtains, please? And dim the lights a little more?" Michael asks Quincy, earning him a quick nod as Q gets up from his chair to close the curtain. "Oh," Michael laughs shyly at the thought of asking too much. "Could you mute the booth for a second, too? If you don't mind. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

Michael's voice trailed off, the last word barely leaving his lips before Quincy nodded and reached for the mute switch. The lights above the booth dimmed, and suddenly the world outside the glass felt miles away.

It really was just you and him now.

The curtains slid shut, swallowing the studio in a low amber glow, and it felt undeniably smaller. It almost felt too intimate for someone as shy as Michael. He adjusted his headphones again, but his hands started to shake a little.

"Um.. would you feel better if I didn't look at you?" You laugh softly as you walk towards the lounge chair inside the booth, snuggled into the corner.

"Uh.. actually no. Could you come here?"

"Here?"

"Yeah, right next to me."

You stood beside him, book now forgotten, and your heart thudding in your chest as the silence settled around you. You'd been in this booth thousands of times before -- recording your own vocals, laughing with Michael when he would visit in between takes, yet it still felt smaller than what you were used to. Part of you blamed the curtain for that.

Michael cleared his throat softly, eyes flicking to you before darting away again.

"Sorry," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he fixes the headphones on his head. "I don't wanna sound silly."

You shake your head gently.

"You don't ever sound silly, Michael."

He huffed out a shy laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. "Well, yeah, but you ain't seen me try this in a song before."

You stepped closer, close enough for him to feel your presence, and he looked up at you, curls falling so gracefully across his forehead, expression soft. He shrugged.

"I don't know. Q wants me to beg in this." He stammers, "I didn't wanna do it unless you're here." Your heart flutters, but you keep your breath steady. You smile, and he nods to you. The red light above the mic flickers faintly, waiting. Michael then knocks on the window, signaling that he is ready, and then takes a deep breath.

The instrumental started softly in his headphones, the sound coating his ears like velvet. You could faintly hear it bleeding through, just enough to know where he was during the outro.

Stay with me...

I want you to stay with me...

I need you by my side...

Don't you go nowhere...

He sang with flawless ease, and you started to wonder what the hell the problem was. He was feeling the music perfectly. The nerves that he felt before you stepped into the booth with him vanished entirely, like your presence alone was enough to boost his confidence.

Especially when the lyrics he sang were directed towards you.

You could've sworn you'd heard these lyrics the other day. The same words he whispered in your ear while his soft fingers touched you ever so softly.

Caressing and gripping and probing fingers, touching you just the way you liked it, coaxing more pleasure than any other man ever could. Not that you would want another, anyway. His desire for your pleasure was practically insatiable, believe it or not. He managed to make you cum 4 times in a row that night, and he didn't intend on stopping until you cried from just his fingers and these very words alone.

You stepped closer to him, and he opened his eyes halfway, gaze drifting knowingly towards you. His smile grew wicked, and the sound that followed was different. Much fuller. Desirable. Directed.

Let me feel you, baby...

All over, all over, all over...

When he finished the outro, he took his headphones off and smiled at you, taking in the look on your face. You aren't sure what your expression was, maybe awe. Maybe arousal. Maybe he was just as surprised as you were.

"How was that?"

Before you could answer, Quincy's voice came through the speakers. "Hell yeah, you did that shit," he said, voice warm with approval. "That's exactly what I wanted."

Everyone's gone home, except for the two of you.

It was now reaching 3AM, so you'd figured they were exhausted by the long hours of the night.

But not Michael.

"Gosh, I'm really excited about this new album." He muttered to you with a small smile, his attention directed towards the equilibrium table.

"So excited that you'll stay up until the crack of dawn working on it?" you question, checking your watch, "Because that's where this is headed."

He laughs softly, turning his chair around to look at you, like, really look at you. He pans his eyes over every single inch of you. He loves the way your bell-bottom jeans accentuate your curves, your blouse slightly unbuttoned from your dire need of relaxation. Your denim vest is long discarded and forgotten.

But it doesn't make you look any less enticing.

"Nah, we'll be done soon. I know you're tired, pretty thing." he pauses, "C'mere, sit on my lap."

"Your lap?"

"Mhm," he gestures his two fingers towards you, and you obey with a playful giggle. You straddle his lap with a sigh, relaxing into his touch as he wraps his arms around you.

Michael presses soft kisses along your neck, each one turning more intense than the last. His grip on your waist gets tighter as his reverence on your skin continues.

"You were so good in there." his voice is a low, intimate murmur against your skin, a stark contrast to his shy demeanor in the booth not even an hour ago. His hands slide from your waist down to your hips, gripping you firmly as he grinds you ever so subtly against the hard ridge of his denim-clad erection.

"You weren't like this in the studio." You pant softly as he shifts in the large producer's chair. He adjusts you on his lap so you're fully straddling him. The leather creaks under your combined weight as he captures your mouth in a deep and hungry kiss.

"But I'm always like this with you. I just— I don't know. I don't like doing this when people are watching," His hands slide under your untucked blouse, his warm palms splaying across the bare skin on your back. "But it's just us now. I don't have to hide anything."

"But— Mike—" He cuts off your protest as his hips roll upward, a slow, deliberate grind that presses his hard erection against your clit, still electrifying even through the layers of clothing. The cry that escapes you is louder than you would like it to be, and you look at the door instinctively, afraid of being heard.

He turns your chin gently, forcing your gaze back into his intense, dark eyes. "Shh, it's okay. No one else is here. Just you and me. Always you and me." His hands move to the hem of your blouse, fingers hooking into the fabric.

"You sure? The doors not locked."

"Yeah, baby, leave it. I need to feel you."

He unbuttons your blouse slowly, taking his time; teasing as he drinks in the sight of you. He takes it off you in one smooth motion, tossing it onto a nearby soundboard. His thumbs brush over the lace of your bra, his voice dropping to a whisper. "My lady, so perfect."

He leans forward, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just above your bra line. You can't help but moan at the sight, his gaze fixed on yours as he studies your soft expressions. You looked so cute like this.

His hands work at the button of his own jeans, fumbling slightly at his attempt at concealed urgency. The studio is filled with nothing but smooth jazz and the soft rustle of clothing. He unfastens his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free his hard length, his hand wrapping around himself with a low groan. All while watching you look at him.

"What, you like watching me like this?"

You nod, and he chuckles shyly. It was a warm sound, sending chills down your spine. "Guess who's the shy one now."

His free hand guides your hips, turning the chair around to lean you back against the cool surface of the large sound mixing table. "Don't be shy, now. Not with me at least." His free hand guides your hips, positioning you to lean back.

He pulls off your jeans fervently, exposing the wet spot in your panties. He can't help but smile at the sight of you being so turned on by just a few kisses and sweet nothings whispered in your ear. "Look at you... all for me,"

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear. His voice is a soft, pleading whisper. "I want you to touch yourself. Could you do that for me, baby? Show me how you like it."

The silence between you stretches as your eyes widen slightly, yet you comply with his request. Your pretty flower is on full display for him as you move your panties to the side with trembling fingers. You begin to toy with your clit, a soft, circular motion that makes you gasp softly.

He leans back with a sigh, one hand stroking himself slowly as he watches your every move, his expression a mixture of reverence and raw hunger. God, what he would give to have a little taste.

His eyes are locked on your fingers, slowly pushing inside of you when he asks, mesmerized by the rhythm you're setting. His own hand moves in time with yours. He bites his lip, a low groan rumbling in his chest. "You're so beautiful like this." His free hand reaches out, his thumb gently brushing against your inner thigh. "Can I... can I help?"

Once you nod, his fingers join yours, his touch feather-light as he moves your hand to rest on his chest, his palm pressing yours against the frantic beat of his heart. He traces circles around your clit before gently pushing two fingers inside you.

"F-Fuck, Michael. Feels so different when you do it." You stammer, your hand on his chest closing into a fist as his fingers curl your g-spot in effortless, practiced precision. His eyes never leave your face, his thumb taking over the pressure on your clit. Your moans grow whiny, feeling the heat build up in your lower stomach as your orgasm approaches. His breath is ragged as his other hand keeps stroking his dick, teasing his sensitive slit, the combined feeling with you wrapped around his fingers was enough to make him cum.

But he refused, not when he wasn't inside of you yet.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. "Mike..."

"I know, sweetheart, I know." He lifts you effortlessly, positioning himself at your entrance. "I just think this will feel so much better."

He guides you down onto him in one slow, deep motion, a groan tearing from his throat as he fills you completely. He was right; it did feel better. So much better, you had to squeeze your eyes shut and pray you didn't cum by just the feeling alone. He sets a slow and grinding rhythm, letting you adjust to his size before his thrusts become more urgent. Your moans and soft sighs were music to his ears; he could help but want more.

"God... Michael, so— so big. It feels so good, I might—"

The sound of skin meeting skin echoes softly in the studio, your whimpers and stumbling sentences only spurring him further to his orgasm. His pace quickens, and his moans become less controlled. "I know, mama, me too. Cum with me, baby, please?" His voice cracks, high and strained as his thrusts become frantic, a desperate pounding rhythm that shakes the sound table.

Moans and curses spill from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you both simultaneously, a wave of pleasure so intense it steals the air from your lungs. A final sharp broken cry escapes him as his cum pulses deep inside you, his body trembling slightly as his face is buried in your neck.

He breathes your name into your skin, his voice hoarse and spent. For a long moment, the only sound is your combined, ragged breathing slowly returning to normal.

"I think... we should record the backup vocals now."