44 years away
thriller era!michael jackson x reader
♱ summary: you answered a phone that wasn’t supposed to ring. somehow, it connected you to michael jackson. except… it’s 1982 for him. and 2026 for you.
♱ word count: 1.6k
tags: @goldennpalimpsest @hilslovesbyler
december 2026 .
the phone wasn’t even supposed to work.
it had been sat in the back of your grandmother’s closet for years, tangled in old, dusty christmas lights and old chargers that didn’t even fit anything anyone owned anymore.
“vintage!” your friend called it.
“nope, electronic waste.” you corrected.
still, you plugged it in.
suddenly, it rang.
you answered it because it was 2026, an old piece of junk phone wasn’t actually ringing, it was probably just malfunctioning.
“hello?”
static.
“..hello?”
a young man’s voice, definitely not a malfunction.
“who is this?”
“i was about to ask you the same thing.”
you should’ve hung up, but you didn’t.
“tell me who you are first!”
“michael.”
“…michael?”
the line crackled slightly.
“jackson.”
you laughed.
“pfft, yeah right, that’s ridiculous.”
you carried on.
“and i’m rihanna.”
“..who?”
“you don’t know rihanna..?”
“no?..”
“right..”
maybe he was commited to the bit.
“so you’re michael jackson.. right?”
“yes.”
“the michael jackson?”
“i don’t know what you mean by the michael jackson.”
he sounded genuinely confused.
“you sing.”
“yes..”
“billie jean, right?”
“i haven’t.. i haven’t released that yet.”
silence.
you blinked, “excuse me?”
“i said i haven’t released that yet.”
“no i heard you.”
you grabbed your laptop from your bedside table and went to google.
michael jackson “billie jean” release date.
1983.
you frowned.
“wait.”
“what?”
“what did you say your name was again?”
“michael jackson.”
“and.. what year is it?”
“1982.”
you stopped typing, your fingers hovered above the keyboard.
you nervously laughed.
“that’s— that’s not funny.”
“i’m not joking?”
“no.” you shook your head.
“if you’re gonna prank call, atleast use a year after smartphones.”
“smart.. what?”
you went silent for longer this time.
“okay.” you laughed nervously.
“if this is one of those ai voice things, it’s really scarily convincing.”
“.. what’s ai?”
your stomach dropped.
you were slightly whispering now.
“can you.. can you tell me todays date?”
“december 5th.”
“..and the year?”
“1982.”
you looked down to the calender on your laptop screen.
december 5 2026.
44 years, exactly.
neither of you spoke.
until michael broke the silence.
“are you.. still there?”
you swallowed.
“yeah..”
another pause.
“what year did you say it was for you?”
you looked back at the glowing numbers on your screen, then at the old phone in your hand.
“you wouldn’t believe me.”
“i have a feeling.. that i might.”
you stared at the phone.
“2026.”
silence stretched between you.
“twenty.. twenty six.”
he said it like he was just learning numbers for the first time.
“yeah.”
“44 years?”
“yeah.”
“if this is a joke..” he laughed nervously, “it’s a very elaborate one.”
“i could say the same to you!”
“i suppose you could.”
you smiled.
“so.. how can we prove it?” he asked.
“i don’t know..”
“there must be something.”
you glanced around your room slightly, not sure what for though.
your eyes landed on a digital clock placed on your desk.
“i could tell you things about your future.” you suggested.
when he spoke again he sounded slightly different, cautious almost.
“i don’t know if i want to know my future.”
that stopped you, you hadn’t considered that.
you knew what happened during his life, and you wouldn’t want to know either.
“..you’re right,” you said softly. “forget i suggested that.”
“what if..” he started.
“what?”
“if you told me something that’s already happened, something i’d know.”
you frowned.
“like what?”
“i don’t know.” he laughed, “you’re supposed to be from the future.”
you laid back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. thinking.
“okay.. you released thriller in 1982.”
“yes.”
“it became the biggest selling album ever.”
a pause.
“..really?”
“really.”
“..how would you know that?”
“because.. where i’m from everyone knows that.”
for a moment, none of you spoke.
then he spoke, in almost a whisper.
“i always hoped people would remember it, remember me.”
your chest tightened.
“they do.”
you swallowed.
“they really, really do.”
all you could hear now was michael’s breathing.
“i..” he laughed nervously, “don’t really know what to say.”
“you don’t have to.”
“i’ve spent years wondering if any of it truly matters.”
“it does.”
“..how can you be so sure?”
you smiled.
“i just am.”
“thank you.”
you looked out your window.
the city was settling into evening. cars passed beneath your apartment, people walked dogs, someone somewhere was playing music loud enough to hear through the glass.
“so…” you said, “what were you doing before the phone rang?”
“i couldn’t sleep.”
“me neither.”
“i was pacing through my room.” he laughed quietly. “trying to avoid rehearsing.”
“you procrastinate?”
“terribly.”
you grinned.
“that’s actually comforting.”
“why?”
“i don’t know.” you shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “it’s nice finding out legends are just people.”
there was a pause.
“…legends?”
you froze.
“…forget I said that.”
“i don’t think I can.”
heat crept onto your face.
“please.”
he chuckled.
“i’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.”
“you’d better.”
“i make no promises.”
for the first time since answering the phone, you laughed without forcing it.
“…you have a nice laugh,” he said.
you blinked.
“so do you.”
another silence.
a comfortable one this time.
“so,” he asked after a while, “what do people do for fun in 2026?”
you smiled.
“oh god, you’re going to regret asking me that.”
“why?”
“because i have to explain the internet.”
“the what?”
you laughed again.
“okay… imagine if your television, your radio, your newspaper, your telephone, your mail, and every library in the world got mashed together.”
“…that sounds exhausting.”
“it kind of is.”
you both laughed.
it’s now been a couple weeks.
you find yourself on the dusty, old telephone talking to michael jackson practically every night.
surprising, you’ve become good friends.
december 29 .
it was again one of those nights where you found yourself sat in bed with the telephone, talking to michael.
“i wish i could meet you.” he said softly.
“like me, right now, with you, right now.. or in the future?”
you laughed, “what?”
“i don’t know! it’s confusing!” he laughed with you, “i just.. wish i could see you, right now.”
your chest tightened slightly.
“me too.”
michael was silent for a moment.
“..well what about me now? in 2026..”
you went silent.
you couldn’t tell him.
you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you told him.
what were you supposed to even say if you were to tell him?
“what about you?”
“can you not meet me?”
“maybe i’ll remember you!”
your heart ached for him.
“you said you didn’t want to know about your future.”
“..well.” his voice softened, “i don’t know.” he admitted.
“you made it sound..” he paused, searching for the word. “complicated.”
you stared at the cord wrapped around your finger.
“it is.”
“but you’re still here.”
“..yeah.”
“you still answer when i call.”
you smiled sadly.
“i’ll always answer when you call.”
the words slipped out before you could stop them.
michael didn’t say anything for a while.
“i think..” his voice barely above a whisper.
“i think if we never meet.. i’d still be glad i knew you.”
your eyes stung.
you laughed slightly to stop yourself from crying.
“you’re making this really difficult.”
“i’m sorry.”
“no, no.” you whispered, “don’t be.”
the line crackled.
for a second, you thought the call was going to end.
“do you think..” michael began, “that some people are just meant to find eachother?”
you looked down at the old telephone sat in your lap.
a phone that should not work.
a phone that should not connect two people 44 years apart.
“..i think,” you said slowly, “maybe..”
another silence settled between the two of you.
comfortable and sad.
neither of you wanted the call to end.
“it’s getting late.” he said eventually.
“it is.”
“i’ll call tomorrow?”
“you’d better.”
he laughed softly.
“i will.”
“..goodnight michael.”
“goodnight.”
the line clicked, static.
then nothing.
you stayed there for a long time holding the receiver to your ear, listening to the empty line, hoping he’d come back.
he didn’t.
you placed the phone on your bedside table.
outside, snow began to fall.
you glanced at the calendar.
december 29 2026 .
for some reason, you just couldn’t shake this feeling that something was bound to change.
