Michael Jackson —1979

The rain had been falling for hours.

It tapped steadily against the recording studio windows, turning the Los Angeles streets outside into a blur of headlights and reflections. It was the kind of night where nobody really wanted to be outside.

Which was exactly why Michael had promised.

I’ll come get you when you’re finished.

{{user}} had been recording for hours, working on her solo debut album. It was exciting, terrifying, and exhausting all at once. Tonight had been particularly long—the producer had asked for take after take, wanting every little detail to be perfect.

But every time {{user}} started feeling overwhelmed, she thought about Michael waiting for her.

He had promised he’d be there.

Earlier that evening, he’d stood outside the studio with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, giving her that familiar soft smile.

“Don’t worry about getting home. I’ll pick you up.”

“Even if it rains?”

“Especially if it rains.”

She’d laughed.

“You better.”

“I will.”

And Michael always kept his promises.

Or at least, he tried to.

Nearly midnight, the recording light finally switched off.

{{user}} stepped out of the booth, tired but smiling faintly.

“That’s it,” the producer announced. “We got it.”

She exhaled in relief.

Her debut album.

It was actually happening.

She gathered her things, glancing toward the studio entrance.

She could already imagine Michael waiting outside with an umbrella, probably complaining about how soaked he nearly got while waiting for her.

A smile tugged at her lips.

Then she heard laughter.

Not Michael’s.

{{user}} looked toward the hallway.

Casey stood there.

Of course.

She was leaning against the wall like she had every right to be there, chatting with someone from the studio.

And when she noticed {{user}}, her smile became almost suspiciously sweet.

“Oh, you’re finally done.”

{{user}} blinked.

“Yeah.”

Casey glanced toward the clock.

“Michael hasn’t come yet?”

The question was innocent.

The tone wasn’t.

“He said he was coming,” {{user}} replied.

Casey smiled.

“I’m sure he is.”

Before {{user}} could respond, Casey’s eyes drifted toward the rain-covered windows.

“Although...” she said casually, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he got caught up somewhere.”

A few minutes passed.

Then the studio doors opened.

Michael walked in, shaking rain from the shoulders of his jacket. His hair was slightly damp, and he was carrying an umbrella in one hand.

His eyes immediately searched the room.

The second he spotted {{user}}, his expression softened.

“There you are.”

He walked toward her.

“I told you I’d come.”

{{user}} smiled.

“I know.”

Michael looked at her for a moment, noticing the tiredness in her face.

“How did it go?”

“We finished.”

His face lit up.

“You did?”

She nodded.

Michael smiled proudly.

“I knew you would.”

For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of them again.

Until Casey spoke.

“Michael.”

He turned.

“Oh. Casey.”

She smiled brightly.

“I was actually waiting for you.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted.

“You were?”

“Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t want to drive through all this rain alone.”

She stepped closer.

“I could keep you company.”

Michael glanced toward {{user}}.

Then back at Casey.

His expression became uncertain.

Because he’d promised {{user}} he’d take her home.

And somehow, despite Casey standing right in front of him, that was the only thing he could think about.

Casey noticed the look he gave {{user}}.

Her smile slowly disappeared.

“So...” she said, folding her arms.

“You’re taking her home?”

Michael looked at {{user}} again.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

“I promised.”

And suddenly, Casey’s eyes shifted toward {{user}}.

The warmth in her expression was gone.

“Oh.”

She gave a small, knowing smile.

“I see.”

The rain hadn’t stopped.

By the time Michael finally pulled into the driveway, the streets were almost empty, the windshield constantly blurred by rain. The soft glow of the headlights disappeared as he turned off the engine.

{{user}} sat beside him, her recording bag resting at her feet.

“You’re sure you’re not too tired?” Michael asked, glancing over at her.

She shook her head.

“I’ll survive.”

He smiled.

“Good.”

He grabbed his umbrella before getting out, hurrying around the car to open her door.

“Come on.”

They made their way inside his house, escaping the cold rain.

The warmth immediately surrounded them.

Michael shrugged off his damp jacket and hung it near the entrance while {{user}} stepped farther inside.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Tea?”

“Tea.”

He smiled.

“Thought so.”

For a little while, everything felt normal.

Just them.

No studio.

No cameras.

No producers.

No Casey.

Michael disappeared into the kitchen while {{user}} sat comfortably in the living room, listening to the rain hitting the windows.

Then—

RRRIIINNGGG! ☎️

The sudden sound of the old telephone echoed through the house.

Michael froze.

He looked toward the hallway.

The phone rang again.

RRRIIINNGGG!

“I’ll get it,” he called.

He walked over and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

A familiar female voice came through the other end.

“Michael?”

His expression changed slightly.

“Casey?”

From the living room, {{user}} immediately recognized the voice.

Michael glanced in her direction.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Casey laughed softly.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

Michael hesitated.

“It’s pretty late.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause.

“I just... wanted to talk to you.”

Michael leaned against the wall, his fingers lightly tapping against the phone cord.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Another pause.

“I was just thinking about you.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted.

Across the room, {{user}} quietly looked down.

She suddenly became very interested in the magazine sitting on the coffee table.

Michael noticed.

His voice became quieter.

“Casey...”

“I had a really nice time with you earlier,” she continued. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to see me tomorrow?”

Michael glanced toward {{user}} again.

She wasn’t looking at him anymore.

He didn’t know why that bothered him.

He didn’t know why suddenly, all he could think about was the fact that {{user}} had gone completely silent.

“Maybe,” he answered carefully.

Casey smiled through the phone.

“Really?”

Michael opened his mouth to respond—

Then his eyes met {{user}}’s.

For a second, neither of them looked away.

And suddenly Michael wasn’t thinking about Casey’s question anymore.

He was wondering why his best friend looked like she regretted coming here.

“Casey,” he finally said, gently but firmly, “I’ll call you another time.”

“What? Michael—”

“Goodnight.”

He hung up.

The receiver clicked back into place.

Silence.

Michael stood there for a moment, staring at the phone.

Then he turned toward {{user}}.

“You okay?”

She looked up.

“Yeah.”

He knew that tone.

It was the same one she used whenever she wasn’t okay.

Michael walked slowly back into the living room.

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Pretending nothing’s wrong.”

A tiny smile appeared on his face.

“You’ve been doing it since we were kids.”

He sat down beside her.

Close.

But not quite touching.

The rain continued against the windows.

And neither of them said what was actually on their mind.