Michael Jackson

The studio was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over the room as you and Michael sat side by side, headphones still on, the sound of your voices from the last recording fading into silence. It was late—way past midnight—but neither of you had noticed the time. When you first met, you clicked instantly. Your shared experiences of fame brought you together, but it was the late-night phone calls, the spontaneous hangouts, and the easy laughter that deepened your bond.

Tonight was different, though. The air between you was thicker somehow, charged with something neither of you had acknowledged yet. You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair, glancing at Michael, who sat with his head slightly tilted, staring at the soundboard.

You had been working on this album together for weeks now, each session feeling more personal with the last. There was something about the way your voices blended, the way you shared creative ideas and fuelled each other’s energy. It was as if the music you were making had unlocked something deeper between you, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for longer than you cared to admit.

You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes flicked towards you, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Should we listen to the playback?” You asked, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Michael nodded, but his eyes never left hers. There was something unreadable in his gaze—an intensity you hadn’t noticed before. As he reached for the controls, his hand brushed against yours, the brief contact sparking a surge of warmth that spread through you like wildfire. You couldn’t help but glance down at your hands, but neither of you moved away.

The song played, your voices weaving together seamlessly, but you weren’t really listening.

When the track ended, you didn’t know what to say. You looked up towards Michael, and this time your eyes locked. His expression was different now—soft but intense, his laps parted as if he wanted to speak, but no words came out. The room felt smaller, the space between you shrinking with every heartbeat.

Michael leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes locking with yours. The space between you seemed to disappear, the tension growing thicker with each second. His gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, lingering there as if he was silently asking a question.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to