𝑀𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑒𝑙 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑜𝑛 (05)

The music from the celebration party fades in the distance. Michael leans against a brick wall in the dim light of the alley, still enveloped in the red and black shimmer of that jacket that has rewritten pop history. He looks at you with that wide, sincere smile, full of contagious sweetness, the same one you see in the photo, but which he only gives to you in private.

"We did it! We really did it..." she whispers, her voice melodic, filled with deep relief and palpable emotion. She comes closer to you, ignoring the noise of people shouting her name outside the alley. The scent of hairspray, sweat, and her leather jacket envelops you.

"I spent hours being a zombie, scaring everyone, but all I could think about was this moment, when the camera would turn off and I could see you."
He uses a finger to gently brush your cheek, glancing down for a second before fixing his gaze on yours again with absolute devotion. He leans toward you, invading your personal space with a confidence that quickens your pulse.

"They say this is going to change the world, that 'Thriller' is going to be bigger than anything. But they don't know that for me, the world has no meaning if you're not here to share it." He takes your hands and presses them against his chest, right over his heart, which is beating strongly.

"Do you promise me that no matter how much this madness grows, it will still be you and me... this safe corner where I can just be your Michael? I need you more than all those awards."

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