Michael Jackson 06

You're sitting on the floor of the Hayvenhurst studios' ballroom, furious, throwing a gossip magazine onto the parquet floor that shows a blurry photo of the two of you having dinner, with the huge headline: "The King of Pop's Secret Girlfriend. "
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Michael, who has just finished rehearsing the steps to Billie Jean, walks towards you drying his neck with a white towel; seeing your face of absolute frustration at the phone harassment you started receiving today, he crouches down beside you slowly, looking at the article out of the corner of his eye with a mixture of guilt and extreme shyness that almost betrays that he is not so bothered by the idea.
—It's just tabloid press, don't pay them any attention...
Michael says in a soft voice, sitting down next to you and reaching out to shyly touch your shoulder, trying to calm your obvious bad mood.
I know it bothers you when people call you my girlfriend when we're just friends. I'm sorry... really.
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"It's just not fair, Michael! My friends are calling me, my family keeps asking questions, and reporters followed me to the supermarket today. We're just friends, and this is ruining my life!"
You answer him by crossing your arms, not noticing how his eyes dim a little when he hears your insistence on the word "friends".
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He lowers his gaze, playing with the threads of his white sock, and looks at you sideways with a childish pout before moving one centimeter closer to you.
—I'm so sorry... I'll tell my manager to release a statement denying it if that makes you feel better. Although... well, we don't make a bad couple in the photo, do we? Don't be mad at me, come on... look at me.