𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐾𝑁𝑂𝐶𝐾 𝑀𝐸 𝑂𝐹𝐹 𝑀𝑌 𝐹𝐸𝐸𝑇 𝑃𝐴𝑅𝑇 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸.
‧₊ ♪˚ Summary — June, 1987. After months of quiet fascination and replayed memories he can’t seem to shake, Michael meets you for the very first time. After some meetings, what was supposed to be a professional camera test quickly turns into something far more difficult to ignore. ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ⩇⩇:⩇⩇
‧₊ ♪˚ Pairing —PreBadMichaelJacksonXNewRisingVocalist!reader
‧₊ ♪˚ Parts and Taglist —
@pxrpleha1o @msapplehead @lotuspetalss @veraberaxx @sulkygyu @auraluvsyou @ctsiekat @misaccc @hotnmysterious7 @pynkasket @scrumptiousblizzardbeard-blog @ellaaa47 @pimplucious @fanficreader33 @sugacor3 @7viiseven @shimmeringsunshinestars @ovohanna24 @mochii-00 @xoxogossipgirl02 @jotarohat @mjssluttyfish @lafleurlapetit @outoftheseine @michcarrillo02-blog @dirtymartinisz @lokishortnsweet @luvhaeli @whyxo @midnightsunkissssed @underated345-blog @xmaykeca @jisoonnieslover @mtcloudsworld
‧₊ ♪˚ note — Sincere apologies for how long this took!! This chapter was heavily inspired by @sm0l-potato’s comment on the last part and I absolutely loved the idea, so thank you for the inspiration. For those who weren’t tagged, Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag some of you soI promise I didn’t forget! If your settings won’t allow tags, I’ll just reply to your comment with the link to the new part instead. I seriously love you guys so much and hope you enjoy this chapter!! As always, if you have any requests or ideas for this series (or others ideas.)please send them in, I genuinely take so much inspiration from you all. Besos
𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛
The bedroom at Hayvenhurst had never felt so suffocating. Michael stood frozen in front of the mirror, his chest rising and falling with a soft, frustrated exhale as he adjusted the collar of his shirt for what had to be the seventh time. Four different outfits already sat discarded on the bed behind him wrinkled cotton and silk that, just awhile ago, had looked completely fine, but now felt completely wrong.
Because this was a meeting.
buttttttt the black button-up was way too serious, making him look like he was heading to a courtroom rather than a creative meeting. The red one? Absolutely not. It was too bold, too memorable, practically screaming that he wanted to be noticed. He became aware of the fact your incredibly observant, so the sheer thought of you being able to see right through him made a knot tighten in his stomach.
He leaned in closer to the glass, his fingers hovering anxiously near his face. The curls. Should he tuck them neatly behind his ear to look polished and professional, or leave them free? If he tucked them, it might look too deliberate, like he’d spent hours posing in front of this very mirror. But leaving them loose felt messy, unkempt. God, why was this suddenly so stressful? He had met with legendary directors, boundary pushing artists, and actual royalty without losing his cool. Yet the simple anticipation of sitting across a table from you had his mind spinning out of control.
His eyes shifted to the row of accessories on the dresser. Sunglasses were his usual shield, his comfort zone but today, they felt like a mistake. If he wore them, he might seem too distant, too cold, or worse, rude. But if he left them off, what happens when his eye contact became too intense? What if he stared too long and accidentally exposed the truth?
If he wasn't careful, he might slip up and reveal that he’d basically studied you. that he knew the exact cadence of your laugh from interviews, or the precise moment your voice softened during a bridge. He couldn't let on that he was already entirely consumed by your artistry. He had to be cool. He had to seem completely casual.
Reaching out, his hand hovered over a heavy crystal bottle of cologne. He hesitated, the sprayer poised over his wrist. Smelling good wasn't just a preference, it was crucial. It was part of the impression. But if the scent was too heavy, it would look desperate, like he was actively trying to romance you across a pile of storyboard folders. He wanted the fragrance to be faint, a subtle trace in the air only if you happened to lean in close.
Suddenly, his fingers stopped their nervous tapping against the wood of the dresser. A new, terrifying thought invaded his mind, heavy and irrationally disappointing. What if you walked into that Epic Records conference room, greeted the executives with a warm, easy hug, and then turned to him with nothing but a polite, rigid handshake? The mere phantom image of that professional distance made his chest ache. He frowned deeply at his own reflection, horrified by his own thoughts.
It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't bother him at all. This was a business meeting. A standard pitch for a music video. He just needed to step back, breathe, and act like the professional he was supposed to be.
Epic Sony Offices, Los Angeles.
Phones rang in relentless, overlapping rhythms. Executives rushed past heavy glass doors with practiced urgency, assistants hurried between offices carrying thick stacks of paperwork like the entire music industry might collapse if anyone slowed down for even a second.
Inside the conference room, the atmosphere was thick with corporate expectation.
Michael, however, was entirely detached from it.
He sat quietly at the long table, a folder open in front of him, pretending to review creative notes for the upcoming video. In reality, his mind had been stuck in the same loop for the past ten minutes. He had reread the exact same sentence six times.
The words barely registered anymore, blurring together into meaningless ink beneath tired concentration. Underneath the table, his knee bounced subtly.
He was not helping himself. Not even a little. He had adjusted his sleeves three times. Checked the reflection in the glass twice. Moved his sunglasses from the table to his lap and back again for absolutely no reason.
To further dig himself into a hole, every possible outcome had already played out in his head. What if he sounded awkward? What if the conversation felt forced in person? Worse. What if all the effortless chemistry he had imagined simply… wasn’t there? He hated how much that possibility bothered him.
Well it didn’t matter anymore when that conference room door opened. Conversation softened instantly. Not fully. Just enough. Enough for attention to shift. Enough for Michael to look up before he could stop himself.
And suddenly, the television had done absolutely nothing for you. Nothing. Because somehow, standing there in person felt entirely different from grainy late night broadcasts, magazine spreads, cassette speakers, or performances replayed through VHS until the tape nearly wore thin. You were real. And embarrassingly enough, that thought alone nearly made him forget every coherent thing he planned on saying.
Your manager stepped in first, already greeting a few executives. Then you followed. Easy smile. Composed. Effortless in that way Michael had already become far too familiar with. Even the way you entered a room somehow felt graceful.
Michael straightened slightly in his chair without realizing it. Then stood, maybe a little too quickly that jerry noticed immediately, of course he did.
A small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Well,” Jerry muttered quietly, “there he goes.”
Michael ignored him, or tried to. Your eyes landed on him almost instantly, flicker of recognition, then warmth. “Michael.” The sound of his name in your voice genuinely did something to him.
Michael moved around the table extending his hand his hand politely. “Y/n.” He said softly, “ I’m so happy you can make it, thank you.”
But instead of taking his hand, you stepped closer then your arms looped around his neck effortlessly. “No thank you, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” the gesture so natural it completely shattered whatever composure he had spent all morning trying to maintain. His arms found their way to gently holding onto your waist, gently tightening his grasp just to feel your frame against his.
And then came your perfume.
Sweet in a way that somehow lingered immediately.
He had to entirely resist the urge to just hide his face into the crook of your neck. Your scent just completely overpowering the careful amount of cologne he had debated for forty minutes before leaving the house. Then a soft kiss landed against his cheek.
Heat rushed to his face so fast it almost felt embarrassing. Michael became painfully aware of the fact that he had absolutely not prepared for this scenario.
“Oh-!” A tiny laugh of yours escaping, gently pulling back just to look at him. “ Sorry, left a little somethin’ there.”
Before he could even process the sentence, your thumb brushed lightly across his cheekbone, wiping away the faint lipstick mark you had accidentally left behind.
Like you hadn't just altered his entire emotional stability for the day.
"There," you smiled softly.
The contact lasted maybe a second, maybe less, but somehow it still lingered. He blinked once.
Then, quieter than intended “ ..You didn't have to wipe it off." The sentence slipped out before he could stop it, Immediate regret. Jerry looked down instantly, already trying not to laugh.
You smiled once more easy, reassuring before casually taking your seat at the table like greeting him that way had been the most natural thing in the world.
Michael finally sat back down. Quietly. Attempting dignity. He failed, unfortunately.
Because for the next ten minutes, his internal processor completely stopped working, and he heard approximately forty percent of the actual meeting. High level talk of schedules, contracts, promotional timing, and something about July availability drifted over his head. Someone mentioned press optics, and Michael nodded at things when strictly necessary, even managing to say “yeah” twice maybe three times to keep up appearances.
But truthfully? His mind kept drifting back to the crushing weight of his own yearning. He wasn’t hearing anything anymore, the surrounding boardroom noise became a muffled, distant hum of business he could no longer focus on. Jerry’s loud voice breaking down production schedules and the folders sliding across the polished wood under the bright fluorescent lights all blurred into the background.
Every single ounce of his attention had narrowed into a deep, desperate focus on the lingering, tingling warmth still sitting against his cheek. He found himself desperately wanting that brief closeness to happen again, his thoughts entirely captured by the casual ease of your touch. It left him sitting in silence, overwhelmed by a quiet, aching text of gravity that pulled every single one of his thoughts right back to you, with the sinking, terrifying realization that this meeting no longer felt professional at all.
A light tap against the table finally pulled him back into the room.
“Michael?” Jerry’s voice.
He blinked once. “…Yeah?” The room had shifted without him realizing it.
Storyboards now covered the center of the table. Fabric swatches, location photos, rough concept sketches spread beneath fluorescent light. “We’re talkin’ visuals,” Jerry said, gesturing toward the papers. “Wardrobe, chemistry test, location ideas.”
Someone from production slid a folder toward you. “We’re thinking street-style,” an executive added. “Nothing overly polished. We want it to feel alive.”
Jerry nodded. “The whole point is movement,” he explained. “Energy. Personality. We’re not trying to make this look stiff.” A pause. “That means we’ll probably do a camera test next week,” someone else added. “Just to see how everything translates on film.”
You glanced up. “A chemistry test, what would that consist of??”
“Basically,” Jerry said with a shrug. “Nothing scary. Wardrobe, lighting, movement. Seeing how you guys work together on camera, Just seeing what works.”
Then his eyes flicked across the table. “ sounds good?”
And suddenly, for reasons he didn’t entirely understand, Michael sat up straighter.
Like posture alone might somehow disguise the fact that his entire emotional stability had already been compromised within the first five minutes of seeing you in person.
“…of course.” he answered quickly.
Across the table, Jerry’s expression shifted ever so slightly. “Good,” Jerry said, scribbling something down. “Shouldn’t take long. Small crew. Just enough to test translates on camera.”
You nodded thoughtfully, flipping through one of the folders in front of you. “And when would that be?”
“Next Thursday,” someone from production answered. “Studio lot in downtown L.A.”
Michael tried, really tried, to focus. Failed, unfortunately, Because every now and then, your voice would cut through the room and pull his attention right back.
Even the way you spoke during meetings somehow felt graceful.
Downtown Los Angeles - Camera Test Day
Traffic humming below in restless waves, sunlight bouncing off tall glass windows while delivery trucks crowded alleyways like the city itself hadn’t fully decided what version of itself it wanted to be yet. Inside the studio lot, however everything already felt alive.
Crew members moved quickly between lighting rigs and equipment cases. Somebody adjusted a camera track near the center of the warehouse-like soundstage while assistants clipped wardrobe notes onto garment racks lined with carefully planned outfits.
He was making himself nervous, His fingers adjusted the cuff of his shirt for maybe the sixth time that night.
Across the room, Jerry looked up from the monitor taking a sip of his coffee. “Michael what’s on your mind?”
A lie. Jerry gave him a look. “You changed outfits?”
“Try five,” someone muttered nearby. He ignored them immediately, because honestly? Nothing felt right. He had spent the entire week waiting for this, thinking about it, overthinking it, and replaying last Thursday’s conversation far more than any sane person probably should. Yet now that the moment had actually arrived, something unsettled sat heavy in his stomach. How stupid. He had met women before, plenty of them. Women screamed, cried, fainted. God, he knew how to be charming when he wanted to be. But somehow, this felt entirely different.
Different in a way he deeply disliked because he couldn’t seem to control it. He barely even knew you, yet still found himself caring far too much, wanting everything to feel perfect and wanting himself to be perfect. Like somehow the wrong outfit, the wrong sentence, the wrong first five minutes could ruin whatever strange ease had settled between the two of you last week.
Worst of all, his stomach had twisted itself into humiliating knots that felt dangerously close to anticipation, like this wasn’t a camera test at all, but something embarrassingly closer to a first date.
What if today felt awkward? What if the easy conversation from last week disappeared the second cameras got involved? Worse, what if someone else on set caught your attention first? Some actor, stylist, assistant, hell, anybody making you laugh before he even got the chance to say hello. What if you canceled last minute? What if there wasn’t actually any chemistry at all? The thought sat heavily in his chest, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.
Overhearing someone’s conversation, he heard you’d be here soon. He adjusted his sleeves and took some deep breaths and repeated some soft affirmations under his breath which quickly came to an end when the studio doors opened, and your footsteps were present.
Crew members moved around lighting rigs, someone adjusted a camera near center frame, wardrobe racks lined one side of the room, although somehow, none of it mattered. Because he got to see your face.
Easy smile, that was entirely effortless and already looking around like you somehow belonged there.
Your eyes landed on him almost instantly, and you smiled. a smile that said you were genuinely happy to see him. "Hey!"
He smiled back before even realizing what he was doing, that ridiculously warm, immediate feeling flaring to life in his stomach. For a fleeting second, his gaze dipped instinctively to your lips, tracing the line of your smile before snapping back to your eyes, his heart doing a sudden, nervous flip.
"Hey," he said softly, closing the distance between you. "You made it." He’d spent the entire week waiting for this exact moment and hated how obvious that suddenly felt.
"Course I made it," you said, flashing a gentle grin that completely disarmed him. "I wouldn't miss this for anything."
And somehow, that alone relaxed something in his chest instantly. There was no awkwardness, no weird, hesitant tension between you two, just a familiar warmth that felt strangely unfair considering how little time had actually passed.
When you stepped into a hug, the greeting happened completely naturally. As his arms wrapped around you, the sheer warmth you shared seemed to block out the rest of the room. It wasn't a casual, fleeting embrace it was close and deliberate, his hands resting firmly against your back while you buried your face slightly into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him.
They stayed like that for a long, quiet moment, talking softly without even breaking the embrace.
"You look incredible, by the way," he murmured into your hair, his voice low and a little breathless, his arms tightening around you just a fraction more as if he never wanted to let go.
"Really? You think so?" a beautiful flush creeping up your cheeks as you rested your hands against his chest, feeling the fast, steady thud of his heart racing against your palms.
Neither of you seemed ready to pull away. When you finally began to step back, it was agonizingly slow. His hands trailed reluctantly down your arms, his fingers brushing tenderly against your wrists, leaving a tingling trail of goosebumps in their wake as he lingered in your space, utterly captivated.
He leaned in just a fraction closer, a soft, genuine smile replacing his smirk as his voice dropped to a quiet, breathless murmur.
"Yeah," he said, looking at you like you were the only person in the crowded room. "Honestly, I've been trying to think of what to say to you all week, but you walk in looking like this and I completely forget my own train of thought."
His eyes drifted down to your smile for a quick, heart-stopping second before snapping back to meet your gaze, completely bright and focused entirely on you.
Across the room, Jerry looked up from behind the monitor and immediately leaned back.
You couldn’t fake that kind of ease.
Couldn’t manufacture chemistry like that.
And they hadn’t even gotten in front of the camera yet. “Okay,” Jerry muttered to himself, amused already. “…Yeah. This gon’ be good.”
Before you can even respond to Michael’s heartfelt response, jerry finally walked over. “Y/n, your here! How lovely to see you,” he said warmly, pulling you into a quick hug. “Glad to finally have you here.”
Then, glancing between the two of you attached with a knowing smile. “Y’all makin’ my job real easy already. Let’s get moving yeah?”
The sound of the production soundstage was a chaotic symphony of pre-production energy. Crew members bustled across the polished concrete floor, heavy rolling clothing racks clattered in the background, and the sharp clack of lighting technicians securing barn doors on massive overhead rigs echoed through the rafters.
Amidst the blur of activity, Michael stood near the edge of the constructed set. He looked effortlessly classic, wearing crisp black slacks, his signature loafers with white socks, and a simple white t-shirt layered under a loose, unbuttoned blue flannel. His hands were tucked loosely into his pockets as he tried to maintain his usual composed demeanor, but his eyes kept tracking the movement around the room. He was hyper-aware of your presence beside him, dressed in a perfectly tailored, sharp black blazer over a casual white tee with layered gold chains.
As a wardrobe assistant stepped away after a final check, you noticed the collar of his open flannel had crumpled slightly out of place near his shoulder. Without overthinking it, you reached out, your fingers brushing gently against his collarbone as you casually straightened the fabric.
Michael caught his breath, his shoulders freezing instantly under your touch. A soft flush crept up his neck.
To break the sudden, heavy silence, you kept your hands busy flattening the lapel of his flannel. "So, jerry mentioned we're aiming for a very specific mood today. Are you always this hands-on with the visual concepts, or am I just lucky?"
Michael let out a soft, breathy chuckle feeling at ease at the gentle flirtatious tone of yours. his eyes flicking down to his loafers for a second before meeting yours. "Always. The visuals have to dance just as much as the feet do. If the frame doesn't match the heartbeat of the track, the magic gets lost."
He paused, hesitated for a fraction of a second, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his thigh before he found the courage to continue. "To be completely honest... I’ve been listening to your tracks quite a bit lately. And something about your sound, the rhythm, the attitude of it, it immediately made me envision this gritty, romantic street look. It actually inspired me so much that I ended up incorporating that exact atmosphere into the concept for 'The Way You Make Me Feel.' I wanted to use that energy here."
You smiled, stepping back slightly your eyes widening in complete surprise. A sudden rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, leaving you incredibly flattered. ""Wait... you're serious? “
Michael watched your reaction, his chest swelling with a mixture of relief and a deep, quiet affection. As you smiled up at him, your eyes bright and your nose crinkling just a bit with your laughter, he felt a sudden tug in his heart and starts to fidget with his hands. “ yeah!. . . I hope you don’t think that’s weird-“
Your hands go up in protest and quickly reassure him “ oh no not at all, I just can’t believe you got some artistic visions from my music, honestly one of the biggest compliments I can ever receive and I can say the set definitely feels alive, but I have to admit, standing under these massive rigs makes the whole project feel incredibly real all of a sudden."
God, she is so cute, he thought to himself, completely captivated by the animated expression on your face. You looked so endearing in that moment, almost like a sweet, excited bunny, and it took everything in him not to reach out and touch your cheek. He just stood there, hopelessly charmed, completely forgetting about the bustling crew around them.
Jerry, standing a few feet away with a clipboard cradled under his arm, had been watching the interaction with a keen, amused eye. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he stepped into their space.
"Y'all this comfortable already?" Jerry joked, raising an eyebrow at the seamless back-and-forth between you two. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you two have been rehearsing your cue timing before today. The chemistry is practically doing the directing for me."
Michael cleared his throat quickly, his eyes darting away as his hand immediately went to adjust his cuffs, completely flustered. "We're just... aligning our creative visions, Jerry."
"Right, creative visions," Jerry chuckled, waving his hand to gather the rest of the crew. "Well, let's see if that alignment translates to the lens. Come on, let's get you two under the lights."
Stepping under the intense, blinding heat of the studio lights felt entirely different. Suddenly, the casual atmosphere vanished, replaced by the weight of multiple cameras, rolling dollies, and dozens of crew members staring intently from the shadows. The sudden scrutiny brought a wave of heavy formality back into the space. When you and Michael took your positions, you naturally stood a conservative distance apart nearly four feet of safe, professional boundary between you.
The director (jerry) stared at the monitor, frowning slightly. "A little closer," he called out over the PA system.
You both took a small, tentative step inward.
"No, closer than that," the director corrected, gesturing with his hands. "Bring it in. Eliminate the dead space."
With a quiet breath, you moved firmly into his space, stopping just a foot away. The proximity was sudden and overwhelming. Michael’s gaze flicked up, and for a fraction of a second, your eyes met under the harsh spotlight. The sheer intensity of the eye contact, combined with the silence of the waiting crew, suddenly felt so absurdly serious that a small, involuntary laugh escaped your lips.
Seeing your smile break the tension, Michael let out a soft, breathy chuckle of his own, the rigid posture of his shoulders instantly melting away. He leaned in just an inch, his voice dropping to a private, comforting register meant only for you. "Do you feel comfortable?”
"Yeah," you whispered, looking up through your lashes. "Are you?"
"More than comfortable." he murmured, his eyes softening completely.
"No, no! Don’t pose! Don't look away," Jerry’s voice boomed from the darkness near the monitors, instantly halting any further words. "Just keep looking at each other, as if you guys are gonna kiss. Exactly like that."
The entire soundstage went dead silent. The cameras began to pan slowly on their tracks, capturing the raw, unscripted shift in the atmosphere. Michael didn't have to act anymore; the genuine warmth in his expression, the quiet focus in his eyes, and the way his body naturally aligned toward yours bypassed every single script note. The effortless sync between your movements created an undeniable, heavy gravity on the screen.
Over at the video village, Jerry transitioned from a smirk to pure professional awe as he watched the playback filter through the dramatic backlighting. The silhouette created by your sharp black dress and Michael's casual blue flannel.
"...Nobody move," Jerry said quietly, his voice carrying a sudden weight that made the remaining crew freeze in their tracks. He watched the screen for a few more seconds as the camera caught the exact, lingering gaze between you two.
A slow, satisfied grin finally broke across Jerry’s face as he sat back in his chair, tapping his pen against the clipboard.
"Okay," Jerry said slowly, looking up from the monitor toward the stage. "...Yeah. I think we just found the frame.”
𝐴𝐻𝐻, 𝐼𝑇'𝑆 𝐷𝑂𝑁𝐸!! 𝐼'𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟺! 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑀𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑒𝑙 × 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑘! 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠—| 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚! 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑝𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠. 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑙'𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑎 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔! 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑑𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑒, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠. 𝑙'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑠. 𝐻𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟! 𝐵𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑢𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑜𝑛 𝑇𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑟. 𝐵𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒
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