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𝑬𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝟐𝟔 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔

𝑺𝒉𝒆/𝒉𝒆𝒓 𓆩♡𓆪 𝒄𝒂́𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𓆩♡𓆪 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𓆩♡𓆪 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒄𝒆𝒍 𓆩♡𓆪 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒍

𝑰 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆:

𝑰𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒚 𝑻𝒚𝒑𝒆

𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆

𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆

𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆

𝑨𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔

𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈

𝑺𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑

𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆

𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒆 (𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔)

𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔

𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔

𝑰 𝑯𝑨𝑻𝑬

𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆

𝑺𝒖𝒏

𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒏

𝑩𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆

catchymemes

universejunction

executive dysfunction

hell-mental

gloomheaven-deactivated20260728

megsnotokay

whew stranger in moscow bts , can’t talk here email me.

wait nvm dis my blog, im wet asf genuinely need him to wring his shirt out in my mouth.

wait that’s nasty

FAR FROM THE LIGHTS

MICHAEL X READER (mdni) +18

previous chapter

Michael and I had kept in touch for years. I could probably call him my best friend, though I was still afraid to admit it, even to myself. Surrounded by so many people, he often made me feel like just another name among the countless contacts in his address book—a person he would write to whenever the mood struck him.

Maintaining our friendship during my transfer hadn't been easy. Of course, I'd been tempted countless times to tell the other girls that the letters from my "secret admirer" and my late-night escapes were all because of my friend—the famous singer. But somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut.

In the end, I completed my treatment successfully and returned to my mother's house. Though, technically, without my mother. She came home late every night, just as she always had. Nothing new there. Whenever she forgot her cigarettes tucked beneath the kitchen cabinet, I could easily help myself to a few.

My life hadn't changed nearly as much as his had, so after sending him a letter with my new address, I wasn't entirely sure what I'd have to tell him.

"So," he asked, stretched out beside me as we watched a movie in my room, taking advantage of my mother's absence, "what are you planning to do now that you're finally free, little lady?"

"I found a few job listings in the newspaper. I think they'll help me become independent."

"Really?" He glanced at me. "I thought you'd made peace with your mother by now."

"I guess things are better than they used to be. Maybe she feels guilty after my father's death, but..." I tossed a handful of popcorn into my mouth. "I still can't shake the feeling that I'm standing still. The only things I've accomplished are finishing my treatment and becoming your friend."

A small smile tugged at my lips.

"I'd like to have a place of my own someday."

The muscles in his jaw tightened.

"And what about a family?" he asked.

The television murmured softly in the background.

"I'm not exactly lucky when it comes to that. Besides, the idea terrifies me."

"Having a family?"

"No."

"Men?"

I laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Hey! I'm a man!" he protested.

A piece of popcorn bounced off my forehead.

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed, Miss Jackson."

"You're awful, Y/N."

He poked my side, and I swatted his hand away.

"I'm kidding. I think our friendship works because we have so much in common. Otherwise, I don't think I'd ever understand men—and they certainly wouldn't understand me. Though I have to admit, being friends with a man creates all kinds of misunderstandings. The girls at the psychiatric hospital were convinced we were secret lovers. You should've met them—they were hilarious."

Michael swallowed hard and shifted on the couch.

As I looked at him, I realized how different he seemed from the boy I'd first met. His skin had grown lighter with each passing year, and there was a new uncertainty about him that hadn't been there before. Every time I saw him again, it felt as though I were meeting a different version of Michael.

"And what do you think about that?" he asked quietly.

"About what?"

"Being lovers."

The television suddenly seemed much louder.

So did my heartbeat.

"That's... a joke, right?" I laughed nervously.

The smile disappeared the moment I saw the disappointment on his face.

"No—wait. No, that's not what I meant, M. I just..."

Damn it.

I buried my face in the sleeves of my sweater.

"You're an incredibly attractive man. I'd be an idiot to think otherwise."

Slowly, I lowered my hands.

His eyes were fixed on me—dark as polished obsidian, framed by lashes so long they rivaled the curls that fell across his forehead.

I waited for him to laugh, to ease the tension between us.

He didn't.

Instead, he asked in a voice so raw it made my chest ache:

"Don't you feel repulsed when you look at me?"

His eyes had begun to glisten.

Outrage shot through me so suddenly I nearly jumped off the couch.

"Michael, for God's sake, no!"

I leaned forward.

"I could never feel that way about you. Are you okay? Did someone say that to you?"

The tension in the room shifted instantly. What had been awkwardness became something far worse—desperation. A desperate need to understand what was happening inside the mind of the vulnerable young man sitting beside me.

He simply shook his head.

"I don't want to talk about it."

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The long sleeves.

The surgeries.

The worsening vitiligo.

I'd never brought any of it up because I didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

But maybe it was time.

"I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel bad," I said softly. "Maybe some of my jokes hurt more than I realized. I truly am sorry."

I took his trembling hands in mine.

Mine were shaking even more than his.

"You're very important to me, Michael. Do you understand that?"

I squeezed his fingers gently.

"I'm going to accept you exactly as you are. You did the same for me. I'd be a complete hypocrite if I judged you when you've seen me at my worst."

He lowered his head, dark curls falling across his face.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

A sad smile touched my lips.

"If I'm beautiful, then you're perfect."

He blinked rapidly, trying—and failing—to hold back his tears.

One of my hands slipped free from his.

The afternoon light filtering through the blinds had begun to fade, and the room itself seemed to urge me forward.

Michael had always been my impossible crush, the kind of love I never allowed myself to hope for. It never hurt, never broke my heart. I had simply accepted it. No matter who he chose, I would always be there for him.

Being close to him had always been enough.

Being his friend had been enough.

But in that moment, guided by a force as relentless as the pounding of my own heart, I wanted only one thing:

To make him see how beautiful he truly was—inside and out.

I took his chin in my hand, and he looked at me with eyebrows so beautifully arched that something inside me shattered. The jewels of his eyes were even more breathtaking when they were filled with tears, and his rosy nose twitched like a small, wounded, helpless bunny.

My face moved closer, following the rhythm of his eyes widening in surprise. Before I even realized it, the silk of his lips was touching mine.

I felt the warmth of his breath against my cheeks; his large hands held my face with such intensity that I felt myself disappearing. The television was still playing somewhere in the background, but its sound grew farther and farther away.

Our souls traveled somewhere unexplored, a place that belonged only to us.

Our kiss.

I pulled away immediately, leaving that wounded little bunny expression on his face as he felt me distance myself.

"Don't ever say something so cruel about yourself in front of me again, because I swear I'll get angry."

He slowly bit his lip, leaving my mind buzzing with static, just like the television.

"That was my first kiss."

"You're kidding me."

"y/n."

I grabbed the pillow and buried my face into it, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. I had never been a believer, but I was certain I had committed a sin by stealing something so precious from someone so precious.

"Fuuuck!"

"No, it's okay." He pulled the cushion away from my face. "I'm in love with you, T/n. And I'm not joking."

His other hand gripped the fabric of his white shirt over his chest.

"I will always, always be in love with you with all my soul. All this time, I believed in what God wanted for me. My destiny in this world was to meet you, to help those children, and to help many more people. You helped me find my way."

"I don't feel that special."

"Then..." He slowly moved closer to me. The scent of his soft powdery cologne grew stronger with every second. "Let me show you just how special you are to me. Would you give me that privilege?"

His beautiful, radiant smile lit up beneath the moonlight.

How could I resist the dark-haired man in front of me? I was in his hands, and he knew it. Just like him, I felt an urgency in my chest to erase every single one of his insecurities in one night.

We sank into a deep, gentle kiss. His hands tangled into my hair again, and I began to drown in his addictive scent, holding onto his shoulders. My hands weakened against his grip when I felt his velvet lips leaving a trail of kisses along my neck.

He couldn't stop trembling; however, with every sound I made, his nervousness faded, until all that remained was his desire to make me feel like I was in heaven.

"I'm a little clumsy at this, you know that," he whispered into my ear with a deep, silky voice. "Tell me if I'm doing something wrong, okay?"

I nodded.

"Good girl."

His fingers traced my cheek, drifting down my chin, my neck, until they reached my collarbone and the edge of my blouse.

"M... Michael..." I let out a breathless sigh when I felt my blouse being lifted. Beneath my pajamas, I wasn't wearing anything underneath. I never did.

Who would have thought it would become convenient tonight?

He kissed my stomach gently until I felt something warm and wet tracing upward from my belly button toward my chest. The sudden sensation caught me off guard. He hesitated when he noticed my surprise, but I gave him permission once again.

That warmth blooming at the sensitive nerves in my chest spread through every inch of my body. It was almost unbearable between my thighs, pooling low in my abdomen. I ached for his touch, instinctively pressing my legs together in a futile attempt to ease the longing.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of my pajama pants, slowly exploring me with trembling anticipation. Every gentle caress sent waves of pleasure through my most sensitive spot. For a brief moment, I felt his hesitation, his uncertainty. Then a muffled sigh escaped my lips as his fingers began to move with such incredible tenderness, as though he were afraid of hurting me.

"You're so wet, y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with awe.

My vision blurred. I gripped the edge of the couch as his face hovered over mine, drawing me into another slow, breathless kiss filled with shaky exhales and quiet sighs. After what felt like an eternity, I relaxed, silently encouraging him, and he carefully slid two fingers inside me.

I could feel how hard he was trying to hold himself together. There was something impossibly sweet about the way he devoted himself entirely to me.

"It's okay," I murmured with a reassuring nod. "You won't hurt me. Michael... tonight, I'm yours."

"Don't say that," he breathed. "You're only making it harder for me to be patient."

His fingers slipped deeper with surprising ease. The moment he realized how effortlessly they moved, his confidence grew.

"God..." I bit down on my lip. "Try curling your fingers toward you."

"Like this?"

The new angle stretched me in ways I hadn't expected. His movements quickly found a rhythm that felt almost perfect, pushing me closer and closer to the edge within seconds. I wasn't going to last much longer.

My breathing grew more ragged, while his gaze became increasingly possessive. He looked at me as though he wanted to memorize every expression on my face. When I instinctively lifted my hips, he quickened his pace until I could barely feel my own limbs.

The sensation crashed over me in a powerful wave, surging from deep within my body all the way to the soles of my feet. It was so overwhelming that I instinctively dug my nails into the back of his neck.

A soft hiss escaped his lips.

When I finally recovered, I realized what I had done and my face burned with embarrassment.

"Sorry... I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay. Forget it."

He sat back up on the couch.

"I'm happy."

The outline of what I had caused was visible beneath his jeans.

"That must hurt," I said.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm fine, seriously."

"That's not what I meant."

My eyes drifted downward.

"Oh... this?" He covered himself, embarrassed. "Yeah... you don't have to do anything."

"Do you want to?"

His lips began to tremble.

"Well... honestly, yes. But I can't help being scared."

"Leave it to me."

I stood up, my legs still shaking. He settled comfortably, but when I reached for the silver buckle of his belt, he stopped me.

"Wait... can we... can we turn off the lights?"

He avoided my gaze, carrying that familiar insecurity he had developed years ago.

"Of course."

I walked toward the lamp, turned it off, and stepped in front of him without hiding myself.

"You're beautiful."

I laughed softly.

"You can't even see me."

"I don't need to."

As he undressed, my anxiety began to rise, so I wrapped my arms around him, watching the faint glow reflected in his restless eyes.

"Don't push yourself. It's okay if you're not ready. We can do this another time."

"N-no..." His voice grew dry, and he swallowed once again. "I don't want to lose this chance."

"Neither do I."

I smiled, even though he couldn't clearly see it.

I held his gaze. He felt calmer when my eyes stayed on his, as if that was the only way he could believe I was truly there with him. We connected in a way words couldn't describe, and in the window of his face, I could see his soul.

He held me firmly, and I guided him closer. He let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the moment. My impatience grew stronger, but I reminded myself to be careful, gentle, not to ruin something that meant so much to both of us.

He whispered my name, caught between hesitation and need.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"No. And you?"

"Not at all."

Slowly, we moved together, and the warmth in my stomach returned until the world around us seemed to disappear.

"I'm going to move, okay?" I warned.

He nodded, his voice barely audible.

The moment was overwhelming for both of us, a rush of emotions and sensations. Every second pulled me deeper into him. His quiet breaths turned into desperate whispers, and every sound carried the weight of everything he felt.

"Finally... you're mine," he breathed.

"Stop... you're going to make me lose myself again," I whispered.

"Do I have to beg you?"

"Mmm..."

His arm reached up, fingers brushing through my hair before tracing slow, comforting paths along my back.

"Michael..."

"Say my name again."

"Michael... Michael..."

"God, I love the way you say it."

My hips moved on their own, my slick walls tightening around him.

A soft, high-pitched whimper escaped his lips. This time, though, there was nothing forced about it. Every sound he made was raw and instinctive, just like the intimacy we shared.

He whispered my name over and over as his hands gripped my hips, drawing me closer with increasing desperation, as if he wanted to erase every bit of space between us.

"Come with me one more time, y/n," he pleaded. "Let me love you as deeply as I can."

I cursed under my breath. His voice, his pleading—it all had such a powerful effect on me that another overwhelming wave of pleasure threatened to break free.

"I don't want to scratch you... I can't help it," I gasped.

"That wasn't a question, sweetheart."

He pulled me firmly against him, and another powerful release washed through me, leaving me trembling from head to toe. This time I clung desperately to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his damp shirt.

"I told you..." I sobbed, barely able to catch my breath.

He eased me back onto the couch, carefully supporting my head so it wouldn't hit the armrest before leaning over me again. One foot planted on the rug, the other braced against the couch, he stayed impossibly close, his movements growing quicker with every passing second.

"y/n... y/n... y/n..."

My back arched on instinct.

"y/n... I'm close."

His body sagged against mine, yet he never slowed. He buried his face against my shoulder, his teeth grazing my skin as another wave of pleasure crashed over me. I could barely think anymore, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, until he finally reached his limit, shuddering against me with a broken sigh.

"Ah..."

He pulled away, trembling uncontrollably. A bead of sweat slipped from his forehead and landed softly on my eyelid.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was too rough. Did I hurt you?"

"Only at the very end."

"Forgive me."

"Oh, hush." I smiled, brushing a damp strand of hair away from his face. "I loved it... even that part."

His face was flushed and glistening with sweat. I reached up and gently cupped his cheek. He leaned into my hand without hesitation, silently asking me not to pull away.

With some effort, I sat up, still breathing hard.

"How about we take a shower?" I teased. "Separately, obviously. Then we can get some sleep."

He answered with a soft kiss.

"I'll use my mother's bathroom. You can use mine."

"What are we going to do about our clothes?"

"Leave that to me." smiled sheepishly. "I think I still have a few of my dad's pajamas."

"Oh, no."

He immediately stepped back, slipping out of my embrace.

"That would be incredibly disrespectful."

A genuine laugh escaped me.

"Trust me," I said with a grin. "He'd be happy to know you were wearing them."

I started toward the door.

"T/n."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

I smiled.

"I love you too, Michael."

#michael jackson #fanfic

MICHAEL X READER! +18 (mdni)

previous part next

(Outside the POV)

Six months passed after that night.

The memory lingered like a bitter taste neither of them could quite wash away.

Every now and then, Y/N found herself replaying the conversation and cringing at how disastrously she had opened her mouth. The only comfort was that time moved quickly. In one week, she would be transferred out of the children's unit.

The day before, she had turned eighteen.

She hadn't heard anything about M's visits since then.

Which was perfect.

If she was lucky, he was far too busy to remember her.

And yet, every time she recalled the arch of his brows and those obsidian eyes filled with concern, something strange stirred in her chest.

That afternoon, Y/N was heading toward the recreation room to watch television when she nearly collided with the same nurse as before.

Clair.

"Everything is a complete disaster!" the nurse barked, stomping down the hallway in her tiny heels while glaring at the young woman. "Dr. Ashford has been removed from his position. Do you have any idea how many schedules and reports have to be rearranged?"

"Why are you telling me?" Y/N rolled her eyes, desperately hiding her panic.

"I certainly hope you had nothing to do with it."

Clair grabbed her hand and shoved a crumpled note into it.

"Someone asked me to give you this. And now I have to work double shifts for the next month! Some of us have families, you know!"

Before Y/N could respond, the nurse stormed away.

Her dress swayed furiously with every step.

Y/N unfolded the note with trembling fingers.

Her mouth instantly went dry.

Meet me at the usual place. Same time.

- M

The wind brushed through her dark hair as she stared across the courtyard.

Above them, the stars glittered like scattered sequins.

Her fists clenched.

Across from her, Michael visibly startled before forcing himself to relax.

A memory surfaced.

The conversation that had changed everything.

Six Months Earlier

For a long time, Michael had tried to keep the secret to himself.

The more he buried it, however, the worse his mental state became.

Slowly.

Relentlessly.

Like sand draining through an hourglass.

He pushed open the office door.

A man in his mid-forties greeted him with a wide smile.

Dressed in immaculate white, surrounded by degrees, certificates, and awards, Dr. Ashford looked every bit the respected professional.

His office resembled a throne room.

Most people would have been intimidated.

Michael ignored every detail.

"Michael!" the doctor exclaimed. "Always a pleasure. Please, sit down, my friend."

Michael sat.

The dark lenses of his sunglasses reflected the doctor's eager expression.

"I don't have much time, Ashford," he said calmly. "But there's something serious I need to discuss regarding this hospital."

The doctor's smile tightened.

"Of course. You can tell me anything. What seems to be the problem?"

"You've overseen the children's division for five years, correct?"

"That's right. One of my proudest accomplishments."

Michael's thoughts tangled together.

He still lacked proof.

That was the problem.

Maintenance workers could smuggle cigarettes.

But could they truly do so without anyone noticing?

Without cameras catching them?

This facility housed children.

Security was everywhere.

Which meant the person responsible would need authority.

Access.

Trust.

"I don't enjoy being the bearer of bad news, Doctor."

Michael removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"To be honest, this has been weighing on me for days."

A pause.

"Do you happen to have a cigarette?"

The doctor blinked.

"A cigarette? I thought you didn't—well, I suppose it's not my place to judge."

"Don't be modest."

The doctor chuckled.

He opened a drawer filled with cigarette packs.

The same brand Y/N used to hide inside her patient uniform.

"I'm always prepared," he said with a smile. "You'd be surprised how many friendships can begin with a little tobacco."

"Oh," Michael replied quietly.

His jaw tightened.

"I know exactly what you mean."

Present Day

"How dare you come back?"

Y/N's voice cracked beneath the moonlight.

Barefoot.

Hair loose around her shoulders like a furious Medusa.

Michael lowered his head.

The memory vanished.

"Y/N, just listen to me for a minute, okay?"

"You said we were friends!"

Her eyes shone with tears.

"And friends don't break promises!"

"There were other lives at risk."

"You don't understand!"

"No." His voice hardened. "You don't understand."

The words hung between them.

"You've been hurt by this place for so long that it feels normal to you."

His chest rose sharply.

"But what about the other children? Your friends? Kesha?"

Y/N collapsed onto the stone path.

The fight drained from her body all at once.

"I know!"

The words came out as a sob.

"I know!"

Tears streamed down her face.

"But tell me something."

She looked up at him.

"Who would people believe?"

A bitter laugh escaped her.

"A respected doctor?"

Her hand pressed against her chest.

"Or a crazy girl like me?"

Michael's expression shattered.

He slowly crossed the distance between them.

"He told me if I talked, they'd sedate me again."

Her voice trembled.

"The only thing I could do was watch over them."

Another sob.

"Day and night."

"I tried."

She buried her face in her hands.

"I really tried."

"And it still wasn't enough."

Before she realized what was happening, Michael wrapped his arms around her.

Warm.

Steady.

Protective.

Sitting together on the cold stone ground, he paid no attention to the dirt staining his clothes.

"What happens to the hospital now?" she whispered.

"It's the only place where the medication is free."

"The children come from families with nothing."

She swallowed hard.

"At least I can work now. I can take care of myself."

Her voice cracked again.

"But them..."

Michael rested his cheek against her hair.

"You shouldn't have to carry problems that big."

His arms tightened slightly.

"I'll take care of the rest."

For the first time that night, her breathing slowed.

"You sound like an adult after all," she muttered.

A laugh escaped him.

When she finally looked up, he brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead.

"Hey."

A smile tugged at his lips.

"I'm not that old."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For helping them."

"What about you?"

His eyes softened.

"I did it for my friend, too."

"No."

She immediately pulled away.

Her hands pressed firmly against his chest.

"Stop."

She looked down.

"At this moment, all I feel is disgust when I think about myself."

A bitter smile appeared.

"I accepted what I am a long time ago."

"You shouldn't be friends with someone like me."

His expression didn't change.

"You said it yourself, remember?"

She laughed hollowly.

"Appearances are everything."

Silence.

Then:

"What exactly are you?"

The question was gentle.

Almost impossibly gentle.

The night breeze carried his voice across the courtyard.

Y/N stood.

Leaving him seated on the ground.

"Well."

She wiped her eyes.

"That's hard to explain."

A pause.

"But you can usually tell just by looking at me."

Another pause.

"And by knowing what happened to me."

Michael looked up at her.

"You deserve everything."

His voice never wavered.

"Even love."

She shook her head.

"I doubt that."

Her smile held no joy.

"Love has only ever left me in ruins."

Michael reached for her hand.

"Y/N."

His grip was firm.

"Love isn't supposed to do that."

She looked away.

"It isn't supposed to hurt."

"It isn't supposed to leave you out in the cold."

"It isn't supposed to convince you that you're disgusting."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Y/N smiled sadly.

"You're right."

Her gaze drifted toward the stars.

"I wish I knew the kind of love you know."

A small laugh escaped her.

"The kind I've only ever seen in movies."

The moment she smiled, Michael quickly released her hand.

Suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating.

"I'll come visit whenever I can."

He stood and brushed the dust from his clothes.

She immediately shook her head.

"It's okay."

A teasing smile appeared.

"Just send letters. You don't have to come."

"But I want to."

"What about your reputation?"

Michael opened his mouth.

Then, without thinking—

"To hell with my reputation."

Both of them froze.

A second later, they burst into laughter.

The same laughter.

The same relief.

For the first time in months, neither of them felt alone.

#michael jackson #fanfic

FAR FROM THE LIGHTS

MICHAEL X READER! +18 (mdni)

chapter 1

The hospital floor was as cold and sterile as ever. Without fail, at two in the morning I would take off my shoes so I wouldn't make too much noise and could hide from the nurses wandering the halls. I reached for the pack of cigarettes hidden in my underwear; I wanted to count how many I had left so I could smoke them later in the back courtyard.

I had been in the psychiatric ward for a year and a half; more precisely, in the children's unit. One more year and I would be transferred to the place where all the housewives and some Hollywood stars who had fallen disastrously into the world of drugs ended up. Part of me was excited to hear their stories and maybe experience some kind of lesbian romance, but at the same time, I knew I would miss the quiet nights this children's center brought me. Adults tend to be more restless at night... or at least, that's how my mother was.

This facility had been opened by a billionaire ten years ago; practically brand new. I suppose for little kids like Jim or the lovely Kesha, recovering at such an early age was a blessing. Still, I had always believed that once you passed fifteen, things became harder to overcome—almost impossible, especially if you had already turned into a complete bitch because of another complete bastard.

It was when I sat down to tell Kesha my ridiculous fantasy-filled stories so she could fall asleep that I found him sitting on a small bench.

He wore a dark shirt and gray trousers. He smiled peacefully as he told the little girl those impossible stories. I couldn't hear his voice, but the way Kesha's eyes lit up, lost somewhere in another world whenever I used to ramble about my own delusions, confirmed everything.

For a moment, I felt jealous.

Of course she would rather have the billionaire Michael Jackson tell her about the universe than have a seventeen-year-old unstable girl with calloused hands and dry hair do it.

That thought only lasted a second before I remembered that poor Kesha had lived through something so terrible—probably something even worse than my own story.

She deserved the best treatment. She deserved to be a princess, even if only once.

So I smiled and stepped back an inch.

The hallway lights flickered slightly, casting my shadow over the little girl's bed. When Kesha saw me with her beautiful brown eyes, she called my name a couple of times before the man's obsidian eyes met mine.

"Jim is going to lose his mind when I tell him who came to visit me!" Kesha laughed, clutching a penguin plush I hadn't seen before—probably a gift from the billionaire.

Before I could apologize for interrupting, the man raised a hand.

A silent request.

At the same time, approaching footsteps quickened behind me.

The night nurse.

I managed to shove the cigarette pack away as fast as I could, but I wasn't quick enough to escape the firm grip that closed around my arm.

"What are you doing out of your room, young lady?" she hissed, her voice only a shade below a shout, though she never stopped smiling at the dark-haired man. "Mr. Michael doesn't appreciate disturbances or little snoops during visiting hours."

Her words began to fade as the tall, slender figure approached us.

"Please excuse her, Mr. Jackson," the nurse said, her voice instantly brighter. "She's a bit older than most children here, but she's been a patient for over a year. She's not some fan who snuck in or anything like that."

She let out an awkward laugh.

It wasn't the first time Michael had visited this psychiatric center. If I remembered correctly, it was probably his third visit.

The first time, my mother hadn't dumped me here yet.

The second, I'd been so heavily medicated that the memory existed only in fragments.

"I know," he said with a sigh.

His voice was deeper than I expected.

He rested his hands on his hips while the nurse immediately released my arm. I braced myself for some sort of lecture from a celebrity.

A good story for the future.

Not so enjoyable in the present.

A nervous knot twisted in my stomach.

"I'd just hate for anyone to interrupt the sleep of the children who finally managed to drift off."

"Of course," the nurse replied quickly. "She'll return to her room immediately."

I noticed the disappointment settling across Kesha's face.

"But Miss Clear..." she whispered. "I wanted to introduce her to my new friend."

"Well," Michael said, smiling and revealing the faintest hint of sharp canines—a smile so effortlessly beautiful it felt impossible to imitate. "I suppose the boss has spoken."

His eyes drifted toward me.

"What do you think, sweetheart? Care to join us?"

I froze as those obsidian eyes settled on my face.

"Sure," I answered, far too intimidated to refuse.

After a while, the tension in my shoulders began to melt away.

I sat on the edge of Kesha's bed while Michael chatted with us as though we had known each other for years.

Surprisingly, talking to a billionaire was much easier than I had imagined.

And there was something warm about his presence.

I couldn't remember ever feeling that kind of warmth from an adult before.

Especially not from a man.

Kesha's eyelids slowly began to droop.

At last, sleep was winning.

Both of us smiled at the sight.

Then his gaze lingered on mine for a second too long.

My palms immediately started sweating.

"Well," he said softly, "it's time to let her rest."

"Sweet dreams, Kesha. I'll come back tomorrow night and tell you another story." I grinned. "Though I don't think I can compete with Mr. Jackson."

A quiet laugh escaped him as we stepped into the hallway and switched off the lights.

"You give up that easily, huh?" he teased while pulling the door shut.

"Of course. It's not exactly easy to top a story told by you—I mean... by Mr. Jackson."

Heat rushed to my face.

That only earned another laugh.

And somehow those impossibly perfect teeth looked even more unfair up close.

"You can call me whatever you like," he said. "Though I'd rather you call me M."

He lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"You know. Less attention that way."

"O-okay."

"And tell me something..." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Do you happen to have any tobacco left?"

"You smoke?"

My eyes widened instantly.

"In secret." He shrugged. "Appearances are everything."

For a brief moment, something bitter flickered across his golden features.

"I know a spot behind the building where I sneak off to smoke whenever I come here."

"Near the maintenance area?"

"Exactly."

The grin that spread across his face was almost boyish.

"Unfortunately, I was so frustrated today that I left my cigarettes in the car. Think you could spare me one?"

"Sure. But only if you don't tell anyone I have cigarettes."

He pulled a hand from his pocket and held out his pinky.

"Pinky promise?"

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

That was absurdly childish.

Even for me.

"Oh, come on." He grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Kesha's friends are my friends, aren't they?"

"Fine."

Our pinkies hooked together.

For a second, I was terrified he might hear my heartbeat.

Instead, all I noticed was the strange way our breathing seemed to fall into the same rhythm.

I explained that sneaking past the nurses was going to be difficult.

Doing it alone was easy enough. I had plenty of experience by now.

Doing it with one of the most recognizable people on the planet?

That was like playing a video game on nightmare difficulty.

More than once, we nearly collided with social workers turning corners. At one point I walked straight into his back while trying to avoid being seen.

Heat rushed to my face.

He smelled faintly of expensive powder and mahogany.

By the time we reached the final hallway leading to the rear courtyard, we almost got caught because he let out a curse at the sight of yet another nurse.

He slapped a hand over his mouth, trying—and failing—to suppress his laughter.

Meanwhile, I was silently begging God not to let me get into trouble.

Still...

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this alive.

When we finally stepped outside, he stopped me.

"Wait."

I turned toward him.

The dim lights from the building outlined his curls and sharpened the angles of his cheekbones.

"You're barefoot."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I always take my shoes off when I sneak around. Less noise." I shrugged. "Besides, I'm used to it. The cold concrete actually feels pretty nice."

"But you could hurt yourself!"

Before I could protest, he bent down and started removing his perfectly polished shoes.

"Put these on."

"What?"

A startled laugh burst from somewhere deep in my chest.

"Relax," he said with a teasing smile. "I promise they don't smell."

A few moments later, his enormous shoes were hanging off my painfully thin feet.

Five steps.

That was all it took.

I tripped immediately.

I must have looked like a clown trapped in some bizarre movie where Michael Jackson was the lead actor.

He caught my hand before I could fall.

His fingers were cold.

Just like mine.

Between stumbling over oversized shoes and laughing ourselves half to death, we eventually reached the hidden spot.

"Seriously," I said, "don't tell me you made me wear these just so you could laugh at me."

"What? No!" He looked genuinely offended. "I'd feel terrible if you got hurt because of me."

A pause.

"Although you do look absolutely ridiculous in my shoes."

"Well, now you know how I feel."

"Ouch!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "Right in my pride."

He wiped tears from his eyes from laughing so hard.

"That was a good one."

Then he smiled.

"It's fun talking to you, Clear."

I was about to hand him a cigarette when I suddenly froze.

"Wait."

He blinked.

"What?"

"I never told you my name."

The distant sounds of sirens and passing cars filled the silence that followed.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

"Ah..." He scratched the side of his cheek.

"Damn."

I still wasn't used to hearing him swear.

But somehow, the fact that he knew my name felt even stranger.

I mean, of course I knew who he was.

Everyone did.

But this?

This was different.

"Have we met before?"

"A few months ago, I visited the center." He looked away briefly. "I saw you from a distance and asked one of the nurses about you. She told me your name."

His expression softened.

"She also said you were pretty heavily medicated at the time."

A pause.

"Sorry. I should've mentioned that earlier."

A simple explanation.

The obvious explanation.

For a moment, I had felt special.

But realistically, who wouldn't ask about the ghostly-looking almost-adult wandering around a children's psychiatric ward?

I handed him a cigarette along with my lighter.

"All my friends made fun of me for missing Michael Jackson's visit that day."

"Didn't that make you mad?" he asked as he lit the cigarette before passing the flame back to me.

"Some of them are little kids. How could I be angry at them for that?" I shrugged. "I guess I was disappointed, though. I listen to your music whenever my anxiety gets bad."

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"When they let me use the television, anyway."

The cigarette shifted between his lips as he smiled.

Tiny sparks drifted into the darkness.

Like fireflies.

"Well," he said, glancing down at his bare feet, "for what it's worth, you were right."

"About what?"

"The ground."

He wiggled his toes against the concrete.

"It feels nice walking barefoot."

A thoughtful look crossed his face.

"I honestly can't remember the last time I did this."

"Not even at home?"

I lit my own cigarette.

"No."

He laughed quietly.

"Etiquette."

"Yeah," I said. "That sounds about right."

I took my first drag.

For some reason, cigarette smoke always tasted better at night.

"Not just since I became rich." He let out a quiet laugh. "Honestly, I think I've been controlled ever since I learned how to walk. How to act. How to breathe. How to smile."

He glanced down at the cigarette between his fingers.

"These little escapes in the middle of the night let me taste freedom. Among other things."

A small smile touched his lips.

"But it never occurred to me to walk barefoot. I guess, little by little, I forget the simple things."

I fell silent.

Listening to him open up felt like reading a forbidden book.

For a moment, I almost believed we were real friends.

Even though he would probably forget my face in a few years.

I couldn't blame him.

I couldn't even be hurt by the thought.

I just wanted to enjoy the company while it lasted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him glance at me.

A faint blush colored his cheeks before he hid part of his face behind the sleeve of his shirt.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I'm talking too much."

"Relax." I flicked some ash onto the pavement. "The only people I can tell are my six-year-old friends and my toothbrush. Your secret's safe with me."

That earned a laugh.

"Tell me about yourself, Clear." His smile softened. "I don't want to leave here carrying only my childhood traumas while you're stuck carrying all of mine."

I smiled despite myself.

"Fair enough."

My gaze drifted toward the stars.

"Well..."

For a moment, the words felt heavier than usual.

"I'm here because of something that happened when I was seven."

The night suddenly felt very quiet.

"No one knew. Not until I got older and started becoming... difficult."

I shrugged.

"One day my mother got tired of dealing with me and dropped me off here."

Another drag.

"Now I trade favors for cigarettes and tell stories to my little friends so they can sleep."