Glittering Prime @man-in-the-mirror58 - Tumblr Blog

₊ ⊹ DO YOU REMEMBER THE TIME? ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿᵉ

DISCLAIMERS: This is not an accurate portrayal of anyone depicted in the story. I do not know these people. It's strictly a work of fiction. Partly inaccurate historical references regarding an Ancient Egyptian timeline.

PAIRING: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader.

GENRES: Fluff / Angst.

SUMMARY: It's 1990 and it's been a year since Michael Jackson concluded his Bad world tour. Giving himself a free outlet to write and record his next studio album, he's had a little more freedom to actually experience things he couldn't before. Deciding to show support of his sister Janet during her Rhythm Nation world tour, but something or rather someone else catches his attention. Heading backstage, he manages to corner his little sister once the show is over and insists she introduce him to one of her dancers. After some back and fourth, Janet (who is completely thrown by her brothers persistence) finally introduces the two of them. Michael knows there's something familiar about her. After the meeting, through dreams, panic attacks and recurring memories, suddenly, they find themselves transported back to another time, remembering another life where they were a tragic tale of forbidden love.

WARNINGS: Split timelines, reincarnation, more to come in future parts.

WORD COUNT: 16k

MORE: series masterlist

Racing excitement, bouncing anxiety and a splash of anticipation. A familiar bundle of emotions wrapped up into one neat little package, the kind that can't be explained unless expierenced and didn't live in the realms of daily life. Those that understood knew and those that didn't never would.

The perfomance had yet to start and already, the sour aroma of sweat filled the air. Bracing, sharp, the kind of smell that alludes to something major happening in close proximity.

Loud chatter of controlled chaos. The space heavy with eagle eyed security and hard working crew, a few paces away stood two dancers, carefully stretching, their chests expanding with each deep breath of oxygen as they prepared for what was to come.

The dull setting of an empty stage greeted attendees, yet, the humid heat of the rig lights could still be felt against his skin, a reminder of the opening act who had make a swift exit off the stage not too long ago.

Stage managers barked urgent orders left and right, heavy footsteps bounced off the floor and the roar of an impatient crowd could be heard a mile away, like a shaking crescendo of anticipation. Oddly, to the shadow of a man hiding behind the curtains, this felt like coming home.

These backstage moments had become the backdrop for his most memorable days ― the ones that held the world captive in sheer adoration and unwavering support. If these walls could talk, they'd whisper his name, his secrets until they echoed around the globe, like subtle mythology of the legend he would never allow himself to believe in.

Unable to stay still, he found himself tapping his foot in an frustratingly addictive rhythm, expressive eyes gazing towards an unassuming crowd behind the curtain and for once, he thanked his ability to plan ahead and tie his hair out of his face so he had an outstanding view.

Right now, he could afford to be backstage and not be dressed to the nines. There was no one to please, no one he needed to impress or pull focus. Finally, it was his chance to sit back and relax.

After all, this wasn't a Michael Jackson show.

The applause wasn't for him, but rather his younger sibling, his littlest sister. The same one he used to cast in small plays in their childhood home, where they created music for what they assumed would be fun, but even that seemed temperamental under the watchful eye of their father ― or rather Joseph as he demanded they call him.

The more he thought about that, the more it hurt him. As a child, he didn't ask questions and while confusion festered deep within the walls of his mind, he was taught not to answer back. What Joseph said goes and that was that.

Along with his siblings, he did the best he could to survive and found comfort in the family he had, the ones who knew and understood exactly what he was going through. His angel of a mother, the same women who he considered to be the best humanity had to offer. His brothers, despite their arguments, they never failed to show up when it mattered. Through the good and the bad, he loved them and knew they felt the same, even if they didn't show it all the time.

Then there were his sister, the ones that helped shape him from a young boy into the grown man he had become.

Rebbie, the oldest of the Jackson's who felt more maternal than any of the others. Maybe it was the age gap, but he had always looked at her like she was so grown. In a way, he pitted her for it. She'd seen and expierenced this way of life for the longest time, he's never really known her as a child.

La Toya, only two years and three months older than he was and regardless of the distance that passed them in age, they were so alike in so many ways. Their family had always affectionately referred to them as 'the twins.' Even Joseph who rarely spoke to any of them with any kind of loving nickname had come to terms with that one.

La Toya had been one of the people Michael found himself closest to as a kid, constantly looking up to her in regards of how to carry yourself or when he needed fashion advice. They'd grown distant over the years. No longer one entity in two bodies, but Michael knew he would always hold her in high regards.

Then there was Janet, of course. His youngest sister and the one he had always been the most protective of. While Michael might have been La Toya's baby, Janet had been his.

A fierce kind of devotion had grown within him the moment she had been born and they'd been as thick as thieves ever since. They were so different, yet somehow so similar in ways even they didn't understand. So much so, that they often found themselves having the same ideas at the same time.

Maybe that exact likeness was the reason he now found himself waiting backstage, listening to the overwhelming surge of applause of a hungry crowd waiting eagerly for his little sister to take center stage.

A well maintained flight of security flanked close by, but that fact seemed to fade into the distance once the echoes of the beginning provoked a loud reaction from the audience. Pre-show rituals were over and it was finally time for the main event.

Melodic chimes crescendoed through the building, followed by a beaming white light to set the stage, billowing, thick fog swirled and heaved far and wide as a the height of a stage riser grew high above the ground, shadowed in a black box of mysery, leaving more questions than answers.

Suddenly, with the finale drop of a single onyx curtain drew a familiar silhouette into view.

For a moment, there was simply no movement at all. The blacked out hollow of her figure stood perfectly still, but that was more than enough to solicite an onslaught of screams from those already losing their mind at the imagery her short skirt and strong shoulder pads.

There was no mistaking who this was: Janet Jackson herself.

Michael felt the chills rise against his flesh as the anticipation built, pride formed at the overwhelming nature of knowing she'd done this her own way and had succeeded in making the word her own.

"This is a story about control." As a playback sound of her own voice moved through the area, the riser began to lower close to the ground. "My control. Control of what I say, control of what I do. And this time, I'm gonna do it my way." Dancers stood in a perfect formation, legs a shoulders width apart, hands clasped at their waist.

Once Janet reached the ground, the music kicked in, a fuchsia light beamed and suddenly the show was in full force and boy, what a show it was.

Janet was a star for a reason and that went far beyond her brother's influence. She had carved her own path, made her own way, owned every stage she set foot on and none of that was more evident that at this exact moment.

The light bounced off her face, warming her skin from the very first hit and she looked like a force of nature, as though she was born for this very thing that defined her life.

While Michael knew his focus should be zoned in on the magnetic way his baby sister so effortlessly commanded such a large stage, he would be lying if he said that's where his priorities lay.

Initially, of course, he'd been unable to tear his gaze away. A soft melody had escaped his own lips from instinct alone ― unplanned but in perfect harmony, at one with the music, becoming the very rhythm his sister sang against. He couldn't help it. Sometimes it felt like music was marked into his DNA. Such things came to him as simple as the reality of breathing. He didn't have to think for it to happen.

Really, there was no other thought in his mind other than the show.

Well, nothing until she seemingly appeared from the darkness, glowing effortlessly like the brightest star guiding the three wise men towards greatness. As his carefully controlled, obsidian gaze found her form, how could he be expected to resist such a holy sight?

There, to Janet's left, practically glittering beneath the rigid heat of unkind stage lights, his eyes caught a tempting glimpse of a figure and felt the moment his laboured breathing was practically knocked from his lungs.

Who needed oxygen anyway? Certainly not Michael. The shape of this women was enough to prove he had already made it to heaven.

It wasn't the beauty that held him captive (though if he were honest with himself, there was a lot to admire), nor was it the precision of every move she made (but again, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't impressed and really, it took a lot to impress the Michael Jackson.)

No, it was something else. Something that went beyond any form of attraction he'd felt before, if attraction was even the correct term for this particular emotion. He wasn't fully convinced. While he could admit her physically appearance was pleasing, there was something much more alluring pulling him under the surface.

Cascading down like a wave of nostalgia, her presence hit against him like a ton of bricks.

The lines of her body, so heavily focused on the perfomance, there was no room for error. Every movement held purpose. The slide of her foot, the twist of her hips, even the fierce focus displayed so perfectly on her face. She was a performer, that much could never be taken from her.

So perfectly in tune with every beat, her body moved as though tied to the very rhythm in which she performed. Like a flowing river, each step came with breathtaking fluidity, so at ease with every turn, making it easy to see how she had landed a place on such an in demand tour.

It told him so much, yet nothing at all.

There was a love for her craft, a beautiful cadence in the steps which must have taken time to master, yet came so effortlessly. And he knew, of course he knew, just how much time she would've spent in rehearsals studios or alone in her own home working tirelessly to make this moment serve a purpose beyond perfomance.

Michael found himself watching with such intense desire, barley registering the song fading out as another began. The world around him seemed irrelevant as he noticed the mischievous, exciement gleaming in her eyes.

A couple dancers left the stage. They weren't needed for this particular number.

Still, she remained.

One particular move stopped his heart. Nothing fancy, nothing particularly hard. A simple movement of her arms, the sharp lines of her hands, held outwardly on either side, bent expertly at the wrist, reminding him of vibrant, multi-colored paint etched into the walls of what would now be considered a historical landmark.

If he didn't know any better, he could've convinced himself she had been the inspiration for some of the great hieroglyphics locked behind even greater curses, hidden far within the depths of a foreign land.

For a moment, reality slipped from his grasp. The dark, black military attire and the bright, white lighting faded entirely, replaced with something that he shouldn't recognise.

Golden lamé sudden cascaded down her body, like a metallic stream still flowing, some areas cut with a perfect precision to showcase inches of beautiful, soft skin, just enough to tease, but left far too much to the imagination. Iridescent layered silks and chiffon moved rhythmically with each step and dusted against exposed collarbone sat the softest champagne shimmer.

Lit with a royal hue, her face glowed with the light of a thousand suns, eyes ringed with heavy khol eyeliner and hair sleak and gleaming with beautiful jewelled beads.

An ethereal beauty that shouldn't exist and perhaps it never did, because as soon as he blinked the image disappeared and he was greeted with the all too real sight of her back in her militarian style costume, dancing with a ferocity he rarely saw these days, while Janet sang her heart out like siren calling upon a willing audience.

Maybe he was going crazy.

Yes, that made much more sense than whatever nonsense his mind had just conjured up. He must have been tired. He never really did sleep at night, did he? Maybe in he was far more exhausted than he realised.

But even as he tried his hardest to concentrate on the world around him, the gold imagery continued to creep up on his completely rational thoughts, tainting then with a familiarity strong enough to drive him into a temporary state of insanity if he wasn't careful.

Guilt was a funny thing and it always found odd ways to creep up on you.

Michael knew he should have been playing the part of the supportive brother, beaming in pride while Janet proved her place as an entertainer. She was wonderful. He knew that to be true and he so hoped he could be the one to shower her with praise, much like she did with him every time she so graciously attended one of this shows. That's what he'd come here for. That's exactly what he had intended to do.

He loved his sister. Sometimes, when he was younger, he would convince himself that they were an old soul split into two youthful bodies. His other half and he cared for her dearly. Michael was so proud of everything Janet had accomplished and he knew his support was something irreplaceable in her eyes.

But every time he tried to bring his focus back to her, that little red devil on his shoulder whispered words of temptation, telling him he would regret tearing his gaze away from the women who had so effortlessly held his attention span captive with zero effort on her part.

Not so much as a tapping foot or a gentle hum had come from Michael, and that had been the first tip off that something wasn't quiet right.

Usually such a huge fan of his sisters music, especially this particular album cycle, he should have been reacting in someway.

Back at Neverland, Michael often locked himself in his dance studio for hours, where he would play Rhythm Nation at full volume and simply allow his body to move.

Those were precious moments where he would give himself chance to discover new things, different moves, how to curve his foot just right and perfect a dance he had long since convinced himself should have be impossible.

Janet's music wasn't simple pop. It had the ability to create a legend. He should have been moving by now.

Yet, there he stood, still as stone with a blank look decorating the delicate contours of his face. A far off gaze settled against his features, no tell tale signs that anything was particular bothering him, no indication that he was how fascinated with a women he had never even so much as caught the name of. But to those that knew him, it wasn't hard to notice how completely out of character his current demeanour was.

"Mister Jackson, is something wrong?"

If anyone knew Michael's mannerisms, that would fall on Bill Bray. Having met a young, twelve year old version of the boy that would later take the world by storm, Bill had been there to see it all.

Initially signing on to become security for the boys, he had stuck around all these years. Going from the Jackson 5 to being a steady, grounding, protective presence in his solo career. Bill was more than a bodyguard. He was more like family.

As a child, after shows, Michael would throw himself carelessly into Bill's arms, trusting the older man, with the innocence only a child could hold, to carry him back to safety.

That safe haven had never been broken. He loved him like a father when his own had failed to allow him to show that affection, so it came as no shock to Michael when he heard the curious assumption of his current state leave the mouth of the very man that ushered him into security when life became overwhelming.

Feeling no need to lie, he stepped back, shoulders brushing those of his trusted friend while curious eyes never once moved from the dancing silhouette he'd been fixated on for almost two entire numbers now.

"She's extremely familiar to me, Bill." Michael nodded in her general direction for what good it was worth.

The whole stage was a masterclass in perfomance. His sister the top billing order, but she was not the only person giving it her all. There were multiple bodies creating a show worth watching and it was easy to lose a dancer in to the beat if you didn't know what to look for.

"Who?" Squinting his kind eyes, Bill made a strong attempt to pick a face from the performers, but the choreography moved so fast, it was hard to settle on just one. "A dancer or back up singer?"

Shaking his head, Michael failed to understand how she wouldn't stand out to another.

"The women on Janet's left." He huffed, refusing to allow his focus to be broken for even a second while his eyes followed the elegant position she'd formed with her body.

Bill hummed in understanding, her pretty face suddenly in view once he knew who to look for. "She danced for you before?" The question obvious when the subject of Michael's familiairy to the women came into conversation.

"No."

The answer instantaneous, like Michael didn't even have to think to know.

Of course, he was extremely tuned into every detail that came along with each project he had ever participated in, from singing, to lyricism, to complex choreography, intricate short films and of course, the people working around him.

Being the kind of man he is, Michael always tried his absolute hardest at remembering names and faces of those that surrounded him. While he wasn't perfect and with time, those memories faded to be replaced with new, exciting moments, he was sure of one thing: he would certainly remember her.

"Are you sure?" Bill asked, eyebrows pinched together, not fully convinced.

"I'd remember a name." Michael insisted sharply, a hint of attitude before his face softened.

Other workers backstage weren't in tune with the conversation, they had no clue what they were speaking of and knew better than to approach Michael Jackson out of the blue when he was otherwise occupied by watching the performance. Yet, he could still feel their prying eyes and an instant, an unfamiliar wash of shame came over him once he realised he might have snapped unfairly, so he made a quick move to apologise.

Bill simply waved him off, telling him not to worry about it, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery women causing his friend so much turmoil.

"Could she be a fan you've met before?"

The question wasn't that peculiar. Michael had met many people through various parts of life. That scenario was entirely plausible, yet something screamed at him that this was not the case.

Not by a long shot.

"No." He answered almost instantly and then sighed heavily with the weight of her familiar features now burnt into his brain. "Well, I don't know actually. Maybe." Even as he said it, the words felt wrong in his mouth, like chewing cardboard to combat hunger. "But if she was… wouldn't she have approached me while all the dancers were waiting in the wings?"

It was a weak attempt at gaining clarity and he knew it, but that niggling voice in the back of his mind told him there was more to this than a simple fan encounter.

"I don't know, Sir." Bill's attempt at being rational fell on dead ears as the two men curiously watched the dancer give her all to a crowd that would never know her name. "She has a job to uphold and I don't think screaming praise towards the 'king of pop' really cements a look of professionalism in the eyes of his sister." Still running with the fan theory, even if he didn't fully believe in it himself.

Watching on, a flash of gold temporarily clouded his vision prompting a tense jaw and stubborn shake of his head. "No. There's just something about her."

For a moment, the two men fell silent, the sound of a rowdy crowd, Janet's beautiful singing and the boom of a heavy bass being the only sound between them. The with a soft smile, Bill turned his steady gaze towards Michael and sighed.

"Good fish?" He asked.

An overwhelming reminiscence showered him with stubborn determination. There was something about her. He knew her. He knew he knew her.

Somehow, someway. Even if it didn't make sense to him.

There was simply no way to express that without sounding like a deranged man with a terrifying obsession, so instead of voicing his curiosity, Michael allowed himself to nod along and give peace of mind to the situation for the time being.

"Yeah…" he hummed without conviction. "good fish."

While he didn't voice it with words, his body language was enough to show he wouldn't let this go without getting an answer. He was nothing if not stubborn, so use to getting what he wanted these days. Michael could and absolutely would go out of his way harass Janet for a month straight if he had to. He would refuse to settle until he met this women.

The rest of the show played out like a masterclass in entertainment. Lighting queues, electric guitar, costume changes, powerful notes and daring routines. It was enough to solidify exactly why the world had fallen at Janet's feet. This had been her magnum opus. No one could take that from her.

The crowd screamed with joy, alive with electricity surging through their bodies. Disappointment lingered for curtain call, but they'd been too enthralled and grateful for the expierence that no one dared groan.

The final music notes of Rhythm Nation burned out and soon dancers were filling the backstage area.

Eagle eyed and set with a new found form of determination, Michael kept his eyes peeled, focused as his head weaved back and fourth between the new bodies. She had to be here. People don't vanish.

While he tried his absolute hardest to scout out the familiar sight he'd been oggling all night, he failed to notice the wide eyed look on everyone else's faces when they started to notice that yes, Michael Jackson had in fact been watching them from backstage. Had the black fedora really escaped all their attention until now?

Gasped filled the air, excited whispers from band members and crew alike, but neither he nor Bill paid it any mind. This was light work in comparison to the hoards of people that usually crowded the space around him.

In an attempt to play it casual, Michael didn't walk around and search every face, but the urgency was there and he didn't quite understand it either. What was this thing pulling him towards someone he didn't know? Why couldn't he ignore it?

Michael sighed in frustration, finally giving up after a few minutes of careful consideration. She must have slipped past in the busy crowd and he had somehow misplaced her. Just his luck.

Still, not all was lost.

With a beaming grin, bright enough to light up a whole room, Janet rushed backstage, glowing radiantly from the post show adrenaline, the rumbling sound of applause following her steps. Her soft brown eyes instantly found Michael's and with a soft laugh of his own, he automatically crossed the distance and let out a dramatic 'woah' as she threw her arms around him.

"Easy, Dunk." He teased, but reciprocated the embrace and held his sister close for a couple of seconds. "You did so great out there. The dance break in State Of The World was mesmerising. You've clearly been spending a lot of time rehearsing for this."

If it were possible, her smile grew wider as she pulled back from the hug, the famous Jackson grin sitting pretty across both of their faces. When they were together, it was impossible to ignore their similarities.

"You really liked it?" He words came out like a joke, but Michael knew she genuinely valued his opinion.

With a firm nod, he temporarily forgot that there were prying eyes watching the pair and instead, focused all his energy on his sister.

"Yeah, of course." He nodded without conviction. "You didn't miss a single beat and you looked so confident out there. You have to believe me, you know I'd tell you if you messed up."

While it sounded harsh, they both knew it was the perfectionist within him that pushed his honesty. None of it was ever out of malice, just striving for impossible goals.

That's partly why his approval meant so much to Janet. He pushed himself so hard sometimes, it was nice knowing he could see that reflected in herself. Sometimes she still felt as though he saw her as that clumsy five year old who used to follow him around like a shadow.

"Yeah." She chuckled. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course!" Momentarily looking around, he suddenly became aware of the eyes watching them and with a gentle grasp at her wrist, Michael pulled the two of then into an isolated corner, nodding in gratitude when Bill kept a short distance between them. "You know I wouldn't have missed this."

Janet had attended countless of his own shows. Now that he had the time, it made the most sense for him to show that kind of support back.

He had spent years exhausting himself but since the Bad tour had ended last year, he'd finally allowed the presence of a small break to enter his life. Of course, he was still working. He liked to stay busy, so Michael had been writing and recording for his next album, which didn't have a title yet, but he had far more freedom this year than he had for most of his life and he planned on making the most of it.

"Are you staying in the same hotel or are you travelling back already?" Janet curiously asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"I've already checked in, so I'll be staying tonight." Michael confirmed, eyebrows arched. "Actually, I was wondering if you could do something for me."

Eyebrows arched, she looked around before letting out a dramatic sigh and inching closer to her brother. "Depends on what it is."

A brief pause hung heavy in the air. Michael bit down on his lower lip in hesitation at what he was about to ask. Now that he thought about it, the idea really did sound stupid in reality. Wanting to talk to a women he felt he knew but couldn't even place a name to the face was ridiculous. Janet would surely poke fun at him and if she didn't, she would definitely tell their siblings and they would do it for her.

Still, he couldn't stop picturing the mischievous gleam in her eyes or the smooth roll of her body. The warm feeling that grew in the pit of his stomach when he first laid eyes on her returned at just the thought and so swallowing his pride, Michael faced his sister with a sense of determination.

He could do this. He didn't have to tell her the whole truth. Maybe just expressing interest would be enough.

"Could you introduce me to one of your dancers?" The words tumbled clumsily from his mouth before he could stop them.

Wide eyed, Janet pulled her lips inwards to stop herself from laughing. It wasn't every day Michael so freely showed this kind of enthusiasm towards someone else and he basically never did it in front of her.

His wide doe eyes were almost too pathetic and so with a dramatic sigh, Janet nodded her head. "Which one was it? I'm not saying I'll hook you guys up, but I might consider it."

Michael groaned and it reminded her of when they were younger and their brothers would tease him tirelessly for his growing crush on Diana Ross.

"It's not like that." He insisted, lips pouted like a grouchy teen. "I just want to say hello. She did a great job out there tonight."

"And the others didn't?" She teased, smirk forming menacingly against her full lips.

"No... that's not what I'm saying." He huffed, ignoring the brittle heat rising to the apples of his cheeks. "There's just something about her."

"Right..." Janet laughed. "she's so special."

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Michael gently shoved his sister against her shoulder and then gasped as she retaliated. The two dissolving into a small burst of laughter until she eventually asked him to describe her again.

He did, but it didn't help.

The hair style, the outfit choice, her body type, her height. It was too vague. She could have practically been any of her female dancers and with the vague description he gave, she would never be able to pull this mystery women from a crowd.

"I'm sorry, Mike. I don't know who you're talking about."

"Come on." He groaned, hands dragging down his face in frustration. "You have to know her. She was on stage with you the whole time and she moved like water. She's perfect!"

"Woah!" Her laugh sharp and loud, giggling shamelessly at her brothers expense. "She's perfect now? Wow, what a women."

"Dunk, I'm being serious." Michael pleaded. "Help me."

"I'm trying, but you're not helping yourself."

"Come on. She's some sort of dance machine." He continued, hands falling to his narrow hips while speaking, trying to remember as much detail as he could. "She had this fierce look of determination in her eyes. She was on your left during Nasty and she caught one of the other dancers before they slipped."

He continued to ramble nonsense, failing to notice the way Janet's eyes had already lit up with recognition.

"She was on my left during Nasty?"

Her words were quiet, but he heard them and soon his eyes were wide as he nodded in confirmation. A sudden excitement bubbling in his stomach. Maybe soon, the mystery would be unravel after all.

"You remmeber her now?"

"Yes." Janet confirmed and then spoke a sweet name Michael couldn't place, but immediately knew.

He repeated it and then feverishly asked if she would introduce him to her.

Shaking her head, arms folded over her chest, Janet teased him again, not fully understanding why he was so persistent about this. Michael met women all the time. Different races, different faces, some of them smaller, some of them more full. He'd witnessed girls falling at his feet and encountered those that tried to play cool in his presence. So many women and always vying for his attention, yet this particular dancer had been the one to catch his eye.

With a heavy sigh, Janet's curious gaze moved around the backstage area and sure, there were plenty of people around. Some of them she knew by name, others worked for the venue and she had never met until that evening. Dancers were spaced out, pretending they weren't gawping open mouthed at her brother, but she knew better. Despite the sea of people, there was one face she couldn't make out and so she turned back to her brother with a small frown.

"I'm sorry, Mike." Shurgging her shoulders, she offered him a sympathetic smile. "She must have already gone to change. She might have left by now."

"Come on, Janet." He groaned. "You're her boss. Please, I need to meet her."

"Why?"

"I do― look, I don't really know, but something is telling me that if I don't, I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life." The words felt heavy on his tongue, but he needed her to know how serious this was for him. "Come on, please."

Rolling her eyes, but conceding, she stepped back and knew he would follow.

"Always so damn dramatic." She huffed.

He didn't comment back, but his silence said enough to him not appreciating her witty commentary. Following her step by step, Michael and Bill eventually made it to the dressing room and entered with Janet who stopped, only for a moment, to speak to her personal assistant.

Neither of the men heard what she said, but a minute later, the assistant left through the door while Janet turned with a smile of her own and announced that she would be going to take a shower now.

"Wait, but what about the girl?" Michael asked.

"It's being handled. Just sit down, shut up and stop tapping your foot. You're going to drive poor Bill crazy."

Bill laughed behind a raised hand and Michael suddenly felt exposed. His foot stopped still and he realised that this entire time, he hadn't known he had been doing it at all. His own fault. A nervous habit he'd picked up from his youth and never been able to tackle.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." Janet huffed. "Look, I don't know why you're so obsessed with this girl or why you're so determined to meet her, but relax. She's just a person and she's actually pretty nice in comparison to a lot of company you keep."

His lips parted, as if to argue his case but Janet simply held her hand out and shook her head as if to say she didn't care about his rebuttal.

"She'll be here any minute. Take a breath and remember: be nice, be normal and don't freak her out with the whole 'if I don't meet her I'll regret it for the rest of my life' stuff." She was paraphrasing of course, but her words got the point across.

Michael finally conceded and told her he'd be good, to which both Janet and Bill laughed. He rolled his eyes, but it was more out of humour than frustration.

Politely excusing herself, Janet left to go and use the showering facility to clean herself up ― a seperate room in the back of of the dressing area where she could rid herself of the sweat and grime from a hard day's work.

Pacing back and fourth, the nerves had once again kicked in and Michael hated it. Why was he so anxious? The question was driving him crazy. How could someone he'd never met cause this kind of reaction?

Eyes formed into small slits, Bill watched on, baffled by his friends behaviour. This wasn't like Michael at all. He couldn't recall a time he had seen him this worked up over a woman he barely knew the name of and Bill had pretty much seen it all. From the highest highs to the lowest lows, it had been Bill who Michael often searched for in moments of weakness.

Stepping forward, he planted his hands on the younger man's shoulder and sighed, eyes wide as Michael looked up towards him. For a second, he was transported back to a time where Michael barley reached his chest. A moment from the past where too much pressure had been given to a boy far too young.

Bill never claimed to be good at pep talks then and he certainly wasn't good at them now, but Michael needed him. They didn't have to say it to know it to be true. Somehow, the two men shared their own secret language. They didn't have to talk much at all in order to communicate.

Still, this felt like a moment where words would be appreciated, so swallowing his pride, Bill looked towards his friend with nothing but appreciation.

"Joker, you need to relax." Despite being in this thirties, Michael would always be a kid to Bill. "She's just a woman. You meet different women pretty much every day. It's going to be fine, she isn't going to bite. Stop pacing. You're going to put a hole in the floor."

Stopping in his tracks, he tried hard to calm his rising nerves. Bill was right after all, Michael really did women all the time. This wasn't new to him. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself, but then his foot started to tap without his permission and Michael knew he was screwed either way.

"Bill, when she comes... will you wait outside?"

His security looked over at him with arched brows, lips set into a straight line which made it impossible to read his mood.

"I shouldn't."

"I know." Michael admitted with a boyish grin. "But you'll be right outside the door. If you hear any funny business going on, you can come right in."

Reluctantly, Bill nodded his head, parting his lips to chip into the conversation, but before he could utter a word, a sharp knock against the wood grain pierced through the room. Neither men discussed what happened next, Bill simply walked towards the dressing room door and pressed down on the handle, like a play by play, as though he knew exactly what steps would happen next.

"Oh." Her voice echoed and without seeing her face or ever hearing that tone before, Michael felt his heart stutter a beat. "I'm sorry. Is this the wrong room? I was told Miss Jackson wanted to see me."

So that's the lie Janet's assistant ran with.

"No, sweetheart." Bill spoke with a polite smile. "You're in the right place. I was about to step out, but please, come in."

A very simple exchange happened next. With practiced ease, Bill slipped out the door and in she walked.

The sound of her footsteps had been the first thing to catch his attention, the gentle click of the door proving that someone had closed it behind them was next and then as he braved a very quick glance in her direction, Michael felt it again. That sudden pull directing him towards a perfect stranger, her sharp eyed gaze met his own, but rather than the dreaded anxiety he had been expecting to feel, his body suddenly washed with ease.

In most scenarios where a women entered a room to unexpectedly find Michael Jackson standing in wait, one of two things usually occurred. They'd either scream their lungs out and jump at him, so much so, he usually feared for his life, or they simply fell mute.

For a heavy moment, he thought the latter had happened with this exchange. He watched with genuine interest as the girl assessed the situation before her and found no sign of his sister in sight, though he knew if she listened hard enough, she would hear the steady flow of water of the shower coming from the room behind them.

Suddenly, a knowing smile curved sweetly against the corners of her lips and she approached with very little caution.

"Wow, I usually avoid tabloid rumours, but I guess it's true." She spoke without introduction, circling like prey, eyes twinkling in amusement.

Michael felt his heart stop, the topic of press gossip always brought the fear of God to him. Then she spoke again and the tension fell straight from his shoulders.

"You and Janet really are the same person. Did you know you're currently wearing your Michael disguise right now?"

That had surely been the last thing he had expected for their first conversation. A burst of genuine laughter left his mouth, nose scrunched in amusement.

"Girl, you play too much." He hummed. "You scared me for a second."

"Really?" She gasped dramatically, coming to a sudden stop only inches away. "Can I get that in writing? I'm putting that bad boy on my resume."

The small distance between them provided Michael with a great view point and he gladly used that to his advantage.

Greedy eyes followed from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, taking in her alluring build and pretty features. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met before, but somehow she seemed to fit into his world.

Changed out of her militarian clothing now, she dressed more for comfort. A slouchy sweater, the neckline cut haphazardly, now sliding down one shoulder, a pair of well loved jeans clung adoringly against her curves, showing them off in the most delicious manner and her feet were dressed in a simple sneaker, like she had no intentions of impressing anyone other than herself.

He liked it.

Visually, he could happily admit, she was the single most interesting human being he had stumbled upon in his thirty one years on earth.

Expressive eyes fell back to her face, softly starring at her exquisite features and it was the one time he saw a break in her otherwise composed demeanor. A small crack as she shuffled on her feet once she caught his heated gaze.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Her voice practically that of a whisper.

"Sorry." Michael began, mentally cursing himself for his own inability to play subtle. "Have we met before?"

"Not in this lifetime." She joked.

Pretty soon, she realised every misconception she had heard of the great Michael Jackson was all baseless. She'd never imagined what it would be like to meet him, but now that she had, she felt herself loose with ease. There was no overbearing arrogance nor anything to truly fear. If anything, he seemed disarmingly normal.

"Huh? What did you say?" Michael breathed out, eyes wide like she held the key to the garden of Eden.

"I'm guessing you don't believe in reincarnation."

"Well, I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness." His voice soft, head tilted slightly to the right. "That wasn't exactly in the books."

"Pity. I've always said when I die, I wanted to come back as some kind of big cat."

This had not been at all what he expected at all. Talks of another life had been far from on his agenda, but it surprised him just how easy the conversation felt.

Soft, obsidian eyes lit with humour, he could barley contain the smile the fell across his lips and why would he want to? He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and it seemed like his intuition was guiding him in the right direction for once in his life.

"A lion?" He played along.

Her eyes flicked up as though in deep thought, but then she shook her head in denial. "I was thinking something more along the lines of a Jaguar."

"Why a Jaguar?" Genuinely interested, Michael hadn't realised how close he was leaning into her orbit.

"They're avid swimmers, you know?" She didn't seem to mind the lack of space between them, happily continuing with the conversation. "I've always liked the water."

"And big cats, I presume."

"Big or small. I don't discriminate." She assured, enjoying the simple conversation they shared. "I've always found myself more akin to the feline species than humanity"

"Well, you certainly have their grace." Michael didn't miss a beat, all too eager to compliment her with a flirty grin. "I saw you dancing earlier."

That comment certainly brought a spark to life. Her eyes gleamed in mischief, alerting Michael that he had unknowingly given her ammunition to taunt him for the rest of eternity if she so desired.

"Watching me, were you?"

Her words were teasing, playfully even and Michael found himself stuttering out a mess of a reply, cheeks brushed with a familiar heat. He'd known this girl for all of two minutes and she was already playing games with him.

"Don't worry." She smiled and despite the look of innocence pressed across her face, there was something else lurking beyond the surface. "I'll keep your secret."

"You can be trusted?" Michael asked, sliding his large hands into the pockets of his black pants.

"More than most."

He laughed, eyes shining bright. "How can I be so sure?"

"Well, I would offer to spit swear, but something tells me you would hate that."

"A spit swear?" Eyebrows knit together in genuine confusion.

"You know, when you're a kid, making promise with your friend, you both spit in your palm and shake hands to seal it."

"That's disgusting." He complained, faced scrunched up at the thought.

"No worse than kissing."

Until that moment, Michael's somewhat shy nature hadn't had much of an opportunity to rear it's head, but the mention of kissing had his mind racing with inappropriate thoughts.

The uninspiring dressing room dissolved before his very eyes, replaced with a sooth white walls, but that wasn't where his focus lay. He wasn't concentrating on the painted brands of aqua blue nor the green lotus blossoms strung beneath the ceiling, not when the object of his affection was so painfully close.

A soft breeze brushed against his arm from the open window, linen curtains stirred carelessly in the unpredictable breeze. Somewhere within the room, a bronze incense burner perfumed the air with myrrh, pleasant, but not overbearing.

Pressed against the wall, he held the greatest prize. His hands settled firmly against her waist, almost possessive in a way while keeping her back against the creamy, white surface. His grip tightened while he crowded her space, so close he could feel a subtle fan of breath, that wasn't his own, against his lips.

The shimmering gold of his attire illuminated her skin in a soft glow and for a beat too long, he could've sworn he was looking an a person far too beautiful to exist in this world.

Beneath the heavy khol surrounding her eyes, there was something fragile laying just under the surface. Something he claimed entirely as his own and not because he took it for himself. No, it was far more meaningful than that. She had handed part of her heart over so willingly, he'd almost broke down at the implications.

"We shouldn't be doing this." She whimpered, but her eyes told him she was exactly where she wanted to be.

"Tell me to go."

She couldn't. Her voice lost in a pathetic attempt to keep keep herself from truly losing composure. Lips curved into a seductive grin, he inched forward, closing the distance between them.

"By the way, you're being extremely rude right now."

Breaking out of his daydream, the very voice from his overactive imagination brought him back to reality.

Only this time, he wasn't pressing against her a wall, she was standing right in front of him and the smell of myrrh had been replaced with a displeasing odour of sweat from the venue they stood in. Her eyes, still devastatingly beautiful and sure to haunt his dreams at night, no longer carried the thick, black eyeliner. In fact, she was barley wearing any make up at all.

He watched as her arms folded carefully over her chest, eyebrows raised as though she had been waiting for an answer and so Michael cleared his throat, trying to keep his compsure.

He wasn't used to being in a room where he wasn't the one with the power.

"I am?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yes." She shrugged. "You're yet to introduce yourself."

His melodic laughter filled the air, eyes bright in a way they hadn't been for at least a week now.

This women had a way to keep him on his toes and even though he was still dazed by his fleeting moments of temporary insanity where the world seemed to slip from his grasp, her taunting seemed to make him forget.

"Well, I just assumed that you knew."

"That's very presumptuous of you."

"Come on." Holding out his arms in faux surrender. "Even if you didn't know the music, I'm Janet's brother."

"Janet has siblings?" Her mouth dropped wide in shock. "That's news to me."

Their joint laughter made waves around the room, a funny kind of openness neither of them had expected settled over the duo and for once, there was no expectations weighing down his shoulders.

Michael could feel the universe granting him peaceful tranquillity in a manner he hadn't experienced for quite some time now. Shuffling on his feet, he found himself craving a closeness he'd heard of through books and film, but had truly never experienced himself.

"Are you always this much trouble?" He asked, eyebrows pinched in concentration.

"No. I'm simply an avid supporter of stranger danger."

"Boy, you don't make things easy." He teased right back, leaning on the balls of his feet and then dropping straight back down. "I'm Michael."

Looking far too smug, a smirk replaced the gentle smile as she eyed him up and down, biting down on her lower lip as if she knew secret he didn't.

"I know."

His mouth dropped, stuttering temporarily in either shock or confusion, he couldn't yet tell. Michael wondered if this is how she always acted around people or if she simply enjoyed tormenting him.

"You just said-"

"I wanted to see you sweat a bit." She cut him off with a small shrug and then offered him her name in return.

Obviously, he had heard it earlier that evening. Janet had spoke it once and Michael recalled uttering it just to prove to himself it was real, that she was real and not just a figment of imagination he's conjured up while watching his sister on stage.

Both times, the name had sounded pretty, but coming from her own tongue, there was something particularly exquisite. Her sweet tone caressed the name in a sinful melody and the alluring accent made it impossible to forget.

With a playful grin of his own, Michael replied back. "I know."

"Oh, do you now?" She was having far too much fun with this. "Are you keeping tabs on me, Mister Jackson?"

Mister Jackson?

He hated it. Too impersonal. Like she either worked for him or saw him as old. Neither option suited hum.

"Michael, please. Mister Jackson makes me sound ancient."

"I'm trying to be a professional here." She admitted. "I call your sister Miss Jackson."

"Well, I'm not my sister."

"So you say, yet here you are, in her dressing room while she's noticeably absent." She teased. "Suspicious."

Without meaning to, they found themselves staring at each other, soft smiles on both of their faces and as time passed, neither of them were witness to it.

Small movement near her neck caused his eyes to flicker downwards where he noticed her fiddling idly with a thin gold chain around her neck. Furrowed brows, Michael attempted to make out the pendant, but found it difficult with her fingers covering the metal.

"What's that?" He asked before really processing.

"Oh, it's just a necklace I've had since I was a kid."

"Can I see?"

"Yeah, sure."

Stepping into his personal space, she graciously extended the gold pendant forward and Michael tried hard to ignore the delicious scent of cinnamon radiating from her body, a sweet treat he certainly had no right to indulge on.

To rid his mind from such thoughts, he cast his gaze down to her palm to find an unfamiliar symbol resting in her hand. A small kind of cross, with a teardrop shaped loop where the upper arm would usually rest.

"It's called the ankh." She spoke without needing any prompting. "From the Ancient Egyptian times."

Her smile was breathtaking, but Michael couldn't stop to appreciate it. Not when he felt his blood run cold. The slips of reality he'd experienced washing him in what felt like a freezing cold shower.

Ancient Egyptian times?

"It's supposed to represent life, immortality and rebirth." She hadn't noticed his void expression and simply continued with her brief history lesson. "In their temple carvings, the ankh is usually depicted in the hands of deities... you know, like Isis, Ra, and Anubis. They would hold it to the lips of kings and pharaohs to offer the breath of eternal life, like a gift."

"It's known as the key of life... or the key of the Nile." She continued, her tone dropped to something just above a whisper. "It depends on who you're talking to, but there's a rich history behind it. At least... that's what I gathered from the history book I checked out years ago."

Her giddiness as she explained her favourite subject was almost infectious. While remaining rightfully cautious to the situation he found himself in, he couldn't deny how his stomach fluttered with butterflies at the enthusiastic tone she spoke with, like she was trusting him with something important.

Michael finally tore his gaze from the gold charm, eyes wide with an emotion he couldn't exactly name.

"How did you get it?"

"It's weird... when I was twelve, it arrived at my door in a small box with my name on." Her eyes glazed over as she recounted the tale. "I thought it might be off one of my friends from school, but no one came forward."

"Why did you put it on?"

"I- I don't know." She admitted with a simple shrug of her shoulders. "When I opened the box, I kind of felt drawn to it, like it belonged to me."

"Have you ever taken it off?"

"No."

Parting his lips to speak, but never getting the opportunity to finish his thoughts, Bill suddenly burst through the door and on instinct, Michael stumbled backwards, creating distance between himself and the women who was now looking over her shoulder towards the intruder with confusion flickered across her soft features.

"Sorry, Sir." Bill and his horrid formalities. "I don't mean to interrupt, but a crowd has formed outside the venue. They must have heard about you being backstage. We need to get you and Miss Jackson out immediately."

"Right now?" Michael protested, eyes moving between his head of security and the girl he was trying to unravel like a mystery.

"Afraid so, if we want to avoid a stampede."

"I was kind of in the middle of something, Bill."

Disregarding the protest in Michael's voice, Bill charged forward and knocked on the door leading to the showers. "Miss Jackson, please hurry. We need to get you out of here."

During the commotion, Michael's eyes moved back to her frame and watched as she carefully tucked her necklace back beneath the neckline of her sweater as though she'd already resigned herself to the idea that their conversation was over and Michael felt the panic begin to rise.

He didn't want the moment to end.

And it wasn't just the feeling tugging him towards her, but for the first time in a long time. he'd finally spoken to a stranger who hadn't treated him like a deity. She'd smiled and spoke in full sentences, even teasing him when the moment felt right and Michael couldn't recall the last time he'd met an adult who treated him so perfectly ordinary despite the intense level of his fame.

"Don't worry about it. I should be going anyway." Offering a small smile, she was already moving towards the door. "My friend, Tina is probably wondering what happened to me."

Ignoring everything else happening in the room, Michael barley flinched as Janet entered the room, finally expelling any rumours they were the same person, he was entirely too focused on not letting this girl slip from his grasp now that he'd met her.

It had only been a short conversation, but his mind and body craved so much more.

"Wait." He called out before she reached for the door. "Can I have your number?"

A burst a soft laughter hit him in square in the chest, her eyes full of mischief, daring him to step closer.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I'm currently following your sister around this wonderful planet as she tours the world." She hummed in amusement.

Giving him her number would be of no use when she wasn't in her apartment to pick up the phone.

The sudden realisation hit Michael like a bullet and disappointment quickly followed.

"You can have my lucky number if that helps."

"Oh yeah?" He hummed with a sad smile. "And what would that be?"

"Seven."

An audible gasp fell from his lips, already wide eyed and looking on in wonder, Michael felt himself practically dancing on his feet.

"No kidding. That's mine too."

"Wow, we must be soulmates." She teased, completely obvious to how those words affected him.

Somewhere within the depths of the dressing room, Bill was ushering Janet into her coat as she watched the scene play out like her favourite soap opera. Watching Michael become totally enamoured by a woman he hardly knew. It was comical if she really thought about it for too long and she knew if she told their siblings, like she planned on doing, they would never allow him to live this down.

Completely unaware of the prying eyes, Michael knew he had to talk again before she left. She was slipping from his grasp and although his next question probably sounded completely foolish to anyone else, he needed answers.

With his feet drawing him closer, Michael nervously began to tap his foot, coming to a stop once he found himself in front of her.

"What you said earlier..." he began, taking a deep, shaky breath before he could continue. "do you actually believe in reincarnation?"

He looked at her with wide doe-eyes and she felt the moment her heart ached for him. Only used to knowing him as a man that dominated the music scene, seeing him almost vulnerable was hard to shake.

"I don't like to rule things out." She confessed.

"Do you think we could have... I don't know, met in another life?" Saying it out loud felt wrong, like he was outing himself as a crazy person before she even knew him.

If any press got hold of this story, they'd never let it go, using it as written ammunition to lock him away in an insane asylum for simply being curious.

Then something stranger happened. Her eyes softened, a small curve tilting against the edge of his mouth making it painful obvious that she wasn't judging him at all.

"No. I would definitely remember you... and not just from a tv screen." She assured, smiling fully at the hopeful gleam in his eye as she reached for the handle. "Have a nice night, Mister Jackson."

"It's Michael." He called out.

"Sure thing, Mister Jackson."

She left with a teasing grin, the door shut tight, hiding her retreating figure like she had never been there to begin with.

But she had.

He could still feel the effect her presence held over him, pulling him into her orbit like he belonged there.

The next few hours of his life passed by in a hazy kind of blur.

Michael didn't remember the ridiculously, intense rush back to his car, he couldn't picture Bill's face in the mirror as they discussed getting into the hotel through the back entrance and he certainly hadn't memorised Janet's particularly creative taunts when they met up in her room later that evening.

He did remember half heatedly settling down on the lavish sofa, watching some kind of vague attempt at a comedy movie, but the plot had been forgotten fifteen minutes in. He hadn't laughed once, even if Janet's roaring howls had made him jump once or twice.

Shovelling fist fulls of popcorn in his mouth, Michael had somehow made the poor decision to substitute a substantial meal for the sweet treat, but he found himself happy with that choice.

It wasn't often he was able to spend such an extended period of time in the presence of any of his siblings these days. Getting some one on one time with his sister meant more to him than he could put into words. Janet was still winding down from the adrenaline of the show and Michael chronically had trouble sleeping, so staying awake late into the night was pretty standard for him anyway.

They reminisced about childhood, how Michael would somehow still find creative ways to spend his time even when he was busy. Janet poked fun at the days he would use up all his allowance to buy candy at the store and then ended up giving it to kids in the neighbourhood.

Similarly, Michael joked about how Janet would often cry into their mothers loving arms whenever she learned that he andd his brothers would have to leave for an extended period of time to perform.

The company took his mind mostly away from the events of the day, but lurking beneath, the presence of sharp lines and khol rimmed eyes taunted his memory.

When quite moments passed between them, he was haunted by the phantom sound of laughter, the smile curved against pink lips he swore were familiar. He tried to ignore it to the best of his abilities, but there was something screaming he had forgotten something important.

He tried to shrug it off, he didn't get her number. She wouldn't be around much these days anyway and maybe that was for the best. Convinced he'd never see her again anyway, he really tried hard not to dwell on the situation. After all, she was just one dancer amongst hundreds he had encountered in the industry. Their paths wouldn't intertwine again and while that should have brought some comfort, for some reason, that thought left him unsettled.

Eventually, both he and Janet decided to call it a night and Michael was ushered up to his own room by Bill, who watched him with careful eyes. In no mood for anymore conversation, exhausted with the weight of the day, Michael politely thanked the older man before he entered his suite and carefully got ready for bed.

Slipping under the covers, he dreaded the long waited horror that was the desperate longing for sleep. It had never come naturally for him, less so since the Pepsi incident, but for once, the world seemed to grant him a small mercy.

He didn't know when he'd closed his eyes. He'd barley laid his head against the pillow before his consciousness slipped from under him.

From the darkness bloomed sound. Vibrant and divine, as though trying to reach a source much higher than any mere mortal could possibly reach.

Tall, stringed instruments. Beautiful, curved and standing at least three feet tall, plucked with such conviction, even the most cynical human being would have felt the emotion behind the captivating melody.

One particular wind instrument carried it's own hypnotic cadence. Crafted from reeds, the soft breathy tone floated through the air and into the hearts of a captivated crowd.

Framed drums, played in large part by artful women, created a trance like rhythm, the very backbone of the sound echoing through the land.

Capable of comforting the dead, honour the Gods, or stiring up divine emotion, out here, melody had a meaning. Music was believed to awaken the Gods, calm chaotic forces and guide the souls through the afterlife.

Crowds of people sang along in a sweet melody, words conveying humble hymns, each syllable was sang with desire. And who was this particular celebration for? Hathor: Goddess of music, fertility and joy.

The words suddenly bloomed to life around him. Tall, flamed torches offering a light source, bouncing off the stone cylinder columns ahead. A community gathered close by, celebrating happily in the midst of a festival, the white linen of their clothing washed in the soft yellow hue of a burning flame.

Walls were painted in rich pigments, turquoise, gold and black standing out to the untrained eye. Carved relics stood taller than a single man could ever dream, beautiful and purposeful in design. A joyful atmosphere surged through the air, scented faintly with the salt of the Nile. Greeted with a soft breeze, the evening descended, but the celebrations had only just began.

Strangers walked by, laughing with one another as friends do, drinking merrily while approaching merchant stores set up specifically for this occasion.

The city was alive, not just with music, but with hope. People were conversing and eating together, others happily captivated by a local magician. All the while the music never once stopped, playing out like a euphoric bass track for the night that lay ahead.

Misery has been his greatest ally since arriving in Memphis only two days ago. He didn't belong, he knew that.

No one knew his name. They didn't care. He wasn't important. A simple outsider who felt as though he was overstaying his welcome. He had planned of heading straight back home. Honest, he had.

Then he heard news of the festivities taking place and had been unable to resist temptation.

Children ran past in excitement, smiles stretched wide on their youthful faces and soon any trace of ice he held in his heart melted away at the mere listenings of their whimsical cheers. So innocent. Untouched by any cruelty of the world. Brief hope swelled in his heart that with any luck, they could stay that way.

Not searching for anything in particular, his feet carried him along with an enthusiastic crowd, the flames of nearby torches licking at his skin with a persistent heat. The weather was already overwhelmingly humid, but not a single soul complained about the added warmth.

His senses were overwhelmed. Music swelled, loud chatter, the smell of the river, the sandy texture against his soles and the taste of kyphi hit his tongue from an incense burning consistently to sooth the watchful deities.

Consumed by the magnitude of the event, he almost turned around and left and if he could have found his way out of the crowd, he very well might have. However, bodies surrounded him made finding an escape route feel like an impossible task.

Eyes moved rapid, as if searching for a way out, but amongst the surge of bodies and the hypnotic sound pulling him into a peaceful kind of acceptance, he was granted sight of something impossibly holy.

His shifted attention drifted across the temple courtyard, captivated by the sight of a small group of women, all dressed in a similar fashion: airy white linen, gold cuffs closed around their biceps, turquoise jewels embedded against the metal with their hair cascading down, over their shoulders, decorated with small beads which shined entrancingly with every step.

Precise feet moved with an impressive cadence, elegant and full, not a single move out of time or place. They danced as though one with the music, alluring and dangerous all at once.

On lookers watched, others cheered with every distinctive shuffle or rhythmic twirl. For one easy moment, he focused on the performance, impressed not only by the skill, but the impressive use of synchronisation.

These women must have practiced day and night and even more thrilling, they actually seemed to love what they were doing.

A soft kind a smile tugged unceremoniously against the corners of his mouth, their joy almost contagious. He carefully eyed the women one by one, watching in wonder with each new face that caught his gaze.

So in tune with the music, he hardly noticed when his fingers began to tap against the charcoal color of his hip and he certainly didn't notice when they came to an abrupt halt.

Across the courtyard, he caught sight of a face that blinded him to any other. She moved as one with the other dancers, but they faded into darkness once his sights settled on her soft features.

So focused on her next move, she paid no mind to the watchful eyes, far too happy to be participating in the ceremonial dance to even bother acknowledging anything else happening beyond the boarders of the space she'd created for herself to move so freely. She could have been anywhere, with anyone and her body would still shift with the gift the Gods had so kindly blessed upon her.

His heart unexpectedly turned painfully in his chest, his lungs screaming for him to come to his senses and breath once more, as it seemed like he'd forgotten anything that wasn't her.

His mind was running with a thousand thoughts, telling him something he wasn't quite ready to process just yet and without realising he'd opened his mouth at all, he whispered so quite, only he could hear.

"I know you."

In fact, he knew nothing. Not the sound of her voice, not the way she felt, not even her name. And despite the odds being stacked again him, still, his soul reached out, practically claiming her as his own. Tying an invisible string so tight sound her orbit, he physically stumbled just to keep up.

She was pretty.

Beautiful, even.

Anyone with eyes could have made that assumption.

Perfect features, gentle eyes and the kind of smile that beamed brighter than the midday sun. The sweltering heat had left her body dewy with a glittering sheen, and somehow even as she sweat, she still looked like she wasn't made for this world.

Even though, yes, he was attracted to her, something else pulled him in.

A sense of familiarity. The kind of epiphany people only came to when the find the person who is going to change their destiny forever. Fate be damned, she was something else.

Desperate to know more than what was presented before him, he managed to tear his eyes from her delicatable form for a few minutes, just enough time to catch sight of one of the elders.

Her greying hair and withered lined face looking like that of tree bark from a life well lived. Kind eyes lit with happiness as she joyfully clapped along with the crowd. Those beside her offered smiles, stepping aside each time she inched forward as a sign of respect for someone her age.

She eyed the women with a gleam of knowing, nodding her head in acknowledgement at one of the women dancing in the group turned towards her and smiled wide.

"You know these women?" The question was out of his mouth before he knew he had said anything at all and for a moment, he really considered throwing himself into the flame and allowing the heat to consume him.

With a graceful turn of her head, she eyed the stranger and upon seeing the curious nature of his gaze, a gentle, comforting smile graced her aged features.

"I do." She spoke matter-of-fact and she took note of his fading attention. The way in which he desperately attempted to keep his focus on her, but those dark eyes refused to cooperate.

Coffee stained optics constantly flickering back towards the group, zoning in of one girl in particular. He couldn't help it, he was entranced and she could see it so vividly, she almost pitied him.

"Do I even need to ask which beauty has captivated your vision?"

How easily she had read him and briefly, his voice caught in his throat. Cheeks heated and flared, but the kind understanding of her gaze prevented any further embarrassment.

"No, I suppose not." He laughed somewhat awkwardly, tearing his gaze from her to look around where he noticed something inevitable. "It seems I'm not the only one vying for her attention."

Creaking laughter reached his ears, not cruel or mocking, simply knowing the circumstances in which he found himself. He turned back towards the older women, a small, pitiful smile on both their faces.

"Regrettably, that holds some truth." Nodding, she turned her attention back to the dancers. "She's rather popular around here."

"Her name?"

Noise roared around them, too much to consider in one breath, but the absence of her voice was more than noticeable. Flicking his nervous gaze to the ground, shadowed with insecurity, he thought to himself that she must find him unworthy of the younger women's time.

Only, that wasn't the case at all.

The elder looked at him with such interest, taking in his stance, the idle tap of his foot and the inconsequential manner in how he held himself. He was nothing of note right now, but she knew one day, crowds would gather far and wide for a simple glimpse.

Just as he gave up hope of discovering the name, the gentle hum of perfectly formed syllables hit him like a shot to the heart. His stomach bloomed with warmth, breath caught from under him.

A doe-eyed gaze turned back to the performance and he quickly realised that yes, that name suited her well.

"Her mother passed many moons ago. She too, was a performer. A singer to be specific." Offering more information he hadn't expected, she didn't fail to notice the way he leaned closer to learn more about the women who had captivated his senses.

"Her father is over there." Nodding in his direction, he followed her focus and their eyes caught sight of a stern looking man who never once turned his attention from the dance. "He supervises the ceremonial performances. A good family, strong. The Priests here hold her in high regard, all the Nobels know of her."

"And the Pharaoh?" He couldn't help but ask.

"It'd difficult to assume. He may not know her at all." She continued. "Although I find that hard to believe. Who's to say where his desires lie?"

A twinge of jealousy prickled beneath his skin at just the implication and he hated himself for it. She wasn't his. She had never so much as looked in his direction.

So why did the idea of another swooping in and knocking her off her feet cause so much pain?

The pretty melody continued around them, for a moment he allowed the sound to wash over him, swaying cautiously with the rhythm once it hit him deliberately. He understood the love for dance, why she looked so elated to be part of the performance.

It wasn't a simple movement. Dancing was an art form. Storytelling in a very specific manner, which people would either understand or be completely ignorant towards. He saw the beauty in it. Delicate lines of her body, the arch of her waist. She was a performer and he was completely at her mercy.

Deciding he was not yet finished with the conversation, he leaned back, lips close to the older women's ear while speaking in a shy tone.

"If I presented myself to her, do you think she would pay me any mind?"

"I don't see why she wouldn't." The women responded rather quickly, eyes ablaze in knowing mischief. "Handsome boy like you."

Heat rushed to his cheeks, the compliment unexpected, but appreciated. Even still, uncertainty crept up. There was so much to take into consideration that went beyond the longing burning within.

"I don't know if I should." Rubbing the back of his neck, he kicked the sandy ground beneath his feet. "I won't be here this time tomorrow."

Grey eyebrows pinched in confusion, but despite her age, her eyes were still somehow entirely youthful and they gazed at him as though they could see through his soul.

"Why should that matter?"

"Would it not be a waste of her time?"

"Is that not for her to decide?" She laughed. "The Gods have funny ways of bringing people together."

Assuming the words of encouragement to be nothing more than a simple push directed at him to seek out the women he so desired, he couldn't help but find the wording particular peculiar.

His eyes wandered once more, catching sight of her gleaming eyes and soft grin. She moved with the grace of someone not of this earth. So alluring, yet entirely human all at once. A perfect walking contradiction and he felt the familiar depth of longing build within.

She wasn't something shiny or new he wanted to buy and keep out of sight. His soul called her name and he believed hers reciprocated. It was a tale as old as time, but until now, he had never believed in it, had never wanted someone to this magnitude.

Yearning for affection, craving her company, he'd never felt so out of odds.

How does one approach the women who had the ability to change your world forever?

"What should I say?" He hummed absentmindedly, hoping desperately for some guidance.

Greeted with nothing but the echoed thump of tactical drumming, he managed to rip his gaze from the very women he knew would haunt his dreams, only to find the space beside him empty.

Like the elder had never been there in the first place, the ghost of her memory left him feeling perplexed. The space was still closed in, bodies pressed tight together along the foreground.

How on earth had she left without him noticing the struggle? He could have helped. He would have helped.

Evidently, she hadn't needed it.

Thinking it be wise not to dwell on the sudden disappearance, less it drive him crazy, he allowed the uneasy feeling go and focused his full attention ahead.

The ceremonial performance continued, beautiful women creating art with breathtaking persission. The jewels they trusted to be their own gleamed beneath the flames, burning brighter than any sun.

There she stood, dead centre, standing tall and proud while moving with a delicate grace. How could one women be responsible for captivating the hearts of an entire city? She had a way of making him feel like it was just the two of them, that mischievous gleam in her eyes told him she knew everyone was watching her and she dared them to find another sight even half as alluring as she was.

As the festival continued on, on lookers grew. Cheerful exclamations of a good time had could be heard far and wide, proof that a community could easily come together and enjoy life rather than allow their difference to divide them.

As all good things do, eventually, it had to come to an end. With the music dying down and the sound of heavy footsteps making their leave, he couldn't force himself to go.

Not without at least attempting communication.

Stepping forward, he allowed the moon to guide his way, joining to flickering orange flame to carve a path just for him in his mission find the women who had turned his life inside out on sight alone.

It wasn't hard.

Much like him, she hadn't willed herself away either.

Once the dancing commenced, he had lost her in the crowd. A sea of bodies made it impossible to locate her when everything was so busy, but now that things had started to slow down, he caught sight of the white linen of her skirt, the shine of her golden cuffs and he knew he was in the right place.

Still, he paused.

As much as he wished he had the confidence to cross the courtyard and strike up a conversation, his nerves got the best of him. So he did exactly as he had all night, he watched.

Peering unexpectedly behind a tall, white column, he fixed his gaze on her as she crouched down to the height of a child to stoke the jet black hair of a little boy, whispering softly in his ear and giggling as the child grinned wide.

The child seemed to hold some affection for this women, something he could relate to and then without warning, the little boy ran as fast as his legs could carry him and he watched as the child leaped into, what he assumed must be his father's arms before the two of them walked off.

Flickering his wandering gaze back to her form, he watched for a minute of two as she began to help with the cleaning process. No one else had really bothered, but she moved carefully, collecting whatever waste she could find.

Her body stopped, her back towards him and so naturally, it took him by surprise when he heard her call out.

"If you're going to watch, you might as well come closer."

His heart stopped beating. It must have because he froze still. At first, he refused to believe she was addressing him in any manner but once he was brave enough to look around and realise there was no one near, he knew the truth.

He'd been caught, like some kind of pervert, he had been found watching her with utter adoration. Dishevelled embarrassment washed over him, mixed with a hint of shame. How could he be so stupid?

Of course she would notice some strange man lurking around corners.

Giving up his hiding spot, he shuffled out from behind the column, lips turned up into a small, awkward smile.

"I-I'm sorry." Stuttering like a fool, he could've hit himself for how pathetic he felt.

Chancing a look over her shoulders, he was taken back to find not disgust etched against her pretty features, but instead, she looked rather curious. Soft lips curved into a small smile had been the saving grace which prevented him from running with his tail between his legs.

"You're not as subtle as you may think." She continued, voice as smooth as honey. Her eyes lit with something playful he couldn't name and soon she turned fully so he was greeted with her whole charm rather than just the back of it. "I could feel your eyes on me the entire performance."

Lost for words, he found himself stuttering without forming a complete sentence. How had she known?

Was it possible she had caught his eye without him acknowledging it? Surly not. He'd barley looked from her. Had she reciprocated the glance, he would've noticed. She was impossible to ignore.

Clearing his throat, hands clasped in front, he looked at her through his dark lashes and awkwardly kicked the ground beneath him. "You knew I was watching?"

"No." She spoke clearly, laughing softly under her breath. "Not until right now."

A dramatic gasp tore through his throat, faux shock edged with humour. He felt his eyes widen and then he offered a half smile. "You tricked me."

"You made it easy." She countered, eyebrows arched as if to challenge him, but he held his tongue and her face softened significantly. "Well, I hope you had a nice evening."

"I did... thank you."

As she moved to continue with her work, picking up pieces of broken pottery, shredded palm fibres, woven reed mats, baskets and lotus flowers, all of which had been used for serving food and wrapping offering for the festival.

With ease, she walked with a grace he didn't know could exist within humanity, it was something he had only noticed in the feline variety that occasionally roamed the streets they walked upon. His heart beat fast when she glanced over at him, hands half full, but showing no signs of stopping.

"Would it be okay for me to help?" He asked, lifting his head, allowing his doe-eyed gaze to settle against her own. "Maybe we could get to know each other while we work."

The soft orange glow of the torchlights flickered across her face, painting her skin in a faint yellow luminosity, somehow complimenting her complexion without washing her out. She stood still, fingers curled around a lotus petal and with the way she fluttered her eyes, once, twice, he figured she must have been weighing up the pros and cons.

With his heart practically leaping from his chest, he couldn't help put take note of how she held herself, not with arrogance, but an air of confidence that comes along with people knowing your name.

"I'd like that." She replied, her voice impossibly soft, so sure of the words she spoke.

Her lingering gaze made him nervous, but he forced his legs forwards, less he mess up and entirely ruin the opportunity presented to him.

Stepping close, he felt the warmth of her body as he brushed past. Reaching down, he picked up one of the stray baskets, placed it beneath her palm and watched as she gently laid the litter inside. "Do you often find yourself on clean up duty?" He found himself questioning, wondering how a well admired dancer like her would end the night this way.

"Someone has to." She confessed, her voice quiet now that they stood close together, almost touching, but maintaining a good distance. "After all, you don't enter paradise should you pollute the Nile."

Lips quirked into a small grin, he found himself nodding in complete agreement. "Well, I wouldn't want to harm your chances at paradise, so thank you for allowing me to help."

"It's only fair... you were watching me all right, after all." The cadence of her voice verge on a sultry undertone, teasing in a way that assured she knew exactly what game she was playing.

The two worked together, picking up tiny bits of debris they would find staining the floor of the city. In the not too far distance, people lingered, but unless they really strained to hear it, they could pretend it didn't exist.

Here in the idyllic part of Memphis, they'd been granted their own slice of heaven. A gentle breeze cut through the humid air and they were lucky enough to still have the wondrous gift of light. The night time bugs seemed to be respectfully keeping their distance and the heavy incense from earlier in the evening had now faded, leaving only a hint of luxury behind.

Deciding to swallow his pride, he looked up from beneath his lashes from where he'd been crouched near the floor, inspecting the ground for anything either of them might have missed. "I'm certain you have heard this a lot, but you were wonderful out there tonight?" His tone gentle and raw with honesty.

"I should hope so." She spoke not to boast about her performance, but with genuine desire to reach her full potential. "I would hate to be the one out of step. I fear the girls would never forgive me and Hathor would curse me for a thousand lifetimes if I dared to embarrass her." While presented as a joke, there were echoed of uncertainty in her tone, moments of insecurity she tried not to show. With a shy glance, she placed her own basket down and brushed her hair back. "Thank you." Sincere and honest, her eyes could never lie.

When he looked towards her, he suddenly didn't feel any echoes of shyness that had previously plagued him. He smiled, wide and true. "You're most welcome."

"You have a very beautiful smile." He flushed at her words, but she mainly said it for herself, as if she could document his beauty for a lifetime if she spoke it out loud. "You're new around here."

With furrowed brows, he stood to his full height and allowed a half humoured scoff to pass his lips. She was truly a fascinating sight to behold. She spoke with such certainty and as they both worked to rid the street of any mess, he couldn't help but feel like this is exactly where he was supposed to be.

"How can you be so sure?"

She didn't miss a beat, side eyeing him as she continued her self given duties. "I'm good with faces and I would certainly recognise yours had I seen it before." Her tone smooth and certain, like she was presenting a fact without realising her words had knocked the wind from his lungs.

It was brief, the way his heart settled with an overwhelming warmth, as if it recognised the beauty of her soul. He stepped forward and had to physically refrain from reaching out to touch her.

"What does that mean?" He asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"You have particularly striking features." Her lips curved into coy grin. "You'd be hard to forget."

She really had to stop saying stuff like that or else he feared for the state of his heart. It was too early for him to be greeted in the afterlife, he barley knew her yet.

"You think so?"

"I know it." Confident in her assumption, she didn't hesitate to step forward, closing in on his boundaries as she reached for the basket, her hand brushed against his, eliciting a shaky breath and he wondered if she felt the burnt of a spark brush her skin too. "But if it's not too bold, I must ask, are you always this rude?"

Blinking once, twice, his brows pinched together until he couldn't help but laughed at the insinuating. "Pardon? How have I been rude?"

He'd never seen eyes twinkle like stars in the sky, but hers certainly did.

"You're yet to introduce yourself." She persisted, eyeing him from head to toe. "Wouldn't you consider that rude?"

"Well, you might have a point." He laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

After a pleasant exchange of names, the distance between them grew even smaller and he discovered relatively quickly that he enjoyed the taste of her name on his tongue.

"I wasn't the only one watching you tonight." He pointed out, knowing every well that he would be pushing his luck with the next words that left his mouth. "With every man captivated by your very presence, I wouldn't be surprised if you had lover to call your own."

The implications sat heavy in the air, so vivid, he could almost reach out and touch it if he tried hard enough.

She didn't flinch, she didn't so much as stutter, but she did arch a defined brow and allow the beginnings of a smirk to form on her tempting mouth.

"That's very presumptuous of you."

"Are you telling me I'm wrong?' He fired back.

"I'm telling you you have no business prying into my life." But as she said it, there was no real bite. If anything, she looked humoured by his inquisition and maybe a little worried if he looked hard enough. "However, I would hate for you to leave thinking I've tied myself to another."

With both their hands to clasped to the weaved handle of the basket, he boldly shifted an inch and allowed his fingers to fully encapsulate hers, heart thumping rapid when she looked from beneath dark lashes towards him and used her thumb to gently stroke his exposed flesh.

"Why would you hate for me to think such things?" He asked, desperate for more than this.

She hesitated and for a brief pause in time, he saw a minuscule crack in the confident amour she wore so proud.

Biting her lower lip, she cast her gaze downwards to where their hands met and then caught his doe-eyes looking directly back at her, silently cursing the Gods for ever allowing a man so beautiful to roam so freely.

"Would it be too crude to admit that you might have caught my eye as much as I've caught yours?"

He almost choked on his own saliva.

Now he wasn't a fool. Somewhat naive when it came to situations involving the opposite sex, but never idiotic. If only this women were someone else, he would manage to get through a conversation without feeling constantly flustered every time she opened her mouth.

"How so?"

"I can't explain so much with words." She admitted, almost shy, which was strange to hear from her mouth. "It's a feeling I have, which must sound practically foolishly now that I think about it."

"It doesn't. Not to me." He spoke eagerly, heart on high alert that she could very much be feeling just as he did. However, she was far too beautiful, far too talented and charismatic. "You really don't have a lover of your own?"

"No, Sir. I do not."

"You tell the truth?" His voice impossibly soft.

"On the name of Ma'at, I would never tell a lie." Holding a hand to her chest, she made a vow and then sighed, willing to be more honest than she owed. "Men have tried. To say they haven't would be dishonest, but I have never reciprocated their affection."

Even the thought of another man feeling as though they were entitled to have her as the main attraction of their perverted desires was enough to make him see red.

She deserved more than that. He knew how men thought, how they treated women when they should've been held on a higher ground. To him, her gender was the closest they had to Gods in the mortal realms.

"No?" He shakily asked, adams apple bobbing in his throat. "Why not?"

"I want to be loved for who I am, not admired due to my reflection."

"And who are you?" He asked, desperate for the answer.

"Well, that's the thing." She admitted, wide eyed and almost vulnerable. "I'm still trying to figure that out."

"Perhaps I could help." Eager and unapologetic, he didn't care how insane it sounded. He wanted to be the one by her side and he would do anything to make that a reality.

"Yes..." she began, smiling the most sincere smile she'd offered all night. "I think I would like that."

He reciprocated the grin, squeezing her fingers with his own and attempting not to look away when heat rose to his cheeks.

Unable to maintain eye contact, he eventually cast his gaze upwards to the inky black sky, the stars visible with the lack of clouds as though their beauty could mirror that of the shared moment.

"It a beautiful night."

"Yes." Nodding, she removed her hand from under his, but only so she was given more freedom to stand beside him and glance towards the heavens. "The Gods have been generous this season."

Everything was perfect, almost disarmingly so. He couldn't have wished for a better way to have spent his time, but reality was beginning to settle in and he knew he couldn't stay long.

"I should leave soon." He confessed, disappointment etched into each word and his heart cracked as her face fell. "I'm expected to arrive back home tomorrow."

"Why so?"

"I'm needed." He confessed with a heavy sigh. Dropping the basket between their feet, he turned towards her and this time didn't hesitate to intertwine finger, revealing in the marvellous smile she rewarded him with as he did so. "Don't worry, you'll see me again."

"How do I know that to be true?"

This had been their first meeting and for all they knew, their last.

It wasn't as though they knew each other well enough to find one another in the future, but he was determined.

He would not allow her to slip from his grasp.

"The Nile does not fail to return." He spoke with reassurance.

"The Nile is trustworthy." She argued.

A grin appeared on his lips, dimples on full display. "Are you saying I'm not?" He almost teased.

"I don't know you well enough to have the answers your seeking."

"You will do." Spoken like a promise he needed her to believe. "I can assure you, this won't be the last time you see me."

"Will you come back?"

He's never witnessed eyes so large, full of hope, but ready for disappointment. Her words would surely light a fire beneath him and carry him straight back to her once the stars lined up.

"When the flood returns, so will I."

"How long will it take you to get home?" Her voice quiet, her palm squeezed his own. "You'll be safe, won't you? I believe I heard the Priests speaking of a particularly nasty storm brewing."

"Then pray the overseer is in a forgiving mood."

She did so, with an elegant grace, she lifted up on her toes and gave a soft press of her lips to his cheek.

Time paused. Despite nightfall, the world had never felt so bright. He wouldn't be able to forget this. The memory of her lips, the gift she'd bestowed on him would keep him alive until they were reunited once again and he vowed to himself that he would not rest until that happened.

"May the Gods favor your journey and bring you back to me when the times right." She spoke one final time.

Unwilling to bare the sight of watching him leave, he was forced to observe her as she lifted the basket he had dropped and turned her back towards him, disappearing into the night and taking half his heart with her.

Not that he minded, she could have it. He trusted her to take good care of it until they met again.

A fluttering of lashes tickled his cheek, bright sunlight burning his eyes once he braved a chance at opening them fully.

Michael turned to his side, the mattress solid beneath him and the digital clock on the bedside table was proof enough that he'd slept the entire night for the first time in what felt like forever.

A foggy haze lifted and the dream his mind had conjured suddenly had him shooting up from where he lay, pacing the floor in confusion.

Vivid images of a time long since past, white linen dressed and playful grins.

And it hadn't just been anyone.

It had been her.

Janet's dancer.

Head in hand, Michael let out a muffled scream.

He was totally, unequivocally screwed.

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