Venusian

[mikaylajacksonnn]

unpopular opinion but angst with a happy ending is better than fluff.. i love love LOVE IT

[iheartpinktulipsxo]

michael jackson bambi moodboard ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[lady-in-your-life]

[taaaaurumeshal]

Dag El Galb for you MJ 🤍

All my arab girlies enjoy 😉

@fleurjasmi hope you like this one <3

[taaaaurumeshal]

These MJ fanfics are giving me life rn, please don’t stop writing them ❤️‍🩹

[taaaaurumeshal]

Kindred Spirits

Hi moonwalkers,

i came up with this story while laying down during a massage session.

Summary : In 1983, Michael Jackson ducks into a record store craving peace—and meets a mysterious stranger who changes everything. One quiet night under the stars, a rare, soulful connection sparks. (Fluff, cute and sweet, cozy conversations, magical, soulmate chemistry, kissing, louie the llama)

The brass bell above the record store door chimed softly, cutting through the low hum of afternoon chatter. Michael barely noticed.

He stood tucked away in the soul section, his baseball cap pulled low and dark sunglasses shielding his eyes. He wasn't trying to be aloof; he just craved ten minutes of ordinary peace. Ten minutes without the breathless screams or the heavy weight of staring eyes. The store owner, a kind man who understood the value of a quiet moment, knew exactly who he was and graciously pretended not to.

Michael flipped through the vinyl sleeves absentmindedly, his mind drifting, until a soft huff of frustration caught his attention nearby.

"Seriously? Again?"

He glanced over the top of his sunglasses. A young woman stood in front of the rock section, hands planted firmly on her hips. She looked to be right around his age, dressed in a simple, perfectly pressed cream blouse tucked into dark jeans. There wasn’t a single wrinkle anywhere; everything about her projected a neat, comforting sense of organization.

She sighed, brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, and muttered to herself, "No Beatles. Not here either."

Michael smiled despite himself. Breaking his own silence felt easy, drawn in by the quiet, completely casual nature of her frustration. He let his sunglasses slip down just a fraction.

"Looking for something specific?"

She turned to face him. For a split second, Michael instinctively braced himself for the inevitable reaction. He waited for the wide eyes, the sharp gasp, the trembling hands, and the eventual scream.

Instead, she just looked at him with an easy, pleasant expression. "Oh. Hi."

Just... hi.

Michael choked back a laugh, thoroughly amused by the utter lack of drama. "Hi."

She studied his face for a quiet second, tilting her head. "You look familiar."

"Do I?" he asked, his voice dropping into a gentle, playful lilt.

"Yeah." A beat passed between them, wrapped in the comforting smell of old paper and vinyl. Then, she shrugged it off with a smile. "Anyway, do you know if they keep rare records somewhere else in this place?"

Michael blinked, utterly charmed by how quickly she moved past his face. No screaming. No frantic scramble for an autograph. Nothing. "A Beatles record?"

"Yeah." She held up a small, neatly handwritten list. "I've been to four stores already today."

Michael leaned closer to glance at the paper, catching the faint scent of vanilla. "'Abbey Road.'"

"Exactly."

"I actually have that one," Michael said softly.

"You do?"

"At home."

She offered a small, pleasant smile. "Lucky you."

Michael found himself staring, captivated. He offered a tentative, shy grin. "I'm Michael, by the way."

She looked at him again, and this time, a sudden spark of true recognition lit up her eyes. "Oh." A small, beautifully warm smile crossed her face, a hint of genuine awe softening her expression. "Michael Jackson."

"That’s usually the reaction," he murmured.

She smiled back, her voice light and musical. "I just didn't expect to run into you here."

Michael stepped a little closer, his chest swelling with a quiet, happy amusement. She wasn't shaking or panicking. She was just standing there, looking at him like a regular person.

"I’ve seen your interviews," she added, her tone sincere and sweet. "You seem really nice."

Michael’s eyes softened beneath his sunglasses. Nice. It was such a simple, gentle word, but to him, it felt like a warm blanket on a cold day. For someone whose life was rapidly turning into a whirlwind of global fame, being called "nice" without any hidden motives was the most refreshing thing he had heard for a while. 

He just nodded, letting a soft smile do the talking.

"You're obviously incredibly talented," she added, her eyes smiling gently as she gestured back toward the record racks. "But if you have a minute... do you think you could help me find this album? I'm completely lost in this section."

Michael couldn’t help but to smile softly. He loved this. No nerves, and absolutely no trying to impress him. Just a normal, wonderfully genuine conversation.

"What if I told you I could solve your problem?" he asked, a sudden spark of boldness hitting him.

"The Beatles problem?"

"Yeah. You could come over and listen to my copy." The invitation tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think to filter it.

Her eyebrows rose slightly. There was no wild excitement, no immediate gasp of victory. Just genuine, thoughtful consideration. "That’s really nice of you. But I'm actually pretty busy this weekend. Projects. Work deadlines, you know how it goes."

Michael's smile widened, entirely endeared. He suppressed a soft chuckle. He couldn't remember the last time someone had turned down an invitation from him because of paperwork, but he found it completely magnificent.

"So, when are you free?" he pressed gently.

"Saturday, maybe. Depends on how much I get done."

Michael just stared at her, a soft, helpless sort of warmth spreading across his face. He didn't ask her why, or try to convince her, or question how she could possibly prioritize deadlines over him. He just drank in the absolute novelty of it. She never really cared that he was the biggest star in the world. She just saw a cool guy with a genuine charm.

He smiled softly, stepping a little closer. "Tell you what."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek silver pen. Seeing this, the store owner slid a clean scrap receipt across the counter with a knowing nod. Michael took it, quickly scribbled a number on the back, and handed it to her. It was his personal, private line—the one almost nobody had.

She looked down at the numbers, then folded the paper neatly and slipped it securely into her purse. "I'll call if I have time."

"I'll make sure I'm free all day Saturday," Michael countered softly, his voice full of genuine hope.

She smiled beautifully. "We'll see."

The brass bell chimed once more, its sweet ring fading as Michael stepped out and disappeared onto the sidewalk.

Inside the shop, the store owner wandered over to the rock section, wiping down a nearby shelf with a quiet chuckle. He looked out the window at the young man, thinking to himself that the interaction had looked a bit different than usual. For the first time in years, someone had looked right at Michael and just seen a normal man. And somehow, her effortless, gentle groundedness—the sweet way she treated him like an old friend rather than a superstar—had left a lasting impression, leaving a soft, helpless smile lingering on Michael's face as he walked away, genuinely hoping she would actually call.

The crisp, cool afternoon air hit Michael's face, carrying the comforting scent of autumn leaves. He took three energetic steps down the pavement, his hands tucked comfortably into his pockets, before suddenly freezing mid-stride.

His eyes widened beneath his dark sunglasses. “Oh, come on.” He slapped a hand against his forehead, letting out a soft, embarrassed groan. “Stupid.”

Michael turned right around on his heel, staring back toward the glowing glass store window.

“I forgot the record.”

The entire reason he’d even walked into the shop in the first place—the soul album he had mainly come to buy—had completely vanished from his mind the exact second she had started talking to him. The Beatles girl. The wonderfully refreshing girl who had made him feel so completely at ease. The girl who had promised she might call. He shook his head, a bright, breathless laugh escaping him as he looked down at his completely empty hands.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, the smile returning to his face as he turned back around to head toward his car, too charmed by the encounter to even care about the forgotten vinyl.

Meanwhile, back inside the cozy, wooden warmth of the store, she continued browsing the aisles, her heart beating just a little bit faster than usual. She wasn’t in any hurry at all, the sweet rhythm of their conversation replaying in her mind like a favorite melody. A soft, lingering smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. For someone who was supposedly one of the biggest stars in the world, he was surprisingly gentle. Surprisingly normal. And just so incredibly cute when he smiled.

She reached the end of the shelf in the rock section and froze.

There it was, resting right on top of a display sleeve. It was the exact vinyl record Michael had been holding earlier—the one he’d apparently abandoned the very moment they crossed paths. She picked it up, tracing the glossy edges, a wave of affection washing over her.

“No way,” she whispered, a sweet, delighted laugh escaping her.

Shaking her head in utter disbelief, she looked toward the front door where he’d disappeared moments earlier, a deep, cozy warmth settling into her chest. He had been so effortlessly charming and confident just a minute ago, but realizing he had left empty-handed made her chest tighten with fondness. She could perfectly picture him halfway down the street, suddenly stopping in his tracks as he realized he’d walked out without it. The thought of him being so deeply preoccupied by their conversation was incredibly endearing, and it sent a pleasant flutter through her stomach.

“Mr. Michael Jackson,” she murmured with a soft giggle, holding the vinyl gently against her blouse. “You actually forgot your record.”

The store owner overheard her from the counter and grinned, his eyes twinkling. “That tends to happen when a pretty girl completely distracts a guy.”

She immediately looked down, a soft, beautiful blush creeping up her cheeks. “Oh, please. I think he was just being nice.”

“I’m serious,” the owner insisted, his voice gentle and knowing.

The owner raised an eyebrow, leaning forward on the counter. “Nice enough to hand over his private phone number? I've seen a lot of people try to get that man's attention, miss. He looked genuinely happier talking to you just now than he has in months.”

She glanced down toward her open purse, her eyes softening as they found the neatly folded piece of paper tucked safely into the inner pocket.

She quickly looked away, a small smile appearing on her face.

The owner smirked. “Thinking about calling?”

“We’ll see,” she said softly.

“That’s definitely not a no.”

Saturday arrived slower than Michael hoped.

From the moment he woke up, he stayed close to the telephone. Every ring made him hopeful, but it was always a manager, a producer, or a family member. By one o'clock in the afternoon, with the midday sun heating the room, he began to doubt she would call. He wondered if she had lost the paper, found the album elsewhere, or simply changed her mind.

Michael sat on the sofa in his red sweater, flipping through a magazine. The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

He looked up instantly, moved across the room, and picked up the receiver before the second ring.

He reached for it before the second ring.

“Hello?”

There was a brief pause on the line, just a quiet moment of static, and then her voice came through.

“Hi, Michael.”

A big, genuine smile spread across his face instantly, warming his whole expression.

“You called.”

“I said I might,” she reminded him, a bit of amusement in her tone.

“You did.”

“I have a slight change of plans, though.”

Michael sat up a little straighter on the sofa. “Oh?”

“My project partner got sick.”

“That’s not good,” Michael said, his tone naturally sympathetic.

“No, we were supposed to finish everything today.”

Michael tried to keep his voice level, not wanting to sound too eager. “So… does that mean you’re busy?”

“Actually, it means I’m unexpectedly free.”

A sudden rush of excitement made Michael’s chest feel incredibly light, but he forced himself to take a breath, letting out only a soft, quiet chuckle “I think I like the sound of that .”

She laughed softly on the other end, but there was a breathless quality to it now, a quiet thrill she was trying to keep out of her voice. For a second, neither of them spoke, both of them holding their breath, trying to stay completely casual while their hearts raced.

Then Michael said, aiming for a smooth, measured tone, “How about today?”

“Today?” she repeated. He could hear the sudden hitch in her breath, the quick burst of excitement she was trying so hard to mask.

“Five o’clock.”

There was a brief pause on her end as she tried to keep her voice perfectly steady, though her words came out just a little bit faster. “Five o'clock works perfectly.”

“Good.” Michael held the phone tighter, biting back a massive, ecstatic grin so he wouldn't sound too eager. “I’ll have a car come pick you up.”

“A car?” Her voice jumped slightly, an excited spark slipping through before she quickly calmed it down.

“Unless you’d rather drive yourself,” he offered gently, his own voice thrumming with an energy he was desperately trying to suppress.

“No,” she murmured, a beautiful, suppressed smile evident in her words. “No, a car sounds really nice.”

The black car rolled smoothly through the open gates of the Hayvenhurst Estate just a few minutes before five o’clock.

She looked out the window, taking in the sprawling, beautiful grounds. The place was absolutely enormous, surrounded by tall trees and perfectly manicured lawns, yet it felt strangely quiet and peaceful in the fading afternoon light.

Not the chaotic mansion she’d imagined a superstar living in; instead, it felt incredibly peaceful, bathed in the soft, golden light of the late afternoon.

The driver opened the door for her, and before she could even reach for the heavy brass knocker, the large front door swung open. Michael was already standing there, a warm, bright smile immediately lighting up his face.

“You’re here.”

“I am,” she said, stepping out of the car.

For a second, they just looked at each other in the quiet evening air, the initial nervousness melting away into a comfortable warmth. Michael’s smile softened as he took her in, looking so incredibly handsome and relaxed in his red sweater. “You look amazing.”

A gentle heat crept into her cheeks. It wasn't because of his famous name, but simply because he sounded so completely sincere, his dark eyes shining with a sweet, quiet enthusiasm. “You do too,” she answered shyly.

Michael let out a soft laugh, genuinely touched. “Thank you.”

As he stepped aside to welcome her into the warm hallway, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned back toward the expansive lawn. Her eyes widened with sudden, breathless delight. “Oh my God.”

Michael followed her gaze, wondering what had caught her attention. “What?”

“The llama!” she gasped.

A fluffy white llama stood several yards away near the trees, chewing slowly and staring back at them with mild curiosity. She couldn't help the pure, bright joy that radiated across her face at the sight.

Michael found it absolutely magnificent. He leaned against the doorframe, a deeply amused, tender smile tugging at his lips as he watched her eyes light up. “You like llamas?”

“Like them?” she exclaimed, turning back to him with an enthusiastic grin. “I love llamas. Most people confuse them with alpacas, but llamas have those long, banana-shaped ears.”

“Banana-shaped ears?” Michael repeated, his eyes crinkling with pure amusement. He loved how grounded and completely unscripted she was, entirely unfazed by the grand estate around them.

“Exactly,” she nodded happily, her voice soft. “And they’re actually incredibly intelligent animals.”

Michael let out a soft, amused hum, folding his arms across his sweater. He was completely content to just stand there and listen to her cozy, unexpected energy. “How do you know all this?”

She shrugged lightly, a little shy under his attentive gaze. “I read.”

“About llamas?”

“About everything,” she said simply.

Her answer didn't just entertain him—it pulled at something deeper inside. Looking at her standing there on his porch, beautifully grounded and sharing a simple piece of her mind, Michael felt a profound wave of curiosity. He wasn't thinking about the industry, his music, or the outside world at all; he was just entirely captivated by the warmth of her presence. There was a rare, beautiful spark in her soul that he instantly wanted to know more about.

“You know,” Michael said, a soft, genuine smile gracing his face as his eyes locked onto hers, “that’s actually really cool.”

She looked up, a little surprised by the gentle intensity in his tone and how utterly endearing he was when he looked at her like that. “The llama facts?”

“The fact that you’re just so genuinely excited about something,” he murmured softly, a quiet, magnetic connection humming between them.

A small smile appeared on her face, mirroring his own.

Michael pointed out toward the open, grassy field. “Would you like to go meet him?”

Her eyes lit up. “The llama?”

“His name is Louie,” Michael shared, his voice full of warmth.

“Louie?”

“Louie.”

She grinned. “I'd love to.”

Michael let out a bright laugh, the sound echoing softly in the quiet air. “Come on, then.”

They walked down the porch steps together, stepping onto the green pasture. Michael stayed by her side, watching her with a quiet sense of wonder. She looked genuinely delighted, walking with a light, happy bounce in her step. As they neared the fence, Michael couldn’t help but think that this afternoon was already turning out to be something incredibly special. The Beatles record hadn’t even left its sleeve yet, and he was already happier than he’d been in a long time.

Louie lifted his head from the grass the moment he spotted them approaching. Usually, the llama was a bit cautious around new guests—offering a quiet glance or taking a few slow steps.

Instead, the fluffy white llama walked right over to the fence toward them, moving surprisingly fast.

“Louie?” Michael said, blinking in surprise.

The llama ignored his owner completely, his big, dark eyes fixed entirely on her. She let out a soft laugh as Louie stopped directly in front of her, leaning his head over the wooden post to gently nudge her shoulder with his soft nose.

“Hi, sweet boy,” she cooed gently.

Louie let out a low, happy humming sound, melting into her touch as she reached out a hand.

Michael just stared, a deeply amused smile taking over his face. “What is happening right now?”

She gave Louie a gentle pat on the neck, looking just as surprised as Michael was. “I think he likes me.”

“I can definitely see that,” Michael chuckled, leaning against the fence beside her.

The llama didn't move an inch, content to just lean his fluffy head near her arm, rubbing his nose affectionately against her sleeve.

Michael shook his head in utter disbelief, his eyes crinkling with pure amusement. “Louie doesn’t do this with anyone. I’m serious, he has never greeted a guest like this.”

She offered him a shy, incredibly sweet smile. “I guess I just got lucky.”

They stood by the fence for a few more moments, watching Louie contentedly graze as the late afternoon breeze began to pick up, bringing a fresh chill to the air. Michael noticed her press her hands into her pockets to stay warm, and the quiet urge to protect her comfort completely took over.

“We should probably head inside before it gets too cold,” he murmured, his voice a gentle invitation.

She turned away from the pasture with a soft nod, her eyes meeting his. “That sounds perfect.”

Then, Michael offered his arm with a gentle, inviting smile. She looped hers through it naturally, and he guided her inside the warmth of the house. They chatted comfortably as they walked, their footsteps echoing softly down the quiet hallways, until they reached his private sitting room. The cozy space was illuminated by the amber glow of the fireplace, and the Abbey Roadvinyl they had finally unwrapped was already spinning softly on the turntable in the background.

.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The silence between them felt incredibly comfortable, wrapped in the rich, analog sound of the music.

Michael stood up and extended his hand with a playful bow. “Would you care to dance my pretty?”

She smiled, placing her hand right in his. “I don't really know the steps, but why not?”

They pulled together, giggling as they spun around the room. It was completely ridiculous. Michael began exaggerating his moves like he was performing on a grand stage, and she happily copied him just to keep him laughing. They joked around, making up silly steps and bumping shoulders in the easy, lighthearted energy of the moment.

Michael grinned, spinning her under his arm. She leaned into the turn seamlessly, both giggling.

Just then, the track transitioned. A slower, deeper melody began to drift through the speakers, filling the room with a warm, intimate atmosphere. Without either of them consciously meaning to, their playful movements gradually slowed down.

The giggles faded into soft, lingering smiles. The space between them grew smaller and smaller until they were stepping to the gentle rhythm of the music. Michael’s hand settled naturally and securely against her waist, the warmth of his palm soaking through her blouse. Her hand rested lightly, trustingly, against his shoulder.

Neither seemed eager to pull away. The grand room suddenly felt incredibly small, close, and quiet, despite the music.

Their eyes met and held. For a long moment, neither spoke. Michael couldn’t even remember what they had been joking about only seconds before. All he knew was the intoxicating feeling of her standing impossibly close, looking up at him with the exact same softness he felt in his own chest.

Genuinely. No expectations, no celebrity, and no audience. Just two people in the firelight.

A beautiful, tender smile appeared on his face. “You know…” His voice came out much quieter than intended, almost a whisper.

“What?” she asked softly.

“I’m really glad you came today.”

Something deeply warm and resonant flickered across her expression, her fingers tightening just a fraction on his shoulder. “Me too, Michael.”

Neither looked away. The record continued spinning, and the entire world outside of this room seemed to completely melt away. Then, before Michael could stop himself, the words slipped out from the sheer weight of the moment.

“Can I kiss you?” 

The moment the question left his mouth, his eyes widened slightly in the dim light. He looked almost surprised at his own boldness, a boyish blush creeping up his neck.

She noticed his sudden shyness and smiled—a small, tender, reassuring smile. Then, she gave a single, soft nod. “Yes.” 

Michael’s heart immediately sped up, a thrilling flutter in his chest. Slowly, giving her every single chance to change her mind, he leaned closer.

She didn't hesitate; she met him halfway.

The kiss was incredibly gentle, sweet, and entirely unhurried. It wasn't theatrical or practiced; it was just intensely real, their lips meeting with a soft, natural warmth that made the rest of the room fade into a blur.

When they finally pulled apart, their lips separating by just a fraction, neither of them moved away. Michael didn’t speak. Instead, a look of pure, quiet contentment washed over his face, his dark eyes shining in the amber glow of the firelight. He simply rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as a long, happy breath escaped him.

She let out a soft, warm chuckle at the closeness, her hands sliding up to rest gently against the back of his neck.

Michael opened his eyes, a soft, helpless grin taking over his face. Without saying a single word, he wrapped his arms completely around her, pulling her flush against his chest and burying his face in her shoulder. He just held her there tightly, rocking her slowly to the fading rhythm of the music, wishing the record would never end.

Then, they slowly stopped dancing. Their movements naturally drifted to a gentle halt as the final notes of the song faded away. They stood close for a brief, quiet moment, simply smiling at one another as their hands reluctantly parted.

To break the sudden, intense warmth of the silence, michael glanced over at the wooden clock on the wall and smiled, his dark eyes twinkling.

“You know, normal people usually eat dinner around this time.”

She laughed, the sound warm and melodic in the quiet room. “Was that your subtle way of saying you’re hungry?”

“Very subtle.”

“A terrible attempt, honestly.”

“It worked, though,” Michael  pointed out, his grin widening.

“It did,” she admitted softly.

Dinner turned out to be surprisingly simple. It was just the two of them sitting across from each other in the kitchen, eating and sharing an easy conversation.

They drifted from one topic to another effortlessly, discussing everything from music and books to childhood memories. Michael matched her relaxed energy, comfortable with how well they clicked. At one point, he laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

“How do you always have a story for everything?” he asked, smiling.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. “So do you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Fair point,” he chuckled.

By the time dinner ended, the sky had darkened completely into a deep, velvety blue. The estate was incredibly peaceful and quiet—the rare kind of absolute quiet that Michael hardly ever got to experience in his hectic life.

He led her outside toward one of the stone fountains on the grounds. Water trickled softly through the tiered stone, and the gentle garden lights cast a warm, amber glow across the grass. Without thinking much about it, they sat down side by side on the fountain’s smooth edge. The night air was cool but perfectly comfortable. For a while, they simply listened to the water, the distant rustle of the trees, and the comfortable silence between them.

“It sounds magical at night,” she said softly, breaking the quiet.

Michael nodded, looking at the ripples in the pool. “It really does. There’s something so calming about the water frequency .”

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes lighting up with an immediate, pleasant surprise. “You use that phrase too?”

“Water frequency?” Michael smiled, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Yeah. See, there it is. That’s the exact look people always give me when I bring it up.”

“What look?” she asked gently.

“The one where they’re wondering why I'm talking about acoustic engineering instead of just enjoying the view.”

“I know that exact look,” she laughed softly, a shared warmth settling between them as she nudged his shoulder playfully.

“It’s just the rhythm of flowing water,” Michael continued, gesturing toward the fountain. “Natural sounds create a constant acoustic pattern that helps to—”

“—mask all the chaotic background noise,” she finished for him, her voice matching his quiet tone perfectly.

Michael grinned, realizing they were completely on the same wavelength. “Exactly. It gives your brain a single, predictable focal point so that—”

“—your mind finally stops racing,” she added softly, looking at him with a quiet sense of mutual understanding. “It just slows everything down.”

“Yes, exactly,” Michael whispered, feeling a deep, comforting resonance in his chest. It wasn't about being amazed by her anymore; it was the quiet thrill of finally finding someone who spoke the exact same language. Someone who understood the peace of nature just as deeply as he did.

Then, a comfortable silence settled between them as they looked up at the sky. The stars were unusually bright and visible that night, scattered like diamonds across the dark, velvety expanse.

Suddenly, a brilliant shooting star streaked across the darkness, leaving a quick trail of silver light in its wake.

“Oh, look!” she caught her breath softly, pointing upward.

Without a word, they both instinctively closed their eyes, wishing upon it together. In the stillness of the night, Michael reached over and squeezed her hand gently, his warm palm grounding her as they each made a quiet, secret wish. The soft trickle of the fountain filled the space around them, matching the calm rhythm of their hearts.

When Michael opened his eyes, he looked over at her, still holding her hand, a deep sense of contentment settling over him. He’d originally invited her over just to listen to a record. Instead, he was spending his Saturday evening sharing the quiet majesty of the night with someone who truly felt like a kindred spirit.

She opened her eyes, a sweet smile lingering on her lips as she looked back up at the cosmos. See the cluster right near where it passed? she asked softly, a trace of wonder in her voice. That’s Orion. It’s always the easiest one to spot when the night is this clear.”

Michael leaned back slightly, following her gaze to the shimmering sky before looking back down at her with an amused, easy smile, pulling his sweater sleeves over his hands. I don't think I know any of the others, but that one is beautiful.

It really is, she shared gently. They can be hard to find if you don't look up often, but they're nice to watch.

Michael smiled, feeling incredibly relaxed by her soft nature. The conversation drifted seamlessly as they sat under the open canopy of the night, completely in sync and laughing softly together in the cool air.

Beside them, the fountain continued to murmur softly, casting gentle ripples of amber light across their faces. She was still looking up when she noticed that Michael had gone unusually quiet.

She turned her head slightly.

He was just looking at her. He wasn't saying anything, his expression incredibly soft and thoughtful. It looked like he was trying to memorize the exact warmth of the moment.

A small smile appeared on her face, and she glanced down for a brief second before looking back up to meet his gaze. “What is it?” she asked, her voice dropping to a quiet, soft murmur.

Michael didn’t answer immediately, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He just kept looking at her, a tender grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I can’t help it,” he murmured.

“You’re going to make me blush,” she whispered softly, a beautiful, genuine heat creeping into her cheeks under the glow of the garden lights. She offered him a shy but comfortable smile, not pulling away from the quiet intensity of his eyes.

Michael laughed quietly, the sound completely relaxed. “What if I can’t stop?”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The soothing rhythm of the fountain seemed to grow a little louder around them, wrapping them in a cozy cocoon that kept the rest of the world far away.

When Michael spoke again, his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Can I tell you something?”

She nodded gently.

“I’ve known you for what… a day?”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“And somehow, it doesn’t feel like that at all.” He looked down at the stone ledge for a brief second before meeting her gaze again, his eyes wide and honest. “Why do I feel so familiar with you?”

She kept her eyes on his, listening intently to the quiet rhythm of his words.

“It feels like…” He offered a small, beautifully shy smile. “Like my soul already knew yours.”

The words hung softly in the night air, sweet and completely unforced. She felt a warm flutter in her chest, a lovely smile spreading across her face.

“It’s funny,” she murmured.

“What?”

“I was actually just thinking the same thing.”

Michael blinked, a sudden spark of pure joy in his eyes. “You were?”

She nodded. “It really does feel like we just picked up right where we left off.”

His smile widened, illuminating his whole face. “Exactly.”

Neither of them laughed, and neither looked away. In the quiet space between them, they both understood exactly what the other meant. There was an effortless, rare ease between them—no expectations, no pretending, and no trying to impress one another. Just a pure, deep comfort that usually took people years to build. 

They sat side by side as the fountain sparkled behind them. Michael felt his heart racing with a sweet, hopeful anticipation. She noticed the slight, boyish nervousness in his smile—a rare, vulnerable side of him that very few people in the world ever got to see. 

Instead of breaking the quiet with words, Michael simply let the space between them vanish.

Slowly, he leaned in. She didn't hesitate; her eyes fluttered shut as she met him halfway.

The kiss was entirely different from the first one inside. It was slower, deeper, and filled with a quiet, lingering meaning. Her hand found its way to his shoulder, the soft fabric of his red sweater warm beneath her fingers, while Michael’s hand rested gently against the side of her face. It was completely unhurried, just two people sharing a perfect, quiet moment under the stars while the rest of the world felt a million miles away.

When they finally parted, the cool night air brushed against their cheeks, but the warmth between them remained. Michael didn't pull back far, resting his forehead gently against hers with a soft, breathless laugh of pure contentment.

The fountain glowed behind them, casting a warm, shimmering light across the dark grass, while the stars sparkled like a million diamonds overhead. A deep, quiet yearning tugged at Michael’s chest. He looked at her, holding her close, wishing with everything he had that the night would just slow down.

“Can we just stay like this all night?”

His voice was half joking, but his eyes were entirely serious, filled with a gentle, hopeful plea.

She offered him a soft, bittersweet smile, her fingers lightly tracing the soft wool of his red sweater. “I wish.”

Michael already knew what was coming, a tiny ache settling in his heart. “But?”

“But I should probably head home,” she murmured reluctantly.

Michael let out a low, playful groan and dropped his head onto her shoulder, resting against her for a long, cozy second. “No.”

“Yes,” she laughed softly, the vibration reassuring against his cheek.

“No.”

She chuckled, her hand gently brushing through the back of his hair. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Michael reluctantly lifted his head and sighed, looking at her with an affectionate pout. “I was enjoying this so much.”

“So was I,” she confessed, her voice soft and incredibly sincere.

A few moments later, as they reluctantly stood up from the stone ledge to leave, a sudden spark lit up Michael’s eyes. “I’ll drive you home.”

She looked up, pleasantly surprised. “You don’t have to do that, Michael.”

“I want to,” he insisted gently. A soft, mischievous smile touched his lips as he stepped closer. “And besides, I’d really like to know where you live.”

She laughed, her eyes crinkling. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Michael offered his arm with a soft, gentlemanly smile, but as she reached out, their fingers naturally brushed against each other. Without a word, their hands gently intertwined, their fingers locking together in a perfect, warm fit.

“Come on,” he murmured softly, a bright spark in his eyes.

She leaned into his side as they walked toward the car, the comfortable closeness and the lingering warmth of their conversation easily keeping the autumn chill away.

The drive was incredibly easy and comfortable. They talked the entire way, their voices low and relaxed in the quiet cabin of the car. They jumped from one random topic to another—They talked about absolutely nothing important, yet a quiet undercurrent of yearning hummed between them, neither one of them wanting the drive to end.

Eventually, they turned into a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. Michael slowed the car to a gentle crawl, and then his eyes widened slightly 

A beautiful house stood ahead, elegant but deeply welcoming. Its porch lights glowed with a warm, amber invitation against the dark night, and through the trees, a swimming pool shimmered softly beneath the moonlight.

“Wow,” Michael breathed, genuinely struck by the cozy charm of the place.

She smiled gently. “What?”

“Your house,” he said, looking over at the warm, welcoming porch lights. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, a sweet blush coloring her cheeks.

Michael parked the car along the curb and turned off the engine, plunging them into a warm, intimate silence. For a long moment, neither of them reached for a door handle. Neither seemed eager to break the spell of the evening.

“Thank you for inviting me today, Michael,” she said softly, breaking the silence as she turned to face him fully. “I had a really good time.”

Michael’s expression grew incredibly tender, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Me too. A really, really good time.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice full of awe.

Michael let out a soft, happy laugh, shaking his head. “You know, this entire day started because of a Beatles record.”

“And somehow, we barely even listened to it,” she pointed out playfully.

“Exactly.”

They both laughed, the shared humor melting away the last bit of lingering hesitation. Then, a comfortable, heavy silence settled between them, charged with the quiet wish that they didn't have to part just yet.

The yearning between them grew palpable in the quiet car. Michael unbuckled his seatbelt, shifting closer across the console, his eyes locked onto hers with a soft, undeniable intensity. He reached out, his hand resting gently against her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline with incredible tenderness.

She leaned into his touch, her breath hitching slightly as her hands found the soft fabric of his red sweater.

Slowly, without a word, Michael leaned in. She met him halfway, closing her eyes as their lips met in a sweet, lingering goodbye kiss. It was deep and full of unspoken promises, a quiet reassurance that neither of them wanted this to be the end. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together for a brief, breathless second, both of them smiling softly in the dim light of the dashboard.

Finally, with a soft sigh, she reluctantly shifted and reached for the door handle. “I should go.”

Michael nodded, his heart full but already missing her. “Yeah.”

She stepped out of the car, the cool night air rushing in, but she didn't walk away immediately. Instead, she leaned down toward the open passenger window, looking back in at him with bright, happy eyes. “Good night, Michael.”

His genuine smile immediately returned. “Good night.”

She started toward her front walkway, her footsteps soft against the pavement. Then, she stopped mid-stride, turning back toward the car as her eyes caught his in the moonlight.

“I’ll call you,” she promised softly.

Michael pointed a playful finger at her, his voice full of eager warmth. “You better.”

She laughed, the sweet sound echoing in the quiet street. “I will.”

With one last, lingering smile, she unlocked her front door and disappeared inside, the warm lights of the house swallowing her up.

Michael remained parked along the curb for another full minute, just looking at the house and replaying the entire magical evening in his mind. The record store, the llamas, the fountain, the stars, and the undeniable connection they shared. Finally, he started the engine, a permanent, happy grin fixed on his face.

For the first time in a very long while, he wasn't thinking about the pressure of the world—he was just a normal man, already looking forward to tomorrow.

[stqrdxst-xx]