untitled
chapter 15!! now we’re moving along heh :p also i hope yall caught that i was describing michaels amas outfit last chapter- ik timeline isn’t right but let’s just vibe w it </3 but as always happy reading :)
1979
manhattan, new york
‧₊ ♪˚⊹
"You know him?"
The question hit harder than it should have.
You looked away from the crowd.
"What?"
Roger stared at you.
"You just looked like you'd seen a ghost."
"I didn't."
"You absolutely did.
You adjusted your camera strap, suddenly finding it very interesting.
Roger narrowed his eyes.
"Who is he?"
"Michael Jackson."
"I know who he is."
"Then why are you askin'?"
"Because that's not the face someone makes when they recognize a celebrity."
Weeks ago, he'd been standing only a few feet away from you in a crowded club,
No security.
No reporters.
No carefully managed entrance.
Just a smile and a simple,
Hi.
Somehow, seeing him here felt stranger than recognizing him that night.
Roger was still staring at you.
"Okay."
You sighed.
"Okay what?"
"Nobody thinks that hard after recognizing a celebrity."
"You'd be surprised."
"No."
"Roger–"
"Did you meet him, or something?"
The question caught you off guard.
"What?
"Did. You. Meet. Him."
You looked back toward the crowd.
Michael had almost reached the center of the ballroom now.
Security moved with him.
Reporters followed.
Camera flashes lit up the room every few seconds.
It was ridiculous.
The man standing across the ballroom looked nothing like the one you'd met at the club.
And yet he looked exactly the same.
"Maybe."
Roger nearly dropped his coffee.
"Maybe?"
"Keep your voice down."
"You met Michael Jackson and never told me?"
"It wasn't exactly planned."
"When?"
"A few weeks ago."
Roger stared.
"A few weeks ago."
"Yes."
"And you just forgot to mention that?"
"It wasn't important."
Roger stared at you for three full seconds.
"I'm sorry."
He held up a hand.
"I just want to make sure I heard you correctly."
You groaned.
"Roger."
"A few weeks ago, you met Michael Jackson."
"Technically."
"Technically?"
"We talked for like, all of ten minutes."
Roger looked horrified.
"TEN MINUTES?"
"Would you stop yelling?"
"No!"
"People are staring."
"Good."
You rolled your eyes.
Roger pointed an accusing finger at you.
"You had a whole conversation with one of the most famous people on the planet right now, and didn't tell me."
"It never came up."
"It never–"
Roger stopped—
"You're impossible."
"I've been told."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Wait."
Your stomach immediately sank. That tone never led anywhere good.
"What?"
"That's not all, is it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Roger glanced between you and the ballroom.
"Because this reaction?"
He pointed toward the crowd where Michael stood surrounded by reporters.
"This is not a 'we talked for ten minutes' reaction."
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Roger's eyes widened.
"Oh, no."
"What?"
"You can't even come up with a lie."
"I wasn't going to lie."
"That's somehow not any better."
You looked away.
Roger pointed at you.
"There it is!”
"There's what?"
"The avoidance."
"I'm not avoiding anything."
"You are literally looking everywhere except at me."
You sighed.
Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong.
Across the ballroom, another wave of flash bulbs erupted around Michael.
The crowd sifted again.
Reporters called his name.
Security attempted–and failed–to create more space.
Weeks ago, he'd been laughing at the bar while Stella nearly lost her mind beside you.
Now it looked like half of Manhattan was trying to get his attention.
"It wasn't a big deal," you said.
Roger barked out a laugh.
"The way you just said that tells me it was absolutely a big deal."
"Roger."
"Did he ask for your number?"
"What? No."
"Did you ask for his?"
"No."
"Did you kiss him?"
"Roger!"
A nearby couple glanced over.
Roger lowered his voice immediately.
"Fine. Fine."
He paused.
"But something happened."
You hated how confident he sounded.
Because something had happened.
Not much.
Just a conversation.
A smile.
A name.
A moment that should have been forgettable.
Yet somehow, weeks later, you still remembered exactly how he'd looked at you across a crowded room.
Roger studied you for a second.
Then another.
Then he pointed his coffee cup at you.
"See? That right there."
"What?"
"That look."
"I don't have a look."
"You absolutely have a look."
You groaned.
"I'm leaving."
"You can't leave."
"I can and I will."
"We're working."
Unfortunately, he had a point.






