𝚃𝚆: includes strong language, Sexual content, Explicit content.
Readers discretion is Advised
Imagines Between you & Michael Jackson.
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🔴 1984. Toronto Word Count:2.0k
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Michael had just wrapped up his show at the Exhibition Stadium in Toronto and returned to his hotel, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The energy from the crowd, the lights, the music—it all lingered in his system, leaving him wired and restless. His mind raced with the night's events as he fumbled for his room key and stepped inside.
As he entered, he closed the door behind him with a decisive click and locked it, ensuring his solitude. He tossed his jacket onto the nearby chair and collapsed into it, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. His fingers tapped nervously on the armrest, the post-concert high making him jittery.
"I should call her," he muttered to himself. He grabbed the hotel phone and dialed your number, hoping you were still awake despite the late hour. It was midnight in California, and he knew he might be disturbing you, but the nightly calls had become a comforting ritual for both of you.
After a few rings, you picked up. "Hello?" Your voice was soft, but he could sense you had been expecting his call. These conversations had become essential, helping him wind down from the intense rush of performing.
"Hey baby, did I wake you?" Michael asked, his voice a mixture of relief and eagerness. As he spoke, he undid the belt around his waist, letting it fall to the floor with a thud.
"No, Michael, I was awake. I just got back from hanging with the girls," you replied, a smile evident in your tone.
"Oh, how was that?" he asked, genuinely curious, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the belt buckle.
"It was fun. We went to that new wine bar downtown. You'd love it, great music, good vibes," you said, recalling the evening with warmth.
"You know I couldn't do that, baby, especially with who I am," Michael said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.
"I know, baby, I know. I just wish we could go out more, you know?" you replied, a sigh escaping your lips.
"Yeah," he responded, the weight of the situation hanging between you both.
"How was the show?" you asked, trying to shift the mood.
"Pardon?" he asked, momentarily distracted.
"I said, how was the show, baby?" you repeated with a slight chuckle as you started changing out of your clothes.
"Oh, it was great, actually. Tomorrow is our last show out here, then we'll be in Chicago in a few days," Michael said, his tone brightening as he thought about the performance.
"That's go—" you began, but the phone slipped from your hand.
"What was that?" Michael asked, concern in his voice.
