Book I Of the 'Not Vanilla' Imagine Series.
𝚃𝚆: includes strong language, Sexual content, Explicit content.
Readers discretion is Advised
Imagines Between you & Michael Jackson.
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★ 1984 Los Angeles Word Count: 6.4k
It had been a long week. You were constantly worried about Michael after getting news from his mother, Katherine, that he had suffered second and third-degree burns to his scalp while shooting a commercial. The image of him in pain haunted your thoughts, making it hard to focus on anything else.
You hadn't had a chance to see Michael, wanting to give him time to heal and rest, but the anxiety gnawed at you daily. You worried not only about his physical health but also about his mental and emotional well-being.
Michael's mother had called you the night before, her voice filled with a mixture of worry and exhaustion. She let you know Michael would be back home resting while they were away and asked if you could come over to help him with any needs or keep him company. You gladly agreed, wanting to be there for your best friend. Even though you had kept your distance from Michael over the last few months, your feelings for him had grown even stronger. Michael had noticed the distance but didn't think too much about it, chalking it up to life's busyness.
You arrived at Hayvenhurst, the grand family estate, and drove through the imposing iron gates. The meticulously maintained grounds stretched out before you, with manicured lawns and blooming flower beds. You parked in the garage, grabbed the brown sack filled with Charlie Chaplin movies, orange juice, and some medication for Michael, and got out of the car. The sun shone brightly, unusually warm for a February day, casting long shadows across the property.
Closing the car door with your foot, you walked across the wide expanse of the estate towards Michael's room. You climbed the spiral staircase, each step echoing slightly, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. "Michael," you called out, your voice carrying a hint of worry as you knocked again. Nothing.
You sighed deeply, your mind filling with concern. You opened his door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of his room washing over you. The sound of the shower running reached your ears. You placed the bag down on his chest of drawers and went over to the bathroom door, knocking on it. "Michael," you called out, your voice more urgent.
You heard a loud thud and a groan, and without thinking, you went inside, the bathroom filled with steam. "Michael," you called out again, your heart pounding.
"Yes?" he replied, sounding just fine, his voice muffled slightly by the steam.
"Did you fall?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.
"No, I'm just trying to wash my back," he said, a hint of frustration in his voice.
"Do you need help?" you asked, stepping closer to the shower curtain.
It was quiet for a moment, the sound of the running water filling the silence. Michael's mind was running, trying to decide if he wanted your help or not. He couldn't do it all on his own right now. "I guess," he let out a deep sigh, the vulnerability in his voice breaking your heart.
