𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊

𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗 𝚃𝚘𝚔𝚢𝚘

★
2007
Tokyo, Japan
Word Count: 9.2k

   The week in Tokyo had been both exhilarating and exhausting. You and Michael had spent the days celebrating the twenty-fifth anniversary of Thriller, surrounded by adoring fans in the vibrant heart of Japan. The celebration had been a whirlwind of events, including a special visit to an art gallery showcasing various pieces dedicated to Michael. Some of the artwork even featured you and him together with your two children, capturing the essence of your family life. Michael had been there to select the winners of an art contest held in his honor, an opportunity that left him both humbled and proud.

Art had always held a special place in Michael's heart, even more so than music at times. It was a passion he indulged in during his rare moments of downtime. His drawings adorned the walls of Neverland Ranch—some were displayed in his office, others in his library, and a few were so private that he kept them hidden away from the world.

The final event of the trip was particularly poignant: Michael gave a heartfelt speech at a U.S. Army base in Japan, where he met with soldiers and their families. The gratitude and admiration they expressed left a lasting impact on him, and he was honored with a certificate recognizing his contributions and support.

Everywhere you went, you were reminded of the love the world had for your husband—love that seemed to grow beyond what even he could fully grasp. You had grown accustomed to the constant chanting of his name, the screaming fans who followed your every move, and the massive crowds that always seemed to engulf you both. Yet, despite the overwhelming adoration, Michael was always by your side, his protective arms ensuring you felt safe. He knew how the anxiety of large crowds affected you and did everything in his power to shield you from the public eye. But after your marriage, keeping a low profile had become nearly impossible.

Today marked your last day in Japan, and you both found yourselves in the presidential suite, taking a much-needed rest. Michael had retreated to the bedroom, while you stayed in the main room, flipping through channels on the television. You finally settled on a Japanese movie, grateful for the English subtitles that made it easier to follow.

The film, however, took you by surprise. Some of the scenes were far more explicit, more sensual than what you were accustomed to seeing in American movies. It stirred something deep within you, a yearning for Michael that had been building throughout the trip, left unfulfilled by your busy schedule. Each day, you felt the need for him intensifying, a desire that was becoming harder to ignore. And though Michael had undoubtedly noticed the shift in you, he hadn't said a word, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move.

You shifted in your seat, the warmth of the tea in your hands doing little to soothe the ache that throbbed persistently between your legs. Your gaze flickered back toward the bedroom, where the door was wide open. Michael was lying in bed, clad only in his pajama bottoms. His hair, frizzy and likely knotted from forgetting his bonnet, framed his face in a tousled halo.