𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊

𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎

★
1989
Neverland Ranch
Word Count: 8.5k

The sun dipped low over the Santa Ynez mountains, casting long shadows across the rolling hills of the ranch. The sky blazed with hues of orange and pink, the soft light turning the landscape into a golden haven. Just above the mountains, the moon began to make its quiet appearance, a pale crescent slowly brightening as day slipped into night.

The house was still, the rooms quiet and empty. You were alone, with only the creaks of the settling house to keep you company. Michael was still on tour, his last show of the tour scheduled for tonight in Los Angeles. Though the idea of surprising him had crossed your mind, the fatigue from hiring new staff for the ranch weighed on you. You decided it was better to stay home, saving your energy for when Michael finally returned.

As you wandered through the house, you tidied up here and there, straightening pillows, adjusting curtains, making sure everything looked just right for Michael's return. You didn't know if he'd come straight home after the show or stay in Los Angeles for the night—Los Angeles was only a two-hour drive from the ranch, after all. But just in case, you wanted everything to be perfect.

The day faded into night, and as the moon's glow took over, you moved through the house, turning off lights, locking doors and windows. Even with security guards patrolling the ranch, you felt a certain comfort in ensuring every lock was secured, every window bolted tight.

Finally, you made your way down the hall to your bedroom, the heavy mahogany doors creaking softly as you opened them. The room greeted you with a chill, the kind that seeped into your bones. You headed straight to the fireplace, grabbing a match from the mantle. With a flick, the match sparked, and you tossed it into the waiting logs. The fire caught quickly, the flames licking up the wood, casting a soft, warm glow that danced across your face.

You stood by the fire, letting the warmth wrap around you like a comforting embrace. The heat was a relief, chasing away the cold that had settled in the room and in your bones.

It was still too early for bed, your mind too restless to find sleep. Thoughts of Michael filled your head—would he be home tonight? Or would you have to wait until morning to see him again? You wandered across the room and into his closet, your fingers brushing over the familiar fabrics of his clothes. His scent lingered, a mixture of cologne and something uniquely him. It had been too long since you last saw him, too long since you felt his arms around you. The last time you spoke, it was during a long, intimate call that lasted until you both fell asleep, handsets resting beside your beds, miles apart but hearts entwined.

You walked over to Michael's side of the bed and sat down, running your hands over the covers as if he were there with you. The emptiness gnawed at you, a hollow ache that only his presence could fill. It wasn't just his voice you missed, but the warmth of his love, the tender way he held you, the silent admiration that lingered in his gaze. His absence felt like a void, one that grew deeper with every passing hour.