𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊

𝚃𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 & 𝚃𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

♛
1986
New York City
Word Count: 10.7k

The hotel suite pulsed with the relentless beat of music, every throb reverberating through the walls as you lay on the bed, trying to focus on the movie flickering across the screen. But with the heavy bass pounding through the air and Michael's voice cutting through the chaos as he rehearsed for his upcoming short film, concentration was a lost cause. You knew better than to interrupt him when he was in his zone, especially with the tension that had been building over the last few days. He was becoming more withdrawn, his stress accumulating like storm clouds, and even the brief moments before sleep had become silent and strained.

With a sigh, you gripped the remote and turned the volume up, hoping to drown out the noise from the main room. The television blared, but it was barely a match for the music and the sharp edge in Michael's tone as he barked out instructions to the dancers. You could almost hear the frustration in his voice, the way it cracked like a whip through the air.

Suddenly, the music cut off, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. A knock on the bedroom door broke the quiet before Michael slipped inside. His usually well-kept curls were in disarray, his tie hung loose around his neck, and one of his sleeves was still buttoned as he leaned against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on you.

"Can you turn that down, please?" His voice was strained, almost pleading, but it held a firmness that warned against defiance.

You didn't say anything, just reached for the remote and lowered the volume, the room now thick with unspoken tension.

"Thank you," Michael murmured before slipping back out, closing the door softly behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the silence, a reminder of the growing distance between you.

Frustration simmered beneath your skin, the way he'd been acting gnawing at you. You were done tiptoeing around him. Without hesitation, you clicked the TV off and tossed the remote aside, throwing the covers back with a decisive flick. As you rose, your reflection caught your eye in the mirror, the black satin of your nightgown clinging to every curve, a silent testament to the power you still held over him.

You reached up, fingers brushing through your hair, letting it tumble down your shoulders in a soft cascade. With one last glance in the mirror, you crossed the room and opened the door, the music immediately assaulting your senses once more.

Your footsteps were muffled against the plush cream-colored carpet as you made your way down the hall. When you reached the main room, your bare feet met the cool surface of the hardwood floor, grounding you as you took in the scene before you. Michael was in the middle of the room, his movements sharp and precise as he demonstrated choreography to Jeffery and Gregg. But the moment you entered, their focus shifted, eyes raking over you with a mixture of admiration and something far less innocent.