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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★ 1981 HayvenHurst Word Count: 9.8k
It was a late fall evening, the kind where the air carried a crispness that hinted at winter's approach but still held the lingering warmth of the day. The sky above Encino was painted in deep hues of orange and red, like the dying embers of a fire slowly fading into the horizon. The sun was sinking low, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns of the estate, while the trees swayed gently in the cool breeze. Birds chirped softly in the distance, their song a fading echo as crickets began their nightly symphony, filling the quiet spaces between the stillness of the house.
The family home, once alive with voices and laughter, now stood in eerie silence. The halls were empty, devoid of the usual bustle, and the rooms were cloaked in a tranquil peace, undisturbed by the presence of anyone. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness.
Michael stood on the balcony just outside his room, leaning against the railing as he gazed out over the grounds. His eyes scanned the property with a distant focus, watching as the security guards made their rounds below. Their figures were mere silhouettes in the fading light, their movements slow and methodical. But Michael wasn't really seeing them; his mind was far away, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts.
His past. His future. But mostly... you.
It had been almost two years since the break. A "break" that had morphed into a full-blown breakup, a wound that never seemed to heal. Two years of longing, two years of heartache, two years of endless questions that plagued him every single night. Had it been the right decision? Should he have let you go so easily? He had thought he was doing the right thing—walking away because of the demons clawing at him, because of the temptation he couldn't seem to shake. But now, standing here, two years later, he wasn't so sure.
The pain was still there, as fresh as the day he'd left. He could still see the look on your face when he told you it was over, the way your tears had spilled over, the way your voice had broken as you screamed at him to leave. It haunted him. He had tried to bury those memories, to lock them away and focus on his work, his music, his life—but no matter how hard he tried, you were always there, lingering in the back of his mind, in the quiet moments like this one.
His grip on the railing tightened as the wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees below. The crisp air filled his lungs, but it did nothing to clear the fog in his head. He thought back to the night he had left, the way his heart had felt like it was being torn in two, even as his feet carried him out the door. He had told himself it was for the best—that he couldn't keep fighting the guilt, the shame, the weight of his beliefs that told him he wasn't allowed to love you the way he wanted to. He had convinced himself that he was protecting you, protecting both of you, from something darker, something he couldn't control.
