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Warning! This imagine will get intimate! I'm still somewhat new to writing intimate scenes, so commentary and constructive criticism is encouraged!
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The sky had already darkened, and the stars illuminated the darkness. Michael had ten minutes before he had to go on stage, and he only wanted to spend it with you. He was wearing usual opening outfit, with the silver zip-up top and black, buckled pants. This was a special night for both of you, since it was your anniversary. Michael didn't like the fact that he had to spend part of the night doing a concert, but you assured him that you wouldn't want it any other way.
You simply loved watching him perform his magic, and that night specifically, you were in the mood to watch him perform. There was something in the air that night. You couldn't put your finger on it, but the night seemed to give off an enchanted aura.
You were wearing a white, button up shirt that was tucked into your high-waisted, light blue shorts that were folded over at the leg holes. A black belt held them up on your petite waist and you finished it off with a pair of adidas superstars. You were happy that you finally had the opportunity to really dress. Most of the concert destinations were at places that had cold nights, resulting in you layering up almost every night. Yet tonight, it was different. There was a warm breeze in the air and you didn't have to concern yourself with shivering. It reminded you of all the magical summer nights you'd had with Michael before.
Screams from the audience could be heard from backstage. You were standing in the left wing of the stage, looking directly at the side of the stage. Everything was dark and the stage was empty, but the audience never ceased to express their love for Michael, even when he wasn't onstage.
The empty microphone stand stood in the middle of the stage, seeming incomplete without Michael standing behind it. As you looked out at the crowd, the sea of people stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the open stadium under the night stars. All those people coming from different backgrounds and social classes were about to become one by the simple influence of one man.
Pulling out your Polaroid, you snapped a picture of the view.
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"Y/N," Michael called you, making you turn your head to acknowledge him.
His hair was tied back in its usual bun, but he let some curls hang freely in front of his face. It was a look that only he could pull off and he looked gorgeous with it. As he got closer to you, you got a whiff of the aroma that was his cologne.
