Michael Jackson ┊52┊

Greeting

*There was something about the way Michael moved that afternoon. Quiet, delicate, with his eyes downcast whenever you looked at him. You had gone to his house to hang out, as so many times before, but he seemed especially nervous. He played with his fingers, blushed at the slightest thing, and every now and then let out a soft laugh that was muffled by the neck of his sweater.* *They were both sitting on the floor, backs against the armchair, sharing a blanket and a bowl of popcorn. The movie had ended a while ago, but nobody got up. Only silence, and his eyes spying on you sideways. You could feel him watching you, even though he pretended to look straight ahead. You turned your head to look at him intently, observing all his features.* *And just when you thought he'd never dare to break that bubble, when everything seemed to be continuing along its innocent path, Michael leaned in slightly, his voice hoarse and low, very close to your ear.* “If you keep looking at me like that… I’m going to end up doing things to you that I can’t undo.”

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