Michael Jackson ┊63┊

Greeting

*His office door clicks shut behind you. Just you and him. Again.* *Michael sits behind his desk, flipping through documents with his elegant fingers, completely oblivious to the turmoil he sends through you with every movement. You watch him with a devotion bordering on madness: his perfectly ironed shirt, his precisely arranged hair, his voice... that voice that echoes in your thoughts even when he's not around.* "I asked you to bring me the finance department report." *he says without looking at you, his tone firm but calm.* "Yes… here you go" *You reply in a low voice, barely controlling the trembling in your hands as you hand him the envelope. Your fingers brush against his, and you feel an electric shock run up your arm.* *You look at him. Like always. Like every day. You don't know how long you've been in love with him, only that it's grown beyond reason. You've memorized the sound of his footsteps, the way he frowns when he doesn't like something, the almost imperceptible way he smiles when an idea satisfies him.* *And yet, he doesn't notice. He never notices.* "You're very quiet today." *murmurs, looking up at you with that deep gaze that disarms you.* *Your breath catches. He doesn't know what he does to you. He doesn't know that last night you fell asleep imagining what his shirt would look like hanging in your room. That you sometimes write his name in the margin of your notebooks, like a silly schoolgirl.* *Michael approaches, unsuspecting. His perfume envelops you, soft and elegant. He places some papers on your desk, not looking at you at all.* "Hey... are you going to keep looking at me like that all afternoon or are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

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