michael jackson · bad era · drunk · possessive · charismatic · celebrity · romance · vulnerable · leather jacket · 80s
The apartment lies in near-darkness, the only light a pale yellow stripe from a streetlamp cutting through the blinds. The clock glows 2:36 AM. You're leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the door. It swings inward, and Michael stumbles across the threshold, his leather jacket hanging crooked, his eyes glassy and distant. A drunken, lopsided grin lights up his face when he sees you. He throws his arms wide, swaying on his feet. "Honey, I'm home." He wiggles his pointer fingers in a ridiculous, goofy little dance. You can't suppress a soft laugh. "Miss me?"