Saving Michael Jackson

Basements are made for us

"Okay, run! Run!" Wanda waved her hands dramatically, already far too invested in this.
Before I could overthink it, I took off toward Michael. He opened his arms instinctively, laughing nervously as though he had already realized this was a terrible idea. For one brief second, I was actually in the air.
And then—
Everything went wrong.
I slipped almost immediately, losing balance halfway through whatever that lift was supposed to be, and instead of some graceful movie moment, I nearly crashed into him. Michael caught me awkwardly in his arms. We both burst into laughter.

"Oh my God," I laughed, trying to catch my breath.

Michael shook his head, still holding onto me to make sure I didn't fall.

"How corny," he said between laughs.

The warmth of his voice somehow made the whole thing feel even more embarrassing.

We stepped apart, though not too quickly, and I lowered my eyes toward the floor before I accidentally looked at him too long. Because that was dangerous lately. Very dangerous. If I stared into his eyes for too long, I already knew exactly what would happen. I'd fall even harder.

"O... kay," Wanda said slowly, staring at us like she had just witnessed a failed Broadway performance. "Cindy, your turn."

Grateful for the distraction, I quickly grabbed the Stevie Wonder vinyl and placed Lately onto the player. Soft music filled the room. Michael immediately tilted his head, listening carefully.

"Oh," he said quietly, swaying slightly to the rhythm, "this is beautiful."

Something about the way he said beautiful made it sound softer than the song itself. I looked at him without meaning to. And suddenly, the entire room felt different. Maybe it was the atmosphere.
The music. The quiet comfort of being there with him. Or maybe it was simply him. Because somehow, every moment with Michael already felt important. Temporary. Like something I needed to memorize before it disappeared. The thought settled heavily inside me. Whether this was real or not, whether I belonged here or eventually had to leave, I knew one thing with painful certainty: I had gotten used to him. Too used to him. The idea of returning to life without Michael somewhere in it suddenly felt impossible to imagine.

"Jesus," Michael said suddenly, looking up. "Why is it so hot in here?"

"I turned the heat on," Wanda answered casually.

Michael blinked. "Why?"

She stared at him. "Because it was freezing? Why else would someone turn the heat on?"

He frowned dramatically. Wanda looked between us, a smile already forming.

"Take your shirt off then," she teased.

Michael squinted at her immediately, trying not to laugh.

"What was that?" he said, smiling despite himself
.
"What?" Wanda asked innocently. "Why'd you look at Cindy like that?"

Before he could answer, she burst into laughter and lightly smacked his arm.

"Shut up," she laughed.

"I didn't do anything," Michael said quickly,
lifting his hands in surrender. Then he looked at me again. And smiled. That soft smile again.
The one that somehow always made my brain stop functioning properly.

"I'm... uh..." I stood up abruptly. "I think I'm tired."

Wanda looked at me like I had personally offended her.