Athena Tyler and Michael Jackson are married to people they don't belong with. The history between Michael and Athena isn't complicated; they met on We Are The World, sparks flew, but they never stayed in contact.
When their respective spouses sugg...
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"Carry me?" Athena asked, nuzzling her nose against his, "Please? I like when you carry me."
Michael couldn't help but laugh at her request, "Alright, baby, hop on," he said as he stood up, holding her by the waist.
Athena giggled and climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He walked slowly towards the house, enjoying the feel of her body against his.
"You barely eat, you work nonstop, and you never take a break. You need rest, Athena," Michael said as they entered the main house, greeted by the smell of vanilla and cinnamon. He walked up the stairs and gently placed her on the bed, "I'm worried about you, baby girl. It's concerning how often you forget to even eat or sleep—you need your rest. You can't burn yourself out."
Athena looked away, fidgeting with the sheets. "I know," she whispered, "Liam managed my career. He controlled everything. Ever since I divorced him, I don't have a manager," she confessed quietly, "I can't just stop. I have a career to think about."
"That's not true," Michael told her, taking her hands in his, "You have me. As your husband, it's my job to take care of you and help manage your career. Just like you, as my wife, have taken over most of my career stuff. You didn't hesitate, the second we got married—you just jumped right into being my sweet, wonderful, caring, loving, Wifeager."
"Wifeager?" Athena asked in confusion, "What is that supposed to be?"
"It's a play on words, baby," Michael explained, "It's 'wife and manager' as one word."
"I don't act like a manager, do I?" Athena asked with a tilt of her head and a confused expression.
"Baby, you schedule me for interviews when I want to give one, and performances—you keep me on track, you help me with my organization, you even help me with my finances," Michael said, stroking her cheek with his thumb, "You organize my entire life and make sure I don't lose my mind."
"I do all that?" Athena asked incredulously, "I didn't even notice."
"Babe, you color-coded my entire office!" Michael laughed, "All my files that were scattered around like squirrels in a park are now neatly stacked and labeled, and you even categorized them by priority," he chuckled, "My pens are color-coded, my laptop is set up with shortcuts I didn't even know I needed, my schedule is so organized that I can plan my life weeks in advance, and you cleaned my email free of junk and spam, along with cleaning my music studio free of anything old that I never planned on using."
Athena blew air out of her mouth, "I've never been diagnosed," she said, "But I think I have OCD."
Michael burst into laughter, "Wow, baby, I had no idea!" he exclaimed, "I thought you were just a perfectionist."
"No, you're a perfectionist," Athena sighed, "And I'm much worse than you. So if I'm a 'perfectionist' then I must be the worst kind there possibly is."
