Michael Jackson imagines 2

Dancing

You were a dancer on THE Michael Jackson's bad tour. Sounds a dream. Right? Not to be ungrateful, but you believed it was anything but. The rehearsals were brutal, everyday from 6 in the morning until the evening when the concerts began. The concerts ended and you all didn't get back to the hotel until around 3am. You were always shattered.

On top of everything else, michael constantly criticises and critiques you during rehearsals. No one but you. You always felt like he picked on you slightly and it felt unfair. It reminds you of when you were a child and your parents would complain any time you took a step. You ended up being constantly shattered and tired as you spend the little hours you had free on practising the dance moves Michael picked you up on ,only to have him complain  once again the next day. Everyday you felt reduced to tears and you wondered why you didn't just get fired. You expected it any day now.

You lie in bed, staring at the alarm. 5:00. Time for another day of crap. You were in London now and the travelling left you jet lagged still. Dragging yourself out of bed, you walked to the mirror, being careful not to wake your roommate, a fellow dancer. You looked into the reflection, sighing at the bags underneath your eyes and gaunt look to your cheeks. You had become a shell of who you used to be.

You pulled on some leggings and a loose top over your sports bra, grabbing the bag that contains your shoes and outfits for the show. You walked out of the door quietly, wanting to get to the rehearsals earlier then everyone else to get some more practise in. The carpeted hall of the hotel muffled your footsteps and you walked down the back stairs into the lobby. Chandeliers hung from the grand ceiling, no expense spared for Michael was so important. Fans were already calling him from outside. They must be crazy, you thought to yourself.

A man who worked at the hotel greeted you kindly and offered you breakfast- to which you kindly declined. He, instead, smoothed his tie and opened the front doors for you chivalrously. You walked out, luckily the fans don't really care about you- they just want Michael. Deciding that it would be quicker to run to the stadium instead of  driving through London's traffic, the cold wind blew as you went faster and faster.

Finally, you reached the stadium, finding the secret back door and typing in the many different codes the cast and crew had to remember until you ran through the stage door. You navigated through the rooms with props and costumes stacked high and entered the stage from the dark wings. Looking out to the massive, empty stadium, you felt overwhelmed and tiny by yourself. The rows of seats stared back at you like empty skulls. Shivering slightly, you tried to cover up the deathly silence by grabbing the CD player kept for rehearsals from a black table backstage and played.

The beat to Billie Jean thundered through and you decided to have a little bit of fun whilst no one was here. There was no choreography to this one as Michael Dances it alone, however it was one of your favourites! Smiling as the funky rhythm played, you began to shake your hips, doing the famous Jackson kick before sliding into your spin. You began to giggle as the instrumental plays, copying his Motown 25 performance by pointing to the fake audience as turning into a flawless moonwalk. Before you knew Michael, you were a big fan and were always memorising his routines. Finally the last note plays, leaving you in a position with your arms raised, legs crossed behind in a famous pose, panting and sweating a little as the stage is left in quiet again.

Suddenly, a small clap breaks the silence, making you jump and turn towards the wings where you see Michael himself. He steps out onto stage slowly as he shakes his dark curls in approval, his little nose scrunched up as he smiles small. He licks his lips slowly. "That was very good. The turn into the moonwalk was not quite sleek enough though." Michael congratulated you softly, blinking his brown eyes as he stops right in front of you, breathing gently. Why did he have to pick out one move when you were only messing about anyway? You folded your arms huffily, glaring at him.

His frowned his slim brows, hands fiddling with his black rehearsal slacks. "What?" He questions quietly, watching you tut and walk away to sit down on the edge of the stage. "You know what." Was all you snapped before dangling your legs off the side, back to him.

After a short pause, he follows suit, sitting his slim body close to you, tricep brushing against yours and you can tell he is looking at you, however you looked the other way into the stadium seats. "Your wondering why I'm always picking up on small details huh?" He mumbles sweetly, continuing to speak. "I'm a perfectionist, which you've probably noticed. I see so much potential in you. Especially compared to everyone else. You have fire in your eyes and I know how much you rehearse but I only critique you to make you better then you already are, which is hard because you are essentially perfect. These crowds of people could easily be for you instead of me,Y/N. In fact, I want them to be for you because you deserve them. I'm trying to make you a brilliant performer, not just a dancer, because I was going to suggest you going solo after this tour. I wanted to help you do that. I know you work hard and that's all I ask from anyone. But-" he sighs. "I've realised I sound like my father recently and I've come to see how harsh and unfair I must sound. I noticed you sneak in as I was already here, I came at about half four to practice too. You coming in early proves to me how much you want this and I want to apologise for being horrible and for turning into my father over you." He cringes over those last words, staring down at his hands that were fiddling with one and other. His curls dangle in his face as his brown eyes blink quickly, as though trying not to cry.

You stared at him, speechless. You finally managed to speak. "Wow... um... thank you. It means a lot, especially coming from you. I forgive you. And as for you being like your father, from what I've heard about him you are nothing like that." You smile softly, seeing him nod quickly, swinging his legs from the stage like a little child.

"So, boss? What do we do now?" You giggled and made him chuckle loudly as you nudged him arm. He pulled himself up using his skinny yet strong arms and towered above you, offering his hand out. You took it gratefully as Michael, with minimal effort pulled you with him. You were grateful for his explanation and instead found it wonderful that Michael was now your mentor and someone that wanted to help you achieve your wildest dreams. Maybe you could handle his criticism a little bit now. Unless he goes back to how he was.

His loafers echoed across the stage as he bent down gracefully play the cd. Billie jean started from the beginning. "Come on, lets dance!" He looked up, shining his pearly whites at you, grabbing his fedora from the corner.

You hesitated. "This isn't my number Michael." You stated the obvious but Michael just put his large, caramel toned hand up to shush you. "There's no harm in practice Y/N. Lesson one." He raised his brow and you sighed jokingly, running to join him and copying his position with a make believe fedora. Throughout the song he actually laughed along with you this time and every so often would make you pause so he could position you correctly. Michael called out small details nicely, complimenting you in a gentle tone, such as "nice!" Or "that was great!" He began to seem less like your boss  now and more of a friend.

The cd skipped straight into The Way you make me feel as the album had random songs on it. Pausing to take some water, Michael called out, opening his brown eyes wide. "Y/N, what are you doing?" He asked, confusing you again. You replied hesitantly, "Watching you rehearse, why?"

He pouted cutely, tucking a curl behind his ear and crossing his arms. "I trust you know the routine right, after watching Jenna do this?" Jenna was another dancer, hired by the choreographer to do this dance. You nodded, doing your hair into a loose bun as Michael waved a hand, calling you over. You stood next to him and Michael smiled a half grin, his doe like eyes flickering over you. "It's your routine now. You will replace Jenna. I don't really like her style of dancing for this particular number anyway. It's a bit too stiff."

The breath hitched in your throat. You couldn't believe it!