MICHAEL'S POV
'M-mr Mandela how can I be of assistance?' I mutter, my crippling anxiety getting the best of me
'Mr Jackson there's nothing wrong, take a seat'
I turn and moonwalk over to the ocean blue fabric seat, where Mr Mandela sits down next to me. He places his hand on my knee, looking into my orbs. I shift in my seat, knowing this shouldn't be happening. Every inch of my body is screaming to me that i should get up and leave. But I don't care. I allow it. #imbad #shamone
Mr Mandela continues, 'please, it's Nelson'
'S-sorry mr mand- Nelson'
He smiles, 'that's right. Anyway, I just wanted to say. I noticed you as soon as I walked into this lecture theatre. From your black locks down to your white socks...perfection'
'Heehee' I say, blushing, remembering that I put on my special white socks today.
'And I wanted to ask you...do you wanna go spoons?' Nelson asks, brushing my hair behind my ear.
Suddenly, the door slams open, and I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. My head whips around.
It's Dave Dave.
