𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

TIME

It was difficult to concentrate.

Half-empty boxes surrounded Michael at all sides, and he'd yet to get through even a quarter of his things.

One box was filled with a mountain of clothes he'd managed to accumulate—partially thanks to Latoya—during his stay in New York. Another was packed with books, purchased and gifted here and there by new friends and acquaintances, including a brand new beginner's guide to guitar playing from his makeup artist, Michael.

Another was dedicated to miscellaneous items. Kingdom Hall pamphlets he'd left relatively untouched. His and Latoya's tickets from many art exhibits and museums around town. Souvenirs from several different themed nights at Studio 54. A note from Diana from their second or third week of filming, playfully admonishing him for out dancing her and the entire crew.

He reached into the box, flipped the note backward and forward, and read it again.

You're making it look like we have two left feet. Stop embarrassing us!

(No) Love,

Diana

P.S.: I'm only kidding. (Maybe.)

Michael didn't feel like laughing, but he did anyway.

This note was far too precious to be thrown in a box and forgotten. It deserved more.

He stood and sat on the bed, searching through his box of carefully wrapped antiques. When he was sure he had found the right one, he set the other items aside, pulling at the edges of the one deposited in his lap. He had enough newspaper to last a lifetime, so he didn't think twice about ripping it off in two, swift movements.

Yes, this was definitely the one.

Squinting, he held it to the light.

The small, porcelain peacock figurine let off a dazzling glow of blue and cream. He'd picked it up during one of his antique shopping trips (which Bill affectionately liked to call "fancy dumpster diving"). He, Bill, and his other bodyguard, Spence, had been halfway across the threshold when he'd spotted it on a shelf in the distance.

Refusing to leave without it, he'd spent another 5 minutes bartering with the owner until he'd finally come down to a more reasonable price.

Out of all the wonderful things he had come across, the peacock had been one of his favorites. The day he got it, he'd called Diana, wondering if she would be interested in seeing the things he'd picked up over the span of a month.

Unfortunately, he had never gotten the chance to show her.

Her second—and last—visit had been well... "eventful". By the time it had ended, the last thing both of them had been thinking about was looking at antiques.

But sometime soon, he would show her. Maybe if he still had time before he was scheduled to leave on tour. Or maybe even tonight or this weekend.

Michael folded the note into a small square and turned the peacock bottom side up.

There was a hole seared a few inches away from the bend of its downed feathers, likely for a stopper of some sort. Carefully, he slipped the note into the whole, jangled the figurine around, and when he was satisfied to see that the note wouldn't come out so easily, he wrapped the peacock in several protective layers of newspaper, stowing it and the other antiques in their respective box.

"Michael! Do you still have the other roll of tape?"

Latoya walked into the room, taking him in with an impatient scowl.