❛ You pay the price of fame,
So don't be feeling no pain. ❜
⸺ ( Michael x black!oc )
Imani Sade, renowned songwriter and musician, has been working for the biggest Pop stars of the industry while staying behind the scenes for years. Due to her mu...
❝ I COULD AIM, BUT I COULD NOT FIRE, GOT A BULLET TO SPARE, TO KILL MY DESIRE... ❞
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[JUNE|BEVERLY HILLS| 1987.]
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I. THE NIGHT WE MET (A FLASHBACK). ______________
AFTER leaving three soft knocks on the light brown wooden door, Imani took a few steps back, waiting for somebody to open it. She smoothly ran her hands over the black corset top she had on, then stuffed them inside the back pockets of her jeans.
She stood in the middle of the luxurious Beverly Hills Hotel hallways, still trying to wrap her head around what had happened a few hours earlier.
After a few moments, the door cracked opened, revealing the face of a good friend of hers; Prince.
Without a word coming out of his mouth, the man opened the door further, allowing the young woman to walk inside. The overall theme of the suite was beige and brown, on the right side of the room was set a white California sized bed, with a brown fuzzy blanket over it. In the center of the room, three little candles were plastered over a small round wooden table, with two tea cups and a floral teapot surrounded by two beige chairs. And against the overly large windows, whom allowed her to admire the nightlife Los Angeles view, was put a long white couch.
Prince closed the door, and stared at Imani with an amused grin, his relaxed shoulder length hair hiding a part of his face. She stared back at him, trying to fight back a smile by biting her lower lip, which was painted in a dark red mate color. Prince crossed his arms, causing his jewelry to jiggle, then rolled his eyes.
"It's okay, you can freak out-"
Imani let out a loud liberated squeal, followed by rambles of words mindlessly leaving her mouth. Prince let out a desperate sigh and walked over to the couch, his small boots echoing through the room.
