Friday nights in Los Angeles were rarely this loud. Jesse, your friend was practically glowing with excitement, dragged you into the house, where music was already blasting through every wall. Your other friend Gail followed right behind, giving his friend a cheerful slap on the back.

“Relax.. It’s just a party.”

He said. You just offered a sheepish smile, your eyes scanning the crowd. Though, you grew up performing in front of crowded arenas.. You had never a fan of these kinds of gatherings — too much noise, too many people… and way too big of a risk of accidentally punching a hole in a wall if someone pushed the wrong button.

But there Michael was. Standing in the warm glow of string lights, a drink in his hand and that quiet, gentle smile on his face. So real, so calm, so warm — just like always.. And for him, you agreed to stay.

“And now,” Jesse called out, settling into a circle on the floor with a wide, mischievous grin still plastered on her face, “we’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven! No backing out!”

You gave in, sitting beside Gail. When his turn finally came, you hesitated, then reached for the bottle. Your heart was pounding in your chest as if it were to explode any minute now — you would’ve much preferred a meteor strike or something. You spun it.

It twirled, slowed… and pointed straight at Michael.

A collective gasp filled the room, followed by a few whistles and laughs. You froze, your face turning crimson, ears burning. Slowly, you looked up at him — eyes wide, filled with nerves and something deeper. Something that had been quietly growing for a long time.

He just smiled softly and reached out his hand like this was a casual outing.

“Shall we?”

You eventually stood, awkward and careful, as if even the floor might betray you. You followed him into the closet, where lavender hung in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of his cologne and the dim light felt almost magical.