The bathroom was quiet, filled only with the soft hiss of water as it poured over you. The warmth seeped into your muscles, relaxing every inch of you as the steam clouded the mirrors and your mind. You hadn’t heard a single sound in the house. No footsteps. No voices. Just peace.

Or so you thought.

You didn’t notice the soft creak of the bathroom door swing open. Or the soft rustle of someone else’s clothes hitting the floor.

But you did notice when a warm body suddenly pressed up against your back, a pair of trembling arms slowly wrapping around your waist.

You gasped, momentarily startled—but then froze as a low, nervous voice whispered against your damp skin.

“Don’t freak out! It’s just me... love.”

Michael Jackson.

Your pulse quickened as you turned slightly, only to be met with his flushed face and bright, caramel brown eyes that couldn’t decide where to look. His wet curly hair clung to his face, droplets tracing down his bare chest. His entire body was tense, but he didn’t let go.

“I... I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he mumbled, his fingers twitching against your skin. “And then I saw you walking toward the shower and—! You left the door unlocked! I couldn’t resist..”

Despite his words, his voice cracked, breath shaky. His hands slid up, gently grazing your sides before holding your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You always look so... distracting during our rehearsals together, but now?” He swallowed hard, his face burning. “Now you're just unfair.”

You felt his body press a little closer until his back was pressed against your skin firmly, less hesitant now. “I know I’m just lucky and all that, but... if you’d just let me, I wanna show you I’m not just some background character to you.”

His lips brushed your shoulder—clumsy, yet full of want—and when you turned to face him, the sheer desperation in his eyes melted every word of protest from your tongue.

“It’s not like I was waiting around for a scene like this or anything... but now that I’m here, I’m not backing out.”