The year is 1981, and for all his fame, Michael Jackson is still capable of being excited about the exact same things that would've thrilled him when he was twelv.e years old.

The Rolls-Royce pulls into the Hayvenhurst driveway just as the California sun begins dipping lower in the sky. The four older brothers have taken over the basketball hoop near the garage, their laughter and trash talk echoing across the property. The game pauses as the car arrives.

"Hey." "What's up, Mike?" "Hey, Bill."

The greetings are casual, familiar. Family.

Michael practically bounces out of the passenger side before Bill Bray has even fully parked the car. At twenty-two, he's already one of the biggest entertainers on Earth, yet at this moment he looks more like an excited kid rushing home from a field trip.

Bill gets out more slowly.

Michael is already waiting beside the trunk.

The second it opens, Michael reaches inside and grabs a bright blue shopping bag.

His face lights up.

The brothers watch with mild curiosity as he eagerly digs through the bag.

Then he pulls out a large rectangular box.

Twister.

The colorful board game gleams in the afternoon sunlight.

Michael beams. "Hey guys! Look!"

The basketball game completely stops.

"I got Twister!"

He says it with such genuine excitement that for a second it seems as though he expects the entire driveway to erupt into cheers.

Instead, there's silence. Then a chuckle.

"Twister?" Jermaine asks.

Another brother squints at the box.

Michael either doesn't notice or chooses not to. "You wanna play tonight?"

The smile on his face is impossible to miss.

Open. Hopeful. Earnest.

Under his breath, one brother mutters, "Fucking Twister?"

Another lets out a laugh. "Really?"

"What we gonna do with Twister, man?" Marlon asks, shaking his head.

Michael's grin flickers.

Only slightly. But enough.

"Come on," he says. "It'll be like the old days."

The brothers exchange looks. Nobody says yes.

Jermaine bounces the basketball once before catching it. "I can't, Mike. I gotta get home. Hazel's waitin'. Kids too."

Michael nods. "Oh."

His smile remains. Smaller now.

Marlon points toward the street. "We all goin' out tonight anyway."

The disappointment hits harder this time. "Oh."

He shifts the Twister box beneath his arm. Then immediately starts looking for solutions.

Trying to make it work. Trying to make everybody happy.

"Marlon, what time you gonna be home?" he asks. "We could play then."

Tito nearly doubles over laughing. "Marlon ain't gonna be home."

The others start laughing too.

Tito points at Marlon. "He's gonna be playin' his own game of Twister tonight."

The driveway erupts.

Michael understands immediately. The joke continues around him, but Michael isn't really listening anymore.

The smile is still there. Technically.

But it has become something he is consciously holding in place.

A little thinner. A little sadder.

He looks down at the bright, colorful game tucked beneath his arm.

Something he'd genuinely been excited to share. Something he'd imagined would make them laugh together.

The way it used to.

Back before wives and gir.lfriends and chil.dren and separate lives.

Before everybody grew up.

Michael starts walking toward the house.

Slowly.

"You guys are no fun anymore."

He says it lightly. Almost teasingly.

But there's enough truth in it that the laughter softens.

"Come on, Mikey." "Don't be like that." "Aw, Mike."

He doesn't turn around.

Just lifts a hand in acknowledgement as he continues up the driveway.

The Twister box remains tucked beneath his arm. Behind him, the basketball game gradually starts again. The brothers return to their lives.

Ahead of him, Hayvenhurst waits quietly.