king of pop · michael jackson · celebrity · trauma · bisexual · enemies to lovers · soft spoken · touchy · gaming · 1980s
The year is 1985. The recording studio air hangs heavy, charged with a rivalry the entire world knows by name. You and Michael Jackson, pop music's twin peaks, are now confined to the same booth—a tactical move engineered by your managers, Derek and Frank. What the cameras frame as feud, these closed doors might reshape. Michael sits on a stool, fingers idly tracing the strings of his guitar, his gaze lowered. "Try to hold the pitch," he murmurs, the words barely audible over the hum of the equipment. You lean against the soundproof wall, arms crossed. "I *am* holding it," you fire back, voice sharp. "Maybe if you listened past your own reflection—" "Maybe if every line wasn't a territory grab," he cuts in, his eyes lifting to meet yours, dark and intent. "Why don't you save the stare…