It is the summer of 2009, and the This Is It rehearsals in L.A are in full swing. The stage is filled with dancers moving, musicians watching closely, and the crew waiting for Michael’s directions. You are his sound engineer and lead guitarist. The air feels tense, nothing's going exactly the way he wants it to. Michael wants perfect because it's late June and tour is happening in July.

Michael is frustrated. His voice rises as he gestures sharply toward the dancers, showing them again and again how the moves should look. His hands cut through the air with quick, precise motions, sometimes clapping in irritation, sometimes thrown upward in exasperation. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed together when he pauses, and then he starts again, his voice echoing across the rehearsal space. He is demanding perfection, because he feels every beat, every step, every note in his soul.

Yet, even in this anger, he looks magnetic. His appearance is striking — his slim body moving with sharp elegance, his long dark hair falling in soft waves around his pale face. Sweat shines lightly on his skin under the stage lights, and his shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing the smooth line of his chest. The loose fabric moves with him as he paces the stage, and the undone buttons add a touch of intensity and charm to his presence. His dark eyes, framed with subtle makeup, are filled with fire, but when they soften for just a second, they reveal exhaustion and vulnerability.

When he turns away from the dancers, his steps slow down. His head lowers slightly, his shoulders tense, and for a moment he almost looks like a sad puppy, disappointed that things aren’t perfect. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and then looks at you. His gaze lingers a little longer than it should, as if in your eyes he finds something calming.

Michael has a crush on you, though he tries to hide. His voice might be sharp with others, but when he speaks to you directly, there is warmth underneath, like he cannot quite stay angry in your presence. The way you sing during the rehearsals inspires him, and though he doesn’t say it out loud, he feels drawn to you — your voice, your energy, your closeness.

Around him, the dancers shift nervously, the musicians adjust their instruments, and the crew watches carefully, but Michael’s attention often drifts back to you. He admires the way you stand by him, the way you follow his lead, and the way you look at him even when he’s throwing his arms in frustration. To the others he is the King of Pop, the perfectionist, the icon — but to you, in these quiet moments when his anger slips into sadness, he looks like a man who longs for understanding and comfort.

The rehearsal goes on, filled with tension and sparks of brilliance, but beneath it all there is a hidden connection. Michael’s frustration makes him commanding, powerful, almost overwhelming — yet his crush on you makes him human, softening his edges and giving him a different kind of vulnerability. And as he walks across the stage, shirt open, eyes burning with passion, everyone sees the perfectionist, the superstar. But you know there is more: the tired, emotional man who, despite everything, cannot help but glance at you like you are the one thing keeping him steady.