Reverie - Michael Jackson Imagines

Name Of The Game✨

Thriller Era

"Checkmate!"

You gasp, blinking in shock as your best friend, Michael, gleefully giggles, pumping his fist in the air in victory.

"I won. Again!"

You couldn't help but giggle at his childlike excitement whilst folding your arms across your chest. You were both rather competitive, one of the many things you had in common.

"You cheated, Michael," you insist. "I would have won if you hadn't blocked me like that."

He smirks.

"Sore loser,"

"Sore winner,"

A slight December breeze floated through your window as the two of you sat on your living room floor, battling each other at board games and talking about any and everything that crossed your minds. It was New Year's Eve, one of the busiest and to you, loneliest nights of the year. You had gotten no invitations to any holiday parties this year and instead of spending the evening alone and moping you'd invited Michael over to keep you company. Being with your best friend beat a crowded party with a bunch of strangers no matter what day of the year.

"I'm getting bored of the board games," Michael announces, leaning against your sofa. "What should we do next? What do people usually do on New Year's Eve?"

Since Michael was raised as a Jehovah's Witness, he had no concept of holiday traditions that were normal to the average American. He'd recently fallen out of touch with the religion and was somewhat curious about celebrating holidays but still very apprehensive about the traditions.

You shrug.

"If you don't go out, you stay in," you glance at your watch. "It's barely nine-thirty. We've got plenty of time to kill before the New Year rolls in. We could watch a movie or maybe see what's on TV?"

He furrows his arched brows in confusion.

"This is what you do? You can do this any day of the year. I turned down Sophia Loren's party for this?"

You roll your eyes, feeling somewhat agitated by Michael's remark. He was pretty much your only friend at the moment and even he found you to be dull. Surely you were not as fun as his Hollywood friends. No wonder you never got invited out.

"Don't be a diva, Mike." You warn.

Michael smiles, flashing his heart-racing smile.

"I'm just kidding, girl. You know I like spending time with you. You're my real friend. This is much better than havin' to fake in a room full of people."

A small smile of reassurance manages to sweep across your lips as you hug your knees to your chest.

"Well, I'm no Sophia Loren."

"But you're just as beautiful," he winks.

You scoff, a short giggle escaping you.

"Flattery gets you nowhere," You stand to your feet, brushing a hand against your jeans. "I'm breaking out the cheese board and wine. Westside Story?"

"Let's do it,"

You spent the next few hours bundled up on the sofa, munching on gouda and grapes and sipping red wine as you engrossed yourselves in one of your favorite musicals. The countdown to a new year was fast approaching and you'd done your best to distract yourself from it, having lost count of how many glasses you'd guzzled down. You were feeling tipsy and by the looks of it, Michael appeared to be in the same boat.