𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

DREAM

Diana proposes a night out on the town.

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"How's your Friday looking?"

Diana was standing at the door, her bag in hand, while Michael stood in the center of his dressing room, shrugging on his coat.

Filming had wrapped up for the day, and just as she'd done Tuesday and Wednesday evening, she'd stayed behind. She stood before him, real, in the flesh, as regal as ever, yet every time he looked at her, it was like glimpsing into the makings of an elaborate dream—and if it was, by some chance, he hoped he would never wake up.

"Toy mentioned wanting to go out somewhere, but I'm not sure. She might have a date that night so it's all up in the air." He turned to Diana, slipping on his shoes.

She seemed restless. Shuffling from foot to foot, hands in her pockets, then at her sides. After a few seconds of adjusting the strap of her bag, she let it be. "Well, if nothing comes up, how about you and me have a night out on the town? Maybe Studio 54?"

He'd been there several times before, most of the time on his own and one or two times with Diana, but everything about this, from the crinkle in her brow to the skipping of his heart, was different.

Don't think of it as a date, Michael.

And yet, he felt his chest burning. Because technically, it was.

It took him a few seconds to respond. He fumbled with the tongue of his shoe, then finally stood up straight, holding in the shaky sigh that was wrestling to break free. "Yeah, that sounds great! I'll just check with Toy and call to confirm for sure."

Diana nodded, her lips curling into a small smile. "Okay, sounds like a plan."

His smile came, soft and unbidden, even as he felt his stomach tying into knots.

He checked his pockets (keys, wallet—check) and approached her. After giving the room one last once-over, he reached up and flicked the light switch. The room plunged into darkness, and a small sliver of light drifted in from the empty hallway, illuminating the apples of Diana's cheeks.

"Our drivers should be outside by now." Diana was talking, but she wasn't moving. She stood at his side, staring up at him.

Michael had already turned away from the door. He realized he'd been staring down at her for a few seconds now, taking in the way the light shaped her features. "They probably are."

For several seconds, they stood there in silence, staring at one another. An odd thought came to him and he laughed softly.

"You're shorter than me now," Michael said matter-of-factly.

By only a few inches, of course, but it was a far cry from those early days when he'd stood on stage in front of her awkwardly adjusting his mic or that night at the Golden Globes when he'd been 14 and just a stone's throw away from being shoulder to shoulder with her.

Diana cocked her head to the side. She shifted her weight, standing on the tips of her toes ever so slightly. There was a smile on her face, one that was strangely coy and bashful. "Not that much shorter."

She lifted her hands and gently braced herself against his arms, giving the hallway a sideways glance.

It was empty.

Diana rose a little higher, her nose brushing his; then came her lips, which fell against his mouth like a whisper.

It didn't matter how many times she kissed him. His heart, his mind, his everything, always spiraled.

The moments drifted by. When life finally came back into focus, he was outdoors, stifling a grin and lowering himself into the car.

"What took you so long?" Bill's eyes lifted from the magazine in his lap.

Michael propped his head onto his chin, staring out the window.

He thought of Diana, remembering the shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks, the way she'd nuzzled him with the tip of her nose and flattened her hands into the folds of his coat. But, most of all, he remembered the tingle of her lips.

When he finally replied, his eyes were low, far from reality. "I was daydreaming."