𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

SMUDGE

Hi all, let me tickle your fancy here! It's been a while! For the last three months, I've been caught up in this skeeving cacophony of epic proportions that we've come to know as "Leaving Neverland". It effectively destroyed my creative energy while simultaneously reaffirming my devotion to Michael as well as Diana who, like a true friend and queen, came out in defense of her baby.

To all that have still been reading, liking, commenting, and adding this story to their libraries: THANK YOU. I thought I'd never have the strength to return to this, but you all have inspired me to get my shit together and get down to business.

Much love.

_______________________

Her mind was a storm of things that didn't belong.

It was strange really, being both smitten and confused. She'd tried balancing it, looking at it from one angle and then another, but all attempts at trying to make sense of that fateful Friday night had been just about as successful as working up the courage to tell Rhonda that her "Uncle B.B." wasn't her uncle at all.

Grudgingly, she'd simply decided to let it be.

She could try to understand it another time. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when she wasn't tied up with dance numbers, scripts, and a neurotic boss (unlikely). Or maybe even further into the future, when everything was easier to make sense of.

However, like all things lately, that was easier said than done. She'd been on her way home Saturday night, tired and weary from a long day, when it hit her: she'd stepped foot into uncharted territory, an entirely different world. A world filled with a yearning for someone she'd spent so long denying. A world filled with fleeting looks and soft caresses of a new lover. Crinkling eyes, laughs, and bright smiles, all spared for her during breaks and walks down the hallway.

She wasn't sure what to make of it.

An exasperated voice filled her ear: "You could at least pretend that you're listening."

Slowly, Diana's eyes flickered away from the clock on the center of the wall. Behind her, she heard Berry shift in his chair, waiting.

Yes, daydreaming had become a bad habit of hers—thankfully, nowhere near as bad as her habit to be impulsive—but somehow, she'd heard every single word, down to even his underhanded remark about Sidney.

She leaned forward, shifting most of her weight onto one leg. "You're heading back to Los Angeles next week. Lots of loose ends to tie up before the end of the year. We've got to get rolling on the next album. Stefan turned 3 a few months ago. The lights in the studio are too bright and you always leave with a head-splitting migraine—"

He held up his hand, laughing. "Alright, alright! So you were listening." He reached for the decanter at his side. "I suppose what I should have said is: 'You could at least pretend that you're interested in what I'm saying'."

"You'll have to excuse me," she said, "I've had a lot on my mind lately, and on top of that, the last few days at work have been pretty rough."

Much to her displeasure, Berry took the comment in stride. "No pain, no gain, I always say."

"Right," she remarked, seemingly for the third time that night.

Berry distracted himself with the decanter. Diana, welcoming the few seconds of silence, took a moment to eye the clock again.

30 minutes.

There was a distinctive tink, the sound of glass connecting with glass. "Prior engagement?"