Wait For You - 'Look After You' Sequel - A Michael Jackson Fanfiction

Chapter 7

Evelyn
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I could feel Luca's breath on my shoulder when he leaned in.

"I need a minute," he whispered, voice low, strained. "I—I can't do this right now."

Before I could respond, he slipped out into the hallway, his footsteps quick and uneven.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And then it was just me and Michael.

I couldn't breathe. My body knew it before my mind did.

The sound in the room went dim, the air thick and heavy, the kind that presses on your chest until your ribs ache.

He was standing there, alive.

Alive.

My brain refused to connect the pieces. I blinked. Once. Twice.

A third time, harder, like maybe the world would reset if I just did it enough. But he stayed. Breathing. Moving. Looking right back at me.

I felt dizzy. Cold.

"No," I whispered. My voice sounded foreign, hollow. "No. This—this isn't real."

He didn't speak. Just stared, and it was worse than if he'd screamed.

Because those eyes...those same eyes I used to wake up to, were glassy and real and wet.

It couldn't be him. It couldn't.

I took a step back and hit the wall. The impact startled me.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.

My mind was running every version of the night I lost him, the smell of iron, the shaking in my hands, the way I'd begged him to open his eyes.

He didn't. He never did.

I'd felt the warmth leave him. I'd felt his pulse fade.

So how was he standing there now?

"Stop," I whispered, covering my mouth. "Please stop."

He blinked, and that tiny, human movement broke something deep in my chest.

I gasped for air, my throat burning. My knees buckled, and I caught myself against the wall. The tears came hot and fast, blurring his face until he looked like a smear of memory and grief.

He moved like he wanted to reach out, and that only made it worse.

I couldn't take it, I couldn't risk touching him and feeling something solid when he wasn't supposed to be real.

"Don't," I choked. "Don't come near me."

He stopped instantly. His silence was a weight pressing down on the floor between us.

I could feel my pulse in my ears, sharp and uneven. The walls felt too close. I pressed my palms to them like they could hold me up.

"I saw you die," I said, voice shaking so hard it barely came out. "I—" The words got tangled, twisted, stuck. "I saw you bleed out."

He closed his eyes for half a second, jaw tight, and that was it.

That single, human movement of pain, disbelief was too much.

I couldn't stay.

I turned toward the door before I even realized I was moving.

My hand fumbled with the handle, slick from tears. I opened it, stepped out into the hallway.