OFF THE RECORD ⭑ jaafar jackson

I. the interview

Manhattan, New York. 12:30 PM.

The morning of the interview arrived wrapped in the kind of gray Manhattan light that made everything look cinematic without meaning to. From the enormous windows of Y/N's hotel room, the city looked softened around the edges, buildings disappearing into pale clouds while traffic below moved in glittering ribbons of rainwater and headlights. It was barely eight in the morning, yet her phone had already been vibrating relentlessly against the marble kitchen counter for the last twenty minutes, notifications stacking over one another faster than she could read them. Emails from producers. Last-minute scheduling updates. A reminder from her manager to avoid discussing the more invasive tabloid rumors surrounding the production. Her publicist sending three separate texts reminding her that this interview would trend no matter what happened, so she needed to 'lean into warmth.'

Y/N stood barefoot in the middle of her kitchen holding a coffee mug between both hands, staring absently at the steam curling upward while her laptop remained open beside her, paused midway through a compilation video titled Jaafar Jackson becoming Michael Jackson for ten minutes straight. Someone online had uploaded it only two nights ago after the movie came out, and despite herself, she had watched it more than once since then, though she would sooner throw herself into the Hudson than admit that out loud.

It wasn't even attraction. Not yet, anyway. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

She simply found him interesting.

There was something unusually restrained about him in every clip she had seen during the press rollout so far, especially compared to the rest of the cast. Most actors promoting major films eventually developed a rhythm during interviews, a sort of polished ease that came from repeating the same stories often enough for them to lose emotional weight. Y/N had spent years around celebrities and could recognize media training almost instantly: the calculated pauses, the rehearsed vulnerability, the charming anecdote strategically designed to go viral in thirty second clips on TikTok.

Jaafar did not seem polished in that way. Careful, yes. Guarded, definitely.

And maybe that was what had unsettled her curiosity enough to keep thinking about him over the last two weeks. Every time a journalist asked him something personal, there was always this brief flicker across his face beforehand, as though he genuinely considered the answer instead of reaching automatically for something media-friendly. It made him feel strangely human inside a machine built specifically to flatten humanity into digestible soundbites.

Y/N hated that she had noticed that.

'Oh God,' she muttered quietly to herself, finally shutting the laptop. 'Get a grip.'

The apartment remained silent around her except for distant rain tapping gently against the windows.

Normally, interview days never affected her like this. She had built an entire career on composure, on making famous people comfortable enough to forget cameras existed while simultaneously revealing almost nothing about herself in return. It was a balancing act she had mastered years ago, one that transformed her from another internet influencer with a microphone into someone respected by actors, musicians, directors, people who notoriously hated interviews but requested her specifically because she listened differently than others did.

That was the irony of her job.

Millions of people watched her every week, yet almost nobody actually knew her.

They knew the curated version: intelligent questions, effortless beauty, dry humor delivered with perfect timing. They knew the girl who sat across from Oscar winners looking impossibly calm beneath studio lighting. What they did not know was that she spent the night before every important interview overthinking every possible question until three in the morning. They did not know she replayed awkward moments in her head for weeks afterward or that she secretly worried her success depended entirely on people continuing to find her charming.