You were walking home from work, and - as usual - you were faced with a decision: Should I take the shortcut and endure being harassed by those sleazy guys in the alley, or should I just suck it up and take the long way home? The answer seemed obvious, didn't it? You lived in the inner city, and you knew that men who loitered in dark alleyways were never the politest, especially to a young lady like yourself, clad in a little black dress and high heels.

Simply put, they were a starving pack of dogs, and you were a fine piece of meat.

In spite of this, you chose to take the shortcut home - as you usually did. Why would you take the shortcut knowing that you would be harassed? It was not because you were lazy. It was not because you enjoyed being cat-called and groped and whistled at. No, not at all.

It was because there was one boy who was different than the others, a boy who caught your eye the moment you saw him.

A boy in blue.

This boy was the sole reason you chose to brave the shortcut through the alley today, as you did so many times before. Your heart started to beat a little faster as you turned into the gray, shadowy passage. You saw the group of guys ahead of you. Some had plaid shirts, and some wore sunglasses, but no matter how varied their outfits were, they were all the same to you. Disrespectful. Desperate. Trash. As you made your way down the street, the men noticed you and began their routine.

One of them, a man quite a bit older than you, approached you. He stood right in your way and leaned his face close to yours. "How you doin', honey? Come back to see some more of me? Huh? Come back to steal another glance at ol 'Terrell?" he asked with a conceited smirk on his face, gesturing to himself like he was made of gold.

You had returned to that garbage-filled alley to see one of the guys, but it sure as hell wasn't Terrell. You scanned the crowd of hustlers, and you breathed a little sigh of relief when you saw the boy in blue standing alone, far from the rest of the group, where he always stood. He was staring at you, but he wasn't ogling you. He was staring at you with awe in his dark, brown eyes. You could feel yourself starting to blush as you stared back at him. With some effort, you forced yourself to direct your attention back to the loser in front of you.

You shot him an icy glare. "Get out of my way."

Terrell sneered and looked over his shoulder at the rest of the gang. "She's feisty today, boys!" He turned back to you, attempted charming smile. He was missing a few teeth. You cringed. "Well, you're in luck," he went on, "Because I like 'em feisty. Whaddaya say, girl?"

You slapped him as hard as you could. "That's what I say! Now get out of my way before I knock out the few teeth you have left!"

All the guys oohhhh-ed and laughed hysterically, impressed by your insulting threat. Terrell touched his cheek with his hand and eyed you with contempt; obviously he hadn't found your mockery funny. You didn't care. And apparently, Terrell didn't care to pursue you any longer. He turned his back to you and walked slowly in shame towards the rest of his group. They snickered and nudged him with their elbows and made jokes as he re-entered their circle.

"Man, she got you good with that one, huh?" one guy taunted. "I guess ol' Terrell' just didn't have what it takes to get a foxy lady like that."

"Yeah, but I was the only one man enough to try, now, wasn't I? Terrell snapped back.

"He's got us there, boys!" one guy said. "Who's gonna man-up and try next?"

A voice, a sweet falsetto, suddenly rose above the noise. "I will."

It was the boy in blue.

You should have been walking away. You could have left the alley by now, but as the boy joined the group of guys and started to walk towards you, all you could do was stand frozen in place and watch him with anticipation.

Then, one of the men, an older gentleman - minus the gentle part - and the apparent ringleader of the group grabbed the boy by his blue shirt front and started hollering in his face, pushing him back the way he came.

"What are you doin' here, hangin' out with these hoodlums?! I told you to just go on home, Mike! You shouldn't be messin' around with these boys! Just go on home!"

So, the boy in blue has a name, you thought excitedly to yourself. Michael.

Michael didn't say anything in his defense, just stared at the group with anger in his eyes.

"Don't call us hoodlums, homeboy. You just mad 'cause he's weak," one of the guys said.

Pain flickered across Michael's face for a brief moment, then he scowled and pushed the man away from him, freeing himself from his grip. He turned and walked quickly out of the alley with his hands shoved into the pockets of his black pants. He rounded the corner and disappeared.

While the other guys were busy making a joke out of him, you took advantage of the diversion he caused and briskly walked out of the alley.

As you rounded the corner, you saw him walking down the sidewalk a short distance ahead of you. "Michael?" you called after him.

He lifted his head and whirled around to look at you. He was stunned speechless, so you did the talking.

"Don't try to fit in with them," you said reassuringly. "You're too good for them, I know it. The next time I walk down this alley, I want you to show them who you really are. Show me who you really are." When you said this, you noticed a change in his eyes. The shock they conveyed only moments ago was now replaced by joy and disbelief.

Michael smiled brightly and said, a bit flustered, "I will. I definitely will."

Yes! You nodded, trying to suppress the huge smile that threatened to spread across your face. "I'll see you tomorrow then!"

"Y-yes! See you tomorrow!" Michael stammered in reply like a little school boy with a crush. He turned and started running down the street. To where, you didn't know, but you assumed he was going to prepare for his big day, the day he would prove to those guys, to you, and to himself that he was not the weak link, that he could beat them at their own game.

You let your smile loose as you watched him sprint away, and with that, you continued your walk home, leaving the alley and its hassles behind you, and leaving the fate of your next walk through the alley in Michael's hands.

The next day, you found yourself walking faster than usual as you headed towards home. There were two reasons for this, one being that the skies were dark and stormy, ready to pour down on you at any moment. The other reason was, of course, Michael. As you looked up at the clouds, you hoped they would not rain on your parade, literally.

When you reached the point where you would normally stand and weigh your options - the long way vs. the alley shortcut - you walked into the alley without a moment's hesitation. You couldn't wait to see what Michael would do to "catch" you. Little did he know, he wouldn't have to try too hard; he had captivated your heart long before today.

As you turned the corner and stepped into the alley, you scanned the street. The same group of guys were there, but no one made a move to approach you. As you continued in your stride, everything was fairly quiet, save the sound of your heels clicking against the sidewalk.

Someone in the crowd broke the silence. "Look who's back, boys! It's the feisty, foxy lady!"

To your amazement, besides their obnoxious calls, the guys did nothing to bother you. I guess they finally gave up on me, you thought with some pride. But that pride soon turned to disappointment as you looked around and saw that Michael was no where to be found. You didn't want to believe that he had given up on you too, especially after you finally got the chance to talk to him. However, doubt slowly seeped into your heart like poison, and you walked with your head down.

Something caught your eye just then. An older man, someone you had never seen before, was seated on a darkened stairwell on the opposite side of the street, a distance away from where the group of hustlers stood. Next to him on the stairs was a large boom box.

What the . . .?

You didn't have time to finish that thought because a sudden movement in front of you caught your eye. It was Michael. You gasped inaudibly and your eyes gleamed. He stepped out in front of you from a side alleyway, blocking your path. You smirked and walked right around him, nose in the air, hips swinging. Show me what you got, Michael.

Apparently, he understood your message loud and clear, because suddenly . . .

"HEY!"

Michael yelled with such intensity that it made you jump. The rest of the gang watched intently from across the street, struck silent by Michael's yell. You turned around to face him, heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. Michael pouted his lips (rather sexily, you thought) and shot a meaningful glance at the old man sitting on the stairs. Michael nodded to him, giving him some sort of signal that you didn't understand. The older gentleman gave him a thumbs up.

Michael slowly turned around. His eyes, once innocent, now seductive, sent a chill down your back. He began sauntering toward you, snapping his fingers. You stood there and turned your head to watch him as he circled you, grinning slyly.

What the hell is going on?

When he stopped behind you, you faced him once again, folded your arms, and looked him up and down. Trying to act uninterested was harder than you thought it would be, especially when Michael was smiling devilishly like he knew a secret that you didn't.

All of a sudden, Michael bobbed his head, stomped his heel, and started snapping out a rhythm. Then, he sang, piercing the thick silence of the alley once again:

"You knock me off of my feet now baby!" he belted. "Hoo!"

The old man sitting on the stairs fiddled with the boom box, and with one press of a button, the whole street was filled with the sound of the funkiest beat you had ever heard. It dawned on you: Michael was going to sing you into submission, and you couldn't wait.

You weren't expecting his killer dance moves, though. He moved in a way that made you think that every gesture, every kick, every step was effortless for him. He was a natural talent, and even that wasn't enough to describe him.

It also dawned on you that you were standing still as a statue with your mouth slightly ajar in total surprise and wonderment. It was time to play hard to get. Without giving him another look, you began walking down the street. The rest of the guys on the sidelines all pointed at you eagerly.

"Go get her, Mike!" they shouted. Michael smirked and took off after you, striding to the beat.

You kept walking down the street, never looking back. Soon, though, your path was blocked. All the guys stood in a group in your way, making sure you couldn't escape from Michael. Little did they know, you didn't want to escape from him anyway. You turned around to see Michael, smiling that playful smile, standing a few feet away. He opened his mouth to sing, and his voice rang out loud and clear:

"Hey pretty baby with the high heels on.

You give me fever like I've never, ever known!

You're just a product of loveliness.

I like the groove of your walk, your talk, your dress.

I feel your fever from miles around.

I'll pick you up in my car and we'll paint the town.

Just kiss me baby and tell me twice

That you're the one for me.

The way you make me feel!"

Michael danced as you stood there, enchanted by every movement of his hands and every step of his feet. He literally danced circles around you. When you finally walked away from him, he walked right alongside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, singing all the while. You couldn't stop yourself from grinning this time; you loved the feeling of his arm around you, and you never wanted it to end. Alas, you had to keep the act going for a few more minutes. Michael's song wasn't over yet, and you could tell he had much more in store for you.

So, you took off down one of the side alleys, but soon discovered that it was a dead end. You looked back the way you came and saw Michael, backed by the group of guys who excluded him just a day before. Now, they were cheering him on with enthusiasm.

Trying to act defeated, you slowly walked back to where they stood, whooping and hollering. You veered to the left and began walking down the sidewalk, and Michael jogged after you. Just then, the two of you passed the old gentleman sitting on the stairs, operating the boom box blaring Michael's track. The man smiled proudly at Michael and gave him a thumbs up. You smiled sweetly at the man, thanking him without words for helping Michael pull this off.

A car was parked on the opposite side of the road, and you walked towards it, not quite knowing what you would do when you got there. When you did, you turned around, leaned up against the car, and watched Michael dance. He kicked his leg high in the air, and he swung his hips back and forth with his thumbs tucked into the white belt tied around his waist.

The next thing you knew, he had stepped within inches of you and bang! lifted his leg and planted his foot firmly against the side of the car, pinning you there. He thrust his hips forward, closer and closer to you each time. Passion sparked in his eyes and graced his smirking expression. You nearly died of thirst for the man, but it was not time for the big finale yet. No, you would just have to resist a few minutes longer.

Since you could not escape, you climbed into the car instead, if only just to see what Michael would do. Of course, he jumped right in with you. You crawled across to the passenger side, and Michael quickly filled the driver's seat. As soon as he had closed the door behind him, you leaned in close to him and kissed his cheek.

"Give them a finale they'll never forget," you whispered into his ear. Michael's smooth, cool-guy act faded away, revealing a man struck speechless in love. You giggled at the look on his face.

Without warning, you opened the passenger side door and escaped him once more. You could no longer hide your ecstasy, and you danced down the street, skipping rather than running. Michael emerged from the car with the same look of bliss on his face. As you hurried away from him, the group of hoodlums blocked your path again. Their expressions were a mix of surprise and admiration; you grinned at the sight of them and, accepting that they would not let you pass, turned in Michael's direction once more.

He smirked as he approached you, and his eyes sparkled with a confidence you didn't know he had. You were entranced.

Thunder roared.

The low, loud rumble startled you out of your mesmerized state, and you looked up at the sky in concern, silently begging the rain to hold off just a few more minutes. Looking around at the guys, you knew they had similar hopes. But Michael never looked worried. No. He looked straight up into the sky, tilting his head all the way back, and he grinned contentedly. Then, he looked right into your eyes and, without uttering a syllable, said, "Watch me." And you did.

He snapped his fingers, and when he did, lightning streaked across the sky, bathing everything around you in a pure, white light. The heavens cracked open and poured rain down upon you and upon Michael as he began to strut to the shuffling beat of the boom box music. He put a hand in his pocket and made quick, tap-dance moves with his feet, thrust his hips, and pointed his finger in your direction; every movement was precise, calculated yet effortless, and infused with electricity. It was as if lightning coursed through his veins.

He lifted his leg and kicked with all his strength, but there was something else in that kick, something else in the way he shook his head, the way he clenched his fists as he danced. You knew it was his feelings of frustration and anger, feelings that arose every time the gang told him that he should just go home, that he didn't belong there, or that he was useless. All those feelings were conveyed through his dance.

Then, Michael began to spin. And he spun and he spun, until you were convinced that he was no longer in control of his revolutions, but that the stormy wind somehow propelled him. He stopped as suddenly as he had started, and he dropped to his knees. As he hit the road, water sprang up all around him, dousing him. He knelt there on the ground, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it off his shoulders. As the thunder boomed, he let his head fall back and screamed.

"Ohhhh!" His cry echoed through the alleyway and drowned out the thunder.

You stood there in awe, believing that not only did Michael enlist the help of the man with the boom box, but that he enlisted the aid of Mother Nature herself.

In his scream, you heard his every insecurity, every fear, and every longing of his soul. It was his story, honest and powerfully raw. Seeing him there on his knees, shouting up at the pouring sky, was like seeing a beast straining against its chains.

Slowly, he rose from the ground and stood before you once more. He began to dance again, only this time, his movements were more fluid, graceful, and free. With every quick movement of his head, water droplets flew from the ends of his long, dark curls. He sauntered and swung his hips with joyous energy. He lifted raised arms at his sides and then lifted his leg, as elegant as a ballet dancer. He brought it down again, closed his eyes blissfully against the falling rain, and rolled his neck; beads of water dripped slowly down his neck and collarbones.

He grinned up at the sky for a moment, then he jerked his head upward, positioned his feet precisely, and started to spin again. One, two, three, four, five revolutions. This time, there was no anger or frustration in his movement, only freedom. Like a beautiful caged bird set free, he spread his wings and spoke with his body, saying, "Look at me. I am more than what you say I am."

As the song blaring from the boom box blared its final note, Michael broke out of his spin and posed in victory, one fist thrust into the air and his other hand held against his chest. He stood there with his chest rising and falling with exhausted breaths, soaked to the skin, and the whole time his eyes were locked on you and you alone. You burned up under his fiery gaze.

"Y/n," he said, almost begging. He held out his hand to you. "Please, be mine."

You couldn't play hard to get any longer. You could not continue this game for another second.