Requested by . Everyone go check out her Michael fan art!

Something's missing you thought as you scrutinized the canvas. You tapped your paintbrush on the edge of the easel as the gears in your mind turned. Your eyes locked on a small piece of your painting, on the surface of the rippling lake that glittered gold in the glow of the setting sun. "That's it," you thought aloud. You tried to grin, but your eyes were tired and dull.

Something's missing.

The joy you used to feel when you painted. That's what was missing.

To be a professional artist – that had been your dream. You worked hard to improve your skills, went to school, even moved to California to start your own studio. Hardest of all, you had left behind a teaching position you adored, all the students you loved so much, just to follow your dream.

But now that your dream had become reality, you felt no satisfaction in it, no happiness. Years ago, a blank canvas had been a welcoming sight, something that motivated and challenged you.

Now, you felt like you were chained to your easel, forced to paint only what you were told to paint, not what you loved, because some celebrity wanted a pretty picture for their mansion wall. And they hired you to paint it.

You dipped your brush into your brightest golden color and leaned in close to your work - taking care not to touch the wet canvas with your nose - and applied the sunshine paint to the undulating water. You monitored the movement of the bristles with the focus of a surgeon and tried to keep your hand and eyes in perfect harmony. It was a difficult task because your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, longing to rest, to be finished for the day. You struggled until you could no longer keep them open, and the world around you faded away. For a blissful moment, the warmth of the sunset ravaged your skin and the lake water chilled your feet.

The phone rang.

Your eyes snapped open, and you jumped in your chair. Mortified, you watched your hand jolt, flicking the yellow paint in places it was not supposed to go. You almost snapped the brush in half. Cursing, you frantically rubbed your hands on your black leggings as you stood from your chair and rushed to the phone. The caller ID told you it was your manager, Richard Hughes. You answered.

"This better be important, Rich. I'm in the middle of a piece."

"Oh," Rich stammered, caught off guard by your sharp tone. "I'm sorry for interrupting." He sounded hurt.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have barked at you like that."

"Is something the matter?"

"The usual. I haven't slept in two days, but other than that I'm fine. Just stressed."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, (Y/n). Make sure you get some rest after today, but right now I have some news that might cheer you up."

You dared to hope. "Really? What is it?"

"I just got a commission for you."

Your heart sank. "Why would that make me feel better?"

"I know it sounds like more work, but you don't understand. It's a phenomenal job."

You walked to the bathroom sink and, propping up the phone with your shoulder, scrubbed the dried, multi-colored mess from your hands. "Phenomenal, huh? Well, what are you waiting for? Tell me all about it."

Rich cleared his throat uneasily. "Well, that's the thing, (Y/n). I can't tell you who it is."

This caught you off guard. You stopped washing your hands, shook them, and grabbed the nearest towel. "You can't tell me? Do you know who it is?"

"Yes. I know it's all a bit strange, but I was given specific instructions. It seems your commissioner is a very private man."

You cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Ah, so he's a man. Thank you for the clue. Could you please give me another?"

Rich chuckled. "You never change. But unfortunately, I can't give you any more hints. The good news is you won't have to be in suspense for too much longer."

"What do you mean?"

"He wants to meet with you. Today."

Your jaw dropped. "Today? Is he crazy?"

Rich cracked up. "Some may say so, but they don't know what they're talking about. Anyway, that's beside the point. Get ready as quickly as you can, because I'm coming to pick you up."

You looked around frantically. "I'll be ready as soon as I find my shoes and -"

"What are you wearing?" Rich interrupted.

You looked down at your blue flannel shirt and your black leggings, which luckily only had a few smudges of paint on them. "What I usually wear. A blue button-down and leggings."

A rustling sound came through the phone, and you knew it was his bushy beard rubbing against the phone as he shook his head. "You have to put something nicer on, something formal even," he said. "Trust me, you wouldn't want to be caught dead in a flannel where we're going."

You put your free hand up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll try to find a ball gown in the next ten minutes."

Richard laughed. "Well, you better hurry 'cause I'll be there in five."

* * *

You stood outside your studio, looking down at your improved outfit, brushing any pieces of cat hair and lint off your white blouse and sleek black dress pants. You couldn't remember the last time you wore them, and you had forgotten how much high heels hurt your feet.

In five minutes, Rich arrived. He was driving a red 1970 Corvette LT-1, his most prized possession. You couldn't believe your eyes. You pulled open the passenger side door with care and got in.

"The Corvette?!" you exclaimed. "Have you lost your mind? You never take it out!"

He shrugged coolly. "It's a special occasion."

Your eyes fell on his brand-new outfit, pressed to a crisp, black perfection. You laughed in disbelief. "Is that a new suit? What's going on, Rich? Are we going to a business meeting or the prom?"

"I told you, (Y/n)," he said matter-of-factly as he checked his neatly combed hair in the rearview mirror. "This guy's a big deal." Still inspecting his reflection, Rich fluffed his freshly groomed beard and smiled bright and big. "Is there anything in my teeth?"

You gawked at him. "What's gotten into you? You're more fidgety than a kid on Christmas morning." Rich didn't reply, just cleared his throat and straightened his back in an effort to maintain his dignity. You smirked playfully. "You're an admirer of this mystery commissioner, aren't you?"

He looked at you and dramatically put on his sunglasses. "I'm his biggest fan." He stuck the key in the ignition and revved the engine. "Let's go." You burst out laughing as Rich started down the road.

After an hour of driving, he pulled off the main street and followed a narrow private road bordered by trees. The landscape was beautiful and completely secluded; there were no houses or people to be found.

"Are we lost or something?" you asked, poking him in the arm and smirking.

"We're not lost," Rich said as he leaned forward. You were sure his forehead would hit the windshield. He stared down the road, awestruck. "We're here."

You looked ahead and couldn't believe what you saw. Stately wrought iron gates, polished to a magnificent shine. A golden lion and unicorn crest gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun. Arching over the gates, a black archway bore the word "Neverland" in shimmering gold.

"Michael Jackson," you breathed, astonished. Your jaw dropped as you looked at Richard, and you grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Michael Jackson?!"

He smiled ecstatically and bounced in his seat like a barely restrained toddler. "I can't believe this is happening right now!"

"Be cool, Richard," you said as you performed breathing exercises to restore your heartbeat to its normal rhythm. Be cool, (Y/n), you reminded yourself.

Beads of sweat appeared on Rich's forehead as he stopped the car in front of the gates. "You're right. I'm cool. Cool as a cucumber." He took a deep breath and tried to exhale slowly, but he ended up hyperventilating. "(Y/n), help, I'm not cool."

Two men in black caught your eye. You tapped Rich's shoulder and pointed. "Calm down, they're coming over here." Rich checked his posture and straightened his tie. Two security guards walked up to the car, and Rich rolled down his window.

"Are you (Y/n) and Richard Hughes?" one man asked.

"Yes," Richard said. He handed over your licenses to confirm your identities. After enduring several long minutes of routine security measures, you and Rich were relieved when they opened the gates.

Escorted by a black Cadillac, you and Rich drove the winding roads of the ranch, your face pressed against the passenger side window as you wondered at the marvels all around you. Gorgeous statues, bubbling streams, flowers of all colors, perfectly manicured grass, leafy, sprawling trees.

"It's paradise," you said, fogging up the glass.

"The prettiest place I've ever seen," Rich said. "And to think this is only the beginning of the adventure."

You arrived at the main house, a grand structure of beige bricks, large windows, and dark wooden shutters. Expansive gardens filled with bright yellow and purple flowers surrounded it, and stone steps led up to the front double doors.

"This is his house?" you whispered to Rich as you followed the guards up the steps.

"Isn't it amazing?" he replied with childlike wonder.

"It is amazing. Just not what I expected." You had seen many celebrity homes, glitzy and glamorous, temples of wealth. This house, though impressive, was oddly humble. In the back of your mind, a thought sparked. What if celebrities aren't all the same?

The interior of the house answered your question. The first thing you noticed was the abundance of photographs, all in elaborate, gorgeous frames, on every surface of every table. You admired the dark, shining wooden walls, each one finely carved, and the brickwork of the fireplace, then the dark wood floors that gleamed under the light of chandeliers. You marveled at the rustic ambiance of the house, a house so different than the others you had seen.

Best of all, though, was the art. Paintings hung on every wall, and statues stood in every corner, on every surface. You beamed at every piece you saw with a strange sort of affection. A beautifully iconic statue caught your eye, placed on top of a chest in the center of a cluster of photographs. It was The Pietà, one of the most treasured pieces of art in history – the Virgin Mary cradling the body of Jesus. You studied it more closely and carefully traced its smooth surface with your fingertips.

"Isn't it beautiful? Michelangelo is my favorite."

The voice startled you. You pulled your hand away from the statue like a child caught opening the cookie jar. You stumbled backward in shock. Michael Jackson approached you, his hand held out to you in welcome.

"I'm Michael Jackson. It's nice to meet you," he said with a smile and a respectful Eastern bow. You were caught off guard by his humility. Did the greatest entertainer on earth just bow to me?

You shook his hand and returned the bow, albeit a bit awkwardly. "I'm (Y/n). It's a pleasure to meet you too, sir. I'm sorry for touching your things; your home is so lovely, I couldn't resist."

Michael grinned and gave a cursory wave as if he were swatting a fly. "It's fine, don't worry. And thank you for saying so."

You turned and gestured toward Richard, who looked as though he might cry at any moment. You chuckled. "This is my manager and good friend, Richard Hughes."

Michael bowed to him and shook his hand. Rich grabbed Michael's hand in both of his and shook almost violently. "Mr. Jackson, I'm so honored to meet you. I'm a big fan," he blurted.

"It's very nice to meet you, Rich. Thank you for supporting my work," Michael said with a grateful nod of the head.

"You're very welcome, sir." A tear escaped from Richard's eye, but he wiped it away quickly so no one would see. You saw it, though, and you giggled quietly.

At that moment, you realized Michael was wearing a blue button-down flannel shirt.

To your horror, your amused giggle became a loud, unstoppable howl. You laughed so hard tears sprung to your eyes. For a second, Michael looked at you like you had two heads. You tried to stifle your howls. "I'm so sorry. Please, excuse me. It's just that you're dressed so casually and we" - you gestured to Richard - "we tried so hard to dress formally to meet you."

Richard's voice trembled with joy. "I bought a new suit and drove my Corvette and everything, and you show up wearing mismatched socks. C'mon, Mr. Jackson!"

Michael doubled over and laughed so hard he could hardly catch a breath. "That's fantastic," he cried. You didn't know why or how, but his laugh made your heart soar. And damn, was it contagious! You and Richard couldn't stop laughing until Michael had finally stopped.

When you all regained your composure, Michael spoke. "And please, call me Michael. Now, would you like to sit down? We'll talk business now so we can have some fun later."

Later. The word made you anxious. You had another business meeting scheduled that evening.

Rich gave you a concerned look when Michael's back was turned, but neither of you mentioned your upcoming obligation. Instead, you both followed Michael into a large room furnished with couches and chairs, each upholstered in crimson and gold fabric. You and Rich sat down on a small couch situated across from the chair Michael took. A coffee table separated you.

"I don't like this setup," Michael muttered. He stood, moved the table out of the way, and dragged his chair closer to you. "This is a business meeting, but it doesn't have to feel like it."

You and Rich laughed – a bit unsurely, though – because you had never had a meeting quite like this before. You liked it, the informality, the closeness. It was a welcome change.

"I'm so happy you could come today on such short notice," Michael continued. "I was excited to meet you."

You blinked in surprise. "Excited? To meet me?"

"Yeah! When I saw your work, I could tell you were a creative, spiritual person. Your style really impressed me. I knew it'd be perfect for the painting I want done, and I wanted to meet with you as soon as I could." You watched with a twinkle in your eyes as he talked with his hands. Everything about him – his tone, his bright eyes, his movements –conveyed genuine enthusiasm and boundless energy you had never known, and it rubbed off on you.

"It's such an honor to hear you say that," you said. "Thank you so much, Michael. Really. So, tell me all about this painting you're envisioning."

Using his pointer fingers, Michael traced the outline of an invisible canvas in the air. "So, I'll be standing here" – he gestured to a spot on the canvas – "looking out my big picture window upstairs, and the light of the sunset is coming in through the window. And out there, you can see Neverland, all the trees and flowers and all that."

"That would be stunning," you said. "Sort of like the king looking out over his kingdom."

Michael's face reddened and he smiled. "Well, I wouldn't say it like that."

"Why not?" Richard blurted. "You are a king! The King of Pop!" Rich pretended to tip a fedora over his eyes and grab himself. "Hee hee!"

Everyone lost it. Michael practically fell out of his chair from laughing. He threw his head back and clapped his hands. "I love it! I love it." It took him forever to stop giggling, but when he did, he looked at you and asked, "So, you'll do the painting then?"

"Yes, I'd be honored to!" you said.

"Great! You're hired!" Michael slapped his hands on his knees. "Excellent. Now that that's settled, would you like to take a tour of the ranch? I'd love to show it to you."

Another nervous look from Richard. You knew you should have told Michael about your other business meeting, but you didn't. You didn't want to. Without thinking, you abandoned your better judgment. "Yes! We'd love a tour!" you exclaimed. "Just excuse me for one moment. Where is the restroom?"

Michael gave you directions to the bathroom, and you hurried off as well as you could in your high heels. You closed the bathroom door and pulled out your cell phone. You hesitated for a moment before dialing the number, but you called and canceled your appointment. "I'm so sorry," you said, "but I'm afraid I can't make it this afternoon. There's been a family emergency. I'll be sure to call back later and reschedule. Again, I'm very sorry. Yes. Yes, thank you. Bye."

You ended the call, and guilt ate away at you, but the remorse dissipated when you saw Michael and Richard standing ready at the door. Michael was wearing a black fedora and a huge smile. "Are you ready to go exploring?" he asked.

You took off your stupid heels and jogged barefoot to meet them. "I'm so ready!" you shouted.

Michael's eyes lit up again, and he turned to Rich. "She's great," he said. He smiled at you, and you felt a few butterflies flutter in your stomach. You smirked. "You guys wait here," Michael instructed. "I'll get a golf cart for us."

A golf cart? You never knew what was going to happen next, but you loved it.

"I feel bad," said Rich, interrupting your thoughts. "How do we tell him we have another meeting soon?"

You avoided his gaze and rubbed the back of your neck, embarrassed. "We don't have to. I canceled it."

Rich gasped and threw his arms around you. "You did?! Why?! I mean, not that I'm upset – I'd stay here forever – but why?"

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I guess I wanted to stay too."

Rich grinned knowingly and elbowed you, raising his eyebrows suggestively. You blushed and pushed him away. "Knock it off, moron. Here he comes."

Michael sped toward you in a golf cart and came to a screeching halt in front you. He beeped the horn. "Hop in!"

You walked to the cart, but Richard hustled as fast as his stocky legs could carry him. "This may sound weird," he said, flustered, "but can I ride shotgun?"

"Sure," Michael said, laughing a bit. "That is, of course, if (Y/n) doesn't want to."

You patted Rich on the back. "Go for it."

You thought he'd do a backflip, he was so hyped. Watching Rich sit next to his hero made you happy, but as you took your seat in the back, deep inside you, you wanted to be him.

The first stop on your tour was the zoo. Michael introduced you to all of his animals – elephants, monkeys, deer, he had everything – and he laughed as you hesitantly patted the head of one of his llamas. "They spit," you explained as you flinched.

Michael showed you the whole ranch, but he saved the best for last. He stopped the cart and motioned for you to follow him. He led you down a stone path bordered by bright yellow flowers. Pearl Bailey's "Best of Friends" floated from hidden speakers that Michael explained were hidden in the garden.

"I love this song," you said. "It's from The Fox and The Hound, isn't it?"

Michael stopped in his tracks and turned to smile at you. "Yeah, that's right. I'm surprised you knew that. Not many people do."

You grinned shyly. "I'm a big Disney fan."