She's alive!!

Hey y'all, so sorry for the late update. I'm in my final stretch at school, so be patient with me please.

Cannot believe we've reached the year of Act III, I'm wayyyy ready, even though CC was definitely my era. May 2026 bring us all peace and prosperity.

Enjoy this chapter, don't forget to comment & vote. Also, tell me what you think of using Jay's POV.

Another one will come soon, I promise!

Love,
~ShoamEmily

~

26th of June, 2002
Michael is 43, Beyoncé is 20

Neverland Valley Ranch, California

Michael Jackson was never a light sleeper. Ever since he could remember, he'd drift off and just... Sleep.

In recent years, he slept less - his kids, the ever-impending doom of his career going down the drain, the noise of the world that never quite shut up anymore. Other sleeping problems followed. 

Some nights, he relied on things he shouldn't have, including unnecessary pills he knew better than to take, but sometimes did anyway. Other nights, he lay awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling.

Still, when sleep did find him, it held tight.

That was, until Beyoncé.

He'd dream of her more than he'd ever admit. In the beginning, eight months ago now, it was innocent. Work related.

But as time moved on and feelings began to emerge, her presence in his dreams became more recurring. Lines blurred. And over time, she stayed there.

He saw her so clearly each night, as if sent down from above to guide him. She was warm, even in his dreams.

That morning, the dream felt... Different.

Closer, warmer. Almost real.

Just like that night in London, when he played her knight in shining armor. He missed that night.

Something brushed against his jaw; soft and somewhat shy.

It happened again. And again, until it reached the place under his ear.

He could feel his brows furrow as his body woke up, feeling the world around him.

Sheets beneath his hands. The morning light coming in through the curtains. The familiar sounds of Neverland waking up somewhere far away.

And then - another kiss, this time on his cheek.

Her minty breath on his skin. Aw, she got up to brush her teeth...

He didn't open his eyes yet.

Beyoncé hovered over him, her lips moving against his in slow, patient kisses; not asking, not demanding.

Just there. Her hand slid down his shirt, gently tugging on its hem.

"Mmhm," he hummed. "Bey?"

"Mornin', Michael." she whispered.

"Is this real?"

She giggled against his lips, probably thinking his question was silly. "Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

She leaned down again, her lips brushing his.

There was no rush in her movements, no hunger that felt reckless like their meetings usually were - just a steady presence.

Michael smiled faintly, eyes still closed. "Feels like a dream."

She shifted, settling herself fully over him, and that was when his body betrayed him completely.

He opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was what wasn't there.

The pants she wore the night before were gone. He peeked at the floor, seeing the low-rise pajama pants and her hoodie in a small pile.

Then, he felt the press of her thighs and the narrow strip of fabric disappearing at her hips, so close it made his breath hitch.

His gaze lingered without permission.

"Baby..." he murmured, half warning, half surrendering.

Her tank hung loose on her frame, skinny straps barely doing their job, the fabric shifting every time she moved. Her collarbone rubbed against his, the peaks of her breasts unable to hide away.

She followed his eyes and smirked, "You look like you're still dreamin'..."

"Tryin' to figure out if I am." he replied quietly.

Beyoncé's fingers slid down his body, nails grazing the skin above his waistline.

He exhaled shakily.

"You're supposed to be sleeping in the guest house." he reminded, hoping she'd let go, as much as he wanted her to stay.

She shifted her hips, just slightly, and his hands tightened at her waist without him meaning to.

"I tried that," she said. "Didn't work."

He laughed softly. "That figures."

For a moment, he just watched her - how comfortable she was above him, how natural it looked, like she never even questioned being here. Like this bed, this morning, this closeness was exactly where she belonged.

The thought both warmed and terrified him.

"Mr. Carter is coming today," he tried again, only to receive a groan from her at even the mention of Jay-Z. "We don't have much time."

She leaned down, her forehead resting against his, "Then let's not waste it."

Her lips found his again, slower this time, deeper. He felt her move against him, her barely-there panties not helping.

Michael's hands slid along her sides, thumbs brushing the skin beneath her tank. She shivered, and he swallowed hard, his pants tightening as he watched her reaction.

"This isn't fair." he mumbled

She rolled her eyes, her hand resting carefully on top of his briefs. "Feels fair to me."

They both moved now, removing clothes, before she reached for his nightstand to look for protection.

Her nails dug into his chest, anchoring her there as the world closed around them to the persistent creak of his old bed, and the sound of her breathing growing uneven as she found her rhythm.

Michael didn't look away.

He couldn't.

He watched her: every small movement, every quiet moan, the way her face changed when she forgot herself. How her lips parted when she said his name like it was a secret meant only for him.

His chest ached with the feeling.

With wanting her. With knowing this moment wouldn't last forever.

He lifted himself gently, earning a laugh from her. 

His hands were still firm at her hips, grounding them both as the rest of the world faded into something distant and truly unimportant.

And for just a little while longer, nothing existed but the way she moved above him.

Confident, real; like the dream he never wanted to wake up from.

~

The walk back to the guest house felt... Odd.

Beyoncé never even bothered putting her shoes and socks back on - she simply carried them as she closed the door behind her. 

She stood there, at his bedroom patio, taking in the scene in front of her.

Neverland was still quiet, still waking up. Birds chirped lazily from somewhere in the trees. Everything felt suspended, like the morning hadn't fully decided to begin yet.

She could picture herself here with him - easily. Too easily.

She shook her head and pushed the thought away. As if their realities would ever allow something like that.

Of course, just as she turned toward the path, the sprinklers clicked on.

"Seriously?" she muttered.

There was no going around them now. She gathered her pants slightly and took off, bare feet skidding against the grass as water sprayed across her legs and up her calves.

It was cold at first, sharp against her skin that was warm from his bed, and she laughed quietly as she ran through it.

The grass was cool under her feet, now wet and somewhat slippery, but it reminded her of the first time she ever came to Neverland. Barefoot then, too. Nervous. Unsure.

This time, she felt neither.

Water hit her face, flushed from his touch still, and yet she managed to run through the sprinklers and to the trail.

The guest house lights were still dim when she eased the door open, careful not to let it make too much noise.

Beyoncé stepped inside quietly, shoes dangling from her fingers, and paused.

The space opened up all at once, the two queen beds sat a few feet apart, separated by a low table cluttered with water bottles and discarded tour essentials.

Someone's hoodie hung over the back of a chair. Another blanket was kicked half onto the floor.

It looked lived-in. Safe.

Kelly was sprawled out across the bed like she always was, one arm thrown over her head, mouth slightly open. Michelle lay on her side on the other, hair wrapped, blanket pulled neatly up to her shoulders.

Both asleep. Good.

For a second, Beyoncé just stood there.

These were her girls. The ones who had known her before any of this. Before Michael.

She moved quietly, setting her shoes down near her bag, and grabbing a change of clothes.

The bathroom door locked behind her, before she began peeling off her clothes.

Her hand froze as she removed her pants, blushing deeply. She wasn't wearing anything under them.

Absolutely nothing.

Her lips opened in a silent realization, followed immediately by a schoolgirl giggle.

"Oh."

Of course she left them there.

She pictured the bed; his sheets, tangled and soft, then shook her head, amused more than embarrassed.

Shower first. Reset. Then breakfast with everyone.

She turned the water on and stepped under it, letting the heat envelope her shoulders, down her back.

When she finally shut the water off, she wrapped a towel around herself and reached for the door, realizing she actually did forget to grab a pair of clean underwear.

She barely cracked it open when-

"Well, damn."

Kelly's voice.

Beyoncé stopped.

Kelly was propped up on one elbow now, eyes very much open, very much amused.

Michelle sat up slowly on the other bed, blinking, then smiling as she took in the sight of Beyoncé: hair damp, towel secure, skin unmistakably marked.

Michelle's smile widened. "Morning."

Beyoncé leaned against the doorframe like she hadn't been caught at all. "Hey."

Kelly's eyes traveled to the faint marks along her shoulder before she laughed. "You were supposed to sleep here."

"I did." Beyoncé tried lying, obviously failing.

Michelle cackled, quickly covering her mouth with her pillow.

Kelly flopped back against her pillows. "Uh-huh. Sure you did. Did you at least get some real sleep?"

"Slept like a baby the entire night."

A bit of anxiety went through her all of a sudden: what if she can't sleep without him? Did she really need him by her side this much?

"B." Kelly's voice snapped her out of it.

"Sorry," Beyoncé grabbed what she needed and stepped back into the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder. "Michael said breakfast's in an hour."

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "Michael said."

"Yes," Beyoncé replied, already closing the door. "So get up."

The door clicked shut, the game still intact - all three of them fully aware of it.

~

Jay-Z didn't sleep well the night before.

Too much flying. Too much thinking. That strange half-dream state where your body's exhausted but your mind keeps replaying moments you'd rather forget.

London, the afterparty, the way Beyoncé went still when he leaned in, the way she didn't pull away fast enough for it to feel like nothing.

And then her shove; rough, annoyed, maybe even violated.

She wasn't angry, it was worse. He really did it, and he knew it. No amount of consumed alcohol could excuse the way he acted that night.

Though she did act a little more friendly. He still hated himself for it, hurting her that way.

So when Jay followed the long, quiet path to the studio tucked away from the main house, it already felt like walking back into a dream he never finished.

He was greeted by both Michael and Beyoncé at the main house, with the Destiny's Child girls waving awkwardly, Michael's kids being polite as ever.

They all seemed to be well-settled at Neverland.

Neverland. Jay always thought it was a myth.

Not fake - just exaggerated. A story people inflated until it stopped sounding human.

But Michael Jackson's studio wasn't built to impress. It was built to disappear inside of.

The space sat apart from the main house, wrapped in trees and quiet, thick walls swallowing the sounds of the outside world.

No windows that looked out, low lights. Wood that had been touched and retouched. A room that didn't want witnesses.

A dream room, really. Jay already felt his creativity bubbling when they stepped inside.

This is why he always appreciated Michael. The discipline he had was something Jay aspired to, and why, he realized, Beyoncé got along so well with this legend of a man they both adored.

Clearly, a little too well.

They wasted no time when stepping inside, got to work fast. That was Michael's way.

Jay loaded his demos while Michael moved like second nature at the console.

Beyoncé stood off to the side, lyric sheets folded once, then again, like she didn't need them but wanted something to do with her hands.

She fiddled with something else; a keychain, looking familiar. He then remembered it was on her purse in London.

He couldn't stop looking her way. She wasn't wearing anything too fancy, a pair of jeans and a tank top that stopped just above her belly button.

Jay noticed her shiver then, most likely because Michael noticed first.

"You good?" Michael asked, already shrugging out of his button-up.

"I'm fine." Beyoncé said automatically.

"You're cold."

They even moved in the same rhythm, it seemed, because as she stood, he offered her the button-up, leaving him with only his white shirt.

She hesitated, then took it anyway, slipping it on over her arms. It swallowed her a little.

Jay could feel a knot in his stomach - not jealousy, not exactly. Something closer to realization.

"So," he cleared his throat. "Which one we starting with?"

"'03,'" Michael said. "Let's hear where you're at with it now."

Jay hit play.

The beat filled the room, familiar, like it carried memory in it. The last time he played it for them was in London, though it was incomplete.

Beyoncé listened without moving, eyes unfocused - not on the speakers, not on Jay.

Somewhere else.

"Still feels tight," Jay said. "We don't gotta overthink it."

Beyoncé finally looked at him. Her expression was calm, but was there something in her eyes that told him otherwise.

"I'm not overthinking," she told him. "I'm deciding how much of myself I'm willing to give this."

Jay opened his mouth, then shut it.

Michael stepped in smoothly. "You don't have to give anything you don't want to."

Her face softened. Jay rolled his eyes internally.

"Okay," she sighed. Then, to Jay, "Run it."

Jay did. She listened: really listened to it this time, with his vocals, finally running it over with that mesmerizing voice of hers.

They ran it a couple times just like that, before she stepped into the booth. 

The backing vocals went smoothly. Nothing major. Of course, everything good had to come to an end.

"Again," she said through the mic. "But don't punch me in so fast."

Jay frowned. "You wanna drag the intro?"

"Yeah. I think I should come in on 'highway'. I wanna breathe, not feel like I'm chasing you."

Michael nodded. "She's right."

Jay adjusted it without arguing. He knew better.

The fourth take was better. Jay felt it even as it happened - the way her voice sat in the track, a little distant for what it was meant to be. Not reaching for him. Not reaching for anyone. Just present.

But boy, did she have presence.

"That's the one." Michael smiled.

Beyoncé pulled off the headphones. "It's usable. This song still feels wrong."

Jay leaned back in his chair, slouching a bit. He wrote it almost a year ago, when they were still together. 

It wasn't much then, he realized. But it came to him after a day they decided they didn't care about being caught together and just got into a car and drove.

Hearing her say that, as if nothing of it meant anything to her, stung. Just a bit.

She had that effect on him. Always pulling him towards her. It's why he was doing this, giving her these songs. To be closer.

He still couldn't really understand it; why when he suggested a solo career, she backed away.

Yet when Michael did the same, she listened, she even gave herself to him.

Jay didn't say anything. So they moved on to a few more takes.

"Alright," Michael clapped once. "Let's switch. 'Crazy in Love' next? Different energy."

Beyoncé rolled her eyes and snickered, "That's one way to put it."

"You got jokes today." Jay snapped back.

"Don't push it."

"Bey," Michael sighed, his eyes directly at her. "We need this to work. All of us."

 She didn't argue, just nodded.

Jay caught the grin she gave Michael, understanding that whatever this was between them wasn't as reckless as he thought it was.

As the new track loaded, Jay realized something unsettling: 

He was just part of the dream, her dream - only in a different context now. Useful still, even if not the way he thought it would go down between them.

And dreams, Jay knew, always ended the same way.

You woke up alone.