When Cassie woke up the next morning, it was a few seconds before she came to realize why she felt miserable, yet bizarrely cheerful, at the same time.

"I'm doomed," Cassie muttered to Queen, who had leapt up the bed. "Of all people..."

Cassie covered her face with her hands, embarrassed even in front of her own cat.

Last night, Cassie tossed about in her blankets, unable to sleep. She wrapped herself up like a burrito, one moment smiling to herself because the image of his smile made her increasingly giddy, then the next ... she felt all the bubbles of hope within her popped into nothingness.

It wouldn't happen. She was being too unrealistic. What was she thinking? Their lives were so different.

She would control her feelings – yes, that was the natural course of action and honestly, it wouldn't be too hard – this wasn't the first time she was going through this; she had went out with a couple of guys before, even though both times were, obviously, unsuccessful.

David, the first, voiced that he was allergic to fur. Once he demanded her to choose between him and animals, the end followed within a week; Cassie couldn't live without animals.

But then came Tyler. She met him in her final year at university.

As corny as it felt as Cassie reflected, that must be what it was like to be in love. To be head over heels for someone for no particular reason at all. Tyler's presence would bring a smile onto Cassie's face every single time before she even knew him well. Were they friends? They were already more when she realised it ...

Tyler was naturally likeable, and he brought Cassie the normalcy she had yearned for so long. For once, while wandering around campus, Cassie had people to say hello to, and people who would wave her over to their gathering table. To anyone else, such a gesture was probably nothing out of the ordinary, but to Cassie, it meant a sense of security and belonging she had never felt.

But eventually, they fell out when their differences surfaced – and became increasingly intolerable. Tyler began to detect her fears, how she would get angry at certain jokes, how she would unknowingly shrink into the shadows when new faces, especially those with domineering characters, showed up ... He found it incomprehensible and weird. The things that crossed Cassie's mind never crossed his.

"Why do you always find the need to isolate yourself and be the odd one out?" Tyler had shouted at her when he couldn't talk his sense into her.  "Would you just – just – stop whatever useless things that are going on in your head?"

The odd one out. Isolation. He threw those words at her as if everything was her fault. Tyler slipped easily into the crowds. He never understood. That was the last straw. Cassie didn't even retaliate.

But ... what went wrong? Was it her extreme lack of communication skills? Unlikely. Being a photographer, she dealt with different people every other day. She could tune into a certain professionalism when it came to clients ...

Perhaps that was where the fine line of distinction lay. There wasn't a fragile, personal relationship she had to maintain when it came to her job. She wouldn't lose a part of herself each time her clients come and go. 

You don't like him. You don't like him. You don't like him, Cassie began to repeat obsessively to herself. There was no other way to it. This was Michael – Michael Jackson – who wasn't your average guy walking down the streets. What could she ever possibly hope for?

* * *

By the end of next weekend, she couldn't believe the thoughts now coming out from her brain belonged to independent, organised, effectively occupied Cassie Woods.

She was shooting the wedding photos of an engaged couple. Mr Fiancé had his arms around Mrs Fianceé's waist. He was looking into her eyes with adoration, his facial expression one of bliss. Mrs Fiancée blushed, but gazed steadily back.

How happy they look, Cassie thought, clicking the shutter button. If Michael –

What the hell am I thinking? She mentally snapped at herself.

The consecutive poses Mr and Mrs Engaged struck later on made matters in Cassie's head worse.

His nose tickling hers –

No, I shouldn't be thinking about all this ...

His hand caressing her cheek –

This isn't right, this is so not right. This is not normal on so many levels now ...

His lips brushing against hers –

Cassie forced herself to take a deep breath.

No, she told herself calmly. Michael charmed millions of people around the world. He had many good qualities, she reasoned, so it was natural that people are attracted to him.

It was with overwhelming mind power that she managed to block out her fanciful imaginations.

* * *

Cassie packed the photos into an envelope. It transpired that Michael, despite possessing multiple talents, did not have much photography skills – the pictures he took were utterly random. A blur growing in size with each consecutive picture was none other than herself, running up the grounds.

Cassie didn't mind it, of course. Shuffling the photos back to their original order, she thought for a moment, smirked, and stuffed them into the envelope for Michael.

The telephone rang. She put the envelope down on the coffee table and went to pick it up.

Is it him? She couldn't help but wonder.

But it wasn't. A business-savvy, male voice spoke at the other end. "Miss Woods, I am aware that you are Michael Jackson's personal photographer. Would you like to be one of our magazine's contributors? A good picture is worth –

"Sorry, no," she said at once. "A clear conscience is priceless." And she hung up.

Her heart was thumping rapidly from anger at the injustice – as well as fear. Cassie clambered to the curtains and looked out of the windows of her apartment, her eyes wary, as if whoever who called was somehow stalking her, spying from an opposite building.

Something like this wasn't entirely unexpected, but the disgusting reality happening in this direct manner ...

When Cassie mentioned it to Michael on her next visit, he remained quiet for several moments.

"I'm sorry for troubling you. Everyone who worked for me got at least one phone call ..." Michael mumbled.

The next second, however, Michael suddenly looked apprehensive. His eyes darted around anxiously. "Cassie, they might call you again, or more of them –"

"No, it's fine, Michael. It's okay," said Cassie, placing a hand on his. "I'll never do that. Never."

Without warning, Michael wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

Cassie could feel the warmth from his body radiating through the cloth of his dress shirt. She was thankful that her skin was more on the tan side: her face was burning.

"Thank you," Michael said, and his voice conveyed so much relief.

Cassie could sense that he was still tensed and worried, but she could also tell that he meant what he said, and that he did trust her.

Trust ... he trusted her. It didn't matter if Michael didn't return her feelings, which was itself, a highly unlikely happening – Cassie was contented with what they have now.

* * *

"The stupid editor is working our asses off ... Well, it has always been like that. I hope you don't mind me complaining," Yvonne added apologetically.

"I'm all ears, as I told you! You got to let it out," Cassie grinned.

Cassie was spending her Sunday afternoon at Yvonne's house, having tea and an assortment of cakes, which the latter had forked out money to luxuriously order; stress at work tended to make Yvonne irrational with her diet.

Having ranted about the pressuring article she was working on as a freelance writer, Yvonne sighed, relaxed, and ate another mouthful of cake.

On the other hand, Cassie's thoughts and personal analysis were nearing bursting point. Even though she wasn't hoping for more, she couldn't get those emotions out of her head.

"Yvonne," she said quietly. "Can I tell you something?"

"You know, I thought I was imagining things ..." said Yvonne, frowning. "You do seem distracted."

"This is very ... You'll think I'm crazy."

"I won't."

Cassie looked up at her. How could she have not appreciate Yvonne's loyalty enough? Yvonne had an accepting personality; she wasn't dominating like Beth.

"I have this ... There's this ..." she began.

"Person?" Yvonne made a guess.

Cassie nodded.

"Who is he? Or she?" asked Yvonne.

"That's the crazy part," said Cassie, lowering her voice to a whisper. She gestured for Yvonne to lean closer, then said very quietly, "Michael Jackson."

Yvonne's blue eyes widened, but she was only mildly surprised. Over the years she had seen numerous celebrities in person; the starstruck effect wore off her.

"Oh, Michael Jackson," said Yvonne. "You're in contact with him? Oh, your photos were great! Poor Elliot, though ... He had been dying to meet Michael Jackson but that food poisoning was killing him. He couldn't stop throwing up every ten minutes ... " Yvonne sighed.

"Well, at least we got you to get the photographs," said Yvonne. "So, what's up?"

Cassie began by jokingly blaming Yvonne for letting her into the interview hotel room as it led to all this present craziness. As she progressed, Cassie omitted the conversation she had with Michael on the Giving Tree. She described the happening extremely vaguely with similar wording.

One-third of an hour passed. When she finally finished, Cassie looked away and muttered, "I hate myself. It's not even normal."

"It's perfectly normal, Cassie," contradicted Yvonne. "And he's good – inside out as a person, I mean," she added hastily, not wanting to sound perverted.

"Yvonne, help me ... I don't want to ..." Cassie whined, clutching on to her friend's arm.

Yvonne's watched Cassie with a why-do-you-have-to-make-things-so-complicated look. "Cassie, I admit I don't have a solution, but you can talk to me about this whenever you want, 'kay?"

"I'll call you at 1 am tonight."

Yvonne narrowed her eyes and faked shooting Cassie with a gun.

"But ..." Yvonne said, more seriously, but her voice was gentle. "Maybe he might feel the same way. You can't say for sure."

Cassie paused and stared back at Yvonne. Her eyes glanced towards Yvonne's stack of romance novels and shook her head.

"If such a thing ever happens ... No, it won't happen," said Cassie. "It's impossible. You're overdosing on those romance stories, Yvonne."

- - -

A/N: I've brought cakes for you guys today, like Yvonne. We'll eat as we talk! *stuffs entire caramel cake into mouth*

"It's Impossible" ... Hmm. Up to this present point, do you think Michael likes Cassie? ;)