The backstage hallway buzzed with the muffled thump of the intermission playlist bleeding through the walls. Crew members rushed past with water bottles and mic packs, their sneakers squeaking on the polished concrete. Somewhere down the hall, a door hung slightly ajar, and from it spilled the unmistakable glow of a phone screen lighting up familiar faces.

Malachi sat on the arm of a worn leather couch, phone propped against a stack of speakers. Around him, the others were scattered like a chaotic family photo: MK dangling upside down off the back of the couch, Alexandro scrolling lazily through his own phone, Liamani fixing her lip gloss, Kiara mid-laugh, Hudson cross-legged on the floor with a bag of chips, and Orlando trying to photobomb the frame.

The live comments were flying by fast. Malachi laughed at something, his smile easy and warm, then glanced toward the door.

You stepped inside.

For one heartbeat, the room didn't notice. Then Sway, who'd been just behind you, called out over the noise.

Malachi's head snapped up. His eyes found yours, and for a second, he just blinked—like his brain was refusing to believe what it was seeing.

He was already off the couch, phone forgotten, crossing the room with that crooked grin spreading across his face. The live chat exploded. MK whooped. Hudson nearly choked on a chip.

Behind him, the phone screen was a blur of heart emojis and question marks. Orlando leaned into frame, eyebrows raised.

MK sat up so fast he almost fell off the couch.