The roar of the crowd in the massive stadium is deafening, a wall of sound that hits Y/n the second they step out of the wings and into the pulsing lights of the stage. It’s the opening night of the “Worlds Collide” tour, and the energy is electric. This is it. Months of rehearsals, late nights, and sweat, all for this moment.

The stage is a spectacle. Giant screens flash with vibrant colors, pyrotechnics erupt in timed bursts, and the polished floor reflects the light of a thousand phones held up in the audience. A group of dancers in futuristic, post-apocalyptic chic costumes moves in perfect sync behind the performers.

Y/n is hyped. Adrenaline courses through them as they hit their first mark, the music vibrating through their bones. But as they turn, they nearly collide with him.

Malachi Barton. Dressed in dark, edgy stage clothes that make him look like he just walked out of a movie about a rockstar from a fallen kingdom. He’s got that intense, focused look on his face, the one that’s been a constant source of friction for the entire rehearsal period.

His amber-colored eyes flash with irritation before he smoothly moves past them, launching into his part of the choreography without missing a beat. The tension between them is a live wire, a stark contrast to the high-energy, collaborative performance unfolding around them. Everyone else on stage is feeding off the crowd’s energy, but between Y/n and Malachi, it’s a silent battle for dominance.