Walker had never been the kid who wanted everything. Fame had happened to him, not because of some grand scheme, but because he’d been a kid who liked movies and somehow stumbled into one. And sure, he liked the perks—movie premieres, people knowing his name, the free sneakers that showed up in the mail sometimes. But he also saw what came with it: the constant eyes, the comments, the way everyone had a checklist of things they wanted him to be.

Everyone else had wish lists. His friends in LA wanted Oscars, fast cars, houses with infinity pools, brand deals stacked on brand deals. And Walker would nod along, smile for the cameras, laugh like he wanted the same things.

But when he thought about what he wanted, his chest pulled in a different direction. Toward something smaller. Something softer. Something that looked a lot like you.

He’d known you for a while now. Not in the red-carpet way, but in the real way—late-night calls, quiet walks home from hangouts, the seat saved for you at the movie nights. You were just… there, woven into his every day. And maybe that was why he’d never said anything. Because saying it out loud felt like risking the one part of his world that wasn’t already complicated.

But lately, it was getting harder to hide.

Like tonight.

It was one of those group hangouts—people playing Mario Kart in the living room, Leena scrolling through TikTok, Tanner yelling at the Wi-Fi. Walker had slipped out back, hoodie pulled over his head, sitting on the porch steps with a soda can dangling from his fingers. And you followed. You always did.

“You okay?” you asked, settling beside him.

He shrugged, glancing at you through his lashes. “Yeah. Just needed air.”

The night was quiet. Crickets, the hum of the fridge inside, your knee brushing against his when you sat too close. And before he could stop himself, he said it. Not the whole truth, but a piece of it.

“Everyone’s got these… big lists, y’know? Like—Oscars, money, houses, whatever. But I don’t care about that.”

You tilted your head, curious. “So what do you care about?”

He hesitated, chewing his lip. Then, softer than he meant to:

“You.”

Your breath hitched, just enough that he heard it. And because he was Walker—half brave, half terrified—he kept going.

“Like—I picture it sometimes. Not the Hollywood stuff. Just… normal. A house with a driveway. Basketball hoop out front. Us telling the world to leave us alone and actually getting away with it. Neighbors thinking it’s cute that we’ve got kids who look like you.” He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “It sounds stupid, huh?”

But you didn’t laugh. You just looked at him, eyes wide, lips parting like you weren’t sure if you’d heard him right.

“Walker…”

He stared at his soda, heart pounding. “Everyone wants something shiny. I just want you. That’s it. That’s my whole wish list.”

The silence stretched. For a second, he thought he’d ruined everything. But then your hand brushed his, tentative but steady, your fingers slipping between his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And just like that, the world—the Oscars, the premieres, the lists—didn’t matter anymore. Not when you were sitting here, choosing him back.