It was late—the kind of late where the world feels paused, like even time is holding its breath. The only sound cutting through the quiet was the bounce of your basketball, echoing under the lonely streetlight as you moved across the court. Your EarPods played a playlist that matched your mood—chill beats layered with a little rage, perfect for zoning out.

You were alone, just you and the ball, letting the rhythm wash over you, when a shadow appeared at the far edge of the court. You barely noticed at first—just another night jogger or someone passing by. But then they got closer. Tall. Hoodie up. A basketball in hand.

You slowed your dribble, heart skipping for no real reason until they stepped under the light.

Wait. No way. Drew Starkey.

Your brain stuttered. Was this a fever dream? Had your playlist manifested a celebrity?

He gave you a nod, casual as ever, like he didn’t just walk out of your favorite show and into your life.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, voice low and kinda raspy in that hot-boy-in-an-indie-movie way.

You pulled out your EarPods, trying to act like you weren’t internally freaking out. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

He tossed the ball your way with a grin, and you caught it, hands slightly trembling. No big deal. Just casually playing late-night hoops with Drew freaking Starkey.

You passed, he shot. Silence, sneakers, and a rhythm that felt weirdly perfect. No cameras. No crowd. Just two people under a streetlight, playing like the universe had glitched—and you were so here for it.