WALKER SCOBELL
    c.ai

    It was a slow Friday evening at Mickey’s Diner, the kind of place where the neon lights hummed and the smell of fries and syrup mixed in a way that was actually comforting. You were still new — barely a week in — and every step you took on the linoleum floor felt like it was being watched.

    Turns out, it kinda was.

    Walker Scobell and the PJO cast had just slid into a booth by the window, laughing about some inside joke. You had seen him on the screen plenty of times — movies, interviews, the works — but seeing him in person was… different. His messy blond hair fell into his eyes, and even when he laughed at someone else’s joke, his gaze kept flicking to you.

    “New waitress,” he murmured under his breath to his friends. “She’s… cute.”

    Dior Goodjohn, sitting across from him, caught your eye as you approached the table to take their orders. She grinned knowingly. “My friend wants your number,” she said casually.

    You blinked, trying to keep it cool, and chuckled softly. “Oh? And which friend would that be?”

    Walker practically turned to stone, cheeks red, muttering, “I… uh… that’s not… she’s… it’s nothing.”

    You just smiled, scribbling down their orders. Dior rolled her eyes but didn’t push.

    Throughout the dinner, Walker couldn’t stop staring. Every laugh you let slip, every small movement, it seemed to draw his attention. He tried to focus on the conversation, but the words from his friends sounded distant compared to the quiet rhythm of your footsteps carrying plates and drinks.

    When Dior finished her drink, she looked pointedly at you and whispered, “Hey, can you get me a refill?”

    You nodded and walked toward the counter, glancing back at Walker. He was staring at you like he’d never seen a human before. His fingers fidgeted with the napkin holder, completely unaware of how obvious he was being.

    “Seriously, my friend is smitten,” Dior teased again, but this time Walker shoved her lightly, muttering, “Shut up.”

    You approached the counter where her dad, the diner owner, was wiping down coffee mugs. Dior’s request floated over your shoulder, and you relayed it quickly.