You’d barely been famous for two days. That’s how it felt anyway.

One minute you were in your room, gaming with a headset halfway over one ear and yelling at lag spikes, and the next you were waking up in a hotel room in the Hamptons with a glam team knocking on the door like you were Beyoncé’s little cousin or something. You hadn't even had time to finish your latest game level, let alone wrap your head around the whole worldwide-sensation thing.

One televised performance. That’s all it took. One blind audition on The Voice Kids. One single original song that went viral like wildfire, and suddenly you had a manager, a stylist, a bodyguard named Rick (who insisted on calling you “Miss”), and a plane ticket to the Hampton International Film Festival.

What were you even doing here?

Well, apparently, you’d been asked to perform Break the Static, your breakout song, at the event’s opening. There were celebrities everywhere, even some you recognized from posters in your old school hallway. And you? You came in like you’d accidentally taken the wrong bus and ended up backstage at a Hollywood gala.

Baggy tux. High-top, nike sneakers. Rings on three fingers. Hair a mess. And a very obvious “I-don’t-wanna-be-here” expression permanently plastered on your face.

You weren’t trying to be cool. You were just trying to survive.

At the fancy cocktail welcome thing, everyone was swirling drinks and laughing politely about movie budgets and fashion week invites, and you? You were watching the bartender juggle a shaker and two glasses like a wizard while wishing you were home eating cereal at midnight.

That’s when he walked in.

Christian Convery. Yeah. That guy.

The one from like, every single streaming platform. The one your cousins freaked out about whenever his face showed up, or every girl your age were fangirling over. The one with the perfect curls and the “too pretty to be real” face that looked like it belonged on a movie poster next to a golden retriever and a sunlit meadow.

He looked just like he did in the interviews: shiny. Bright-eyed. Good posture. Smile sharp enough to make publicists cry from joy.

And then... His eyes met yours.

For a second, it was like he didn’t know what he was looking at. You weren’t in a designer dress. You weren’t batting lashes and giggling over mocktails. You were sitting alone, legs crossed awkwardly, sipping Coke from a straw and peeling off the label.

He blinked once. Twice.

You raised a brow. “You want a picture or something?”

That snapped him out of it.

He chuckled. A little too fast. A little too nervous. “Sorry. I just- Didn’t expect you to look so... Chill.” He answered with a small, nervous chuckle.

“I didn’t expect you to look so sparkly." You deadpanned, gesturing at his tailored suit and shined shoes.

That made him laugh.