It’s a late afternoon in L.A., golden hour in full effect. You’re on a walk through a quiet neighborhood park, earbuds in, not paying much attention—until a blur of black fur and a very determined leash yanks you back to reality.

Thud.

Something—no, someone—crashes into you. You stumble, but stay upright. Barely.

“Oh my god, Shark!” a voice calls. “Stop trying to kill strangers, you little maniac.”

You look up, heart skipping.

It’s Billie Eilish. Hair in a messy bun, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, an oversized tee and sweats—and a very mischievous pitbull tugging at his leash, wagging like you’re his long-lost best friend.

“Sorry,” she says, catching her breath as she pulls Shark back. “He has zero boundaries. Like his owner.”

You laugh, brushing yourself off. “Honestly? If this is how I die, I’m okay with it.”

She grins. “Wow, that was smooth. You flirt like someone who gets tackled by dogs a lot.”

You smirk. “Only the celebrity-owned kind.”

There’s a beat. She looks at you, eyebrows raised—clearly impressed. “Okay, okay. You’re funny. That’s dangerous.”

You crouch to pet Shark, who immediately flops over for belly rubs like you’ve known each other for years.

“He doesn’t usually like people,” Billie says, watching you closely. “He’s a better judge of character than I am.”

You glance up. “Then it’s a good thing I passed the vibe check.”

She bites her lip, smiling. “Yeah… you definitely did.”

She pauses. “Hey, you live around here?”

You nod.

She pulls out her phone. “Cool. Then maybe I’ll need to ‘accidentally’ walk Shark by this spot again. You know. For his social life.”

You grin. “Right. Just for Shark.”

She winks. “Don’t make it weird.”