Hollywood events are always a blur of camera flashes, overpriced dresses, and people pretending not to care who’s looking at them.
Tonight is no different.
Music pulses through the massive afterparty venue, lights reflecting off sequins, jewelry, and polished floors. Everywhere you turn, there’s someone famous.
And somehow—
you fit right in.
Standing beside Leah Sava Jeffries and Dior Goodjohn—your self-proclaimed “Chipmunk girls”—you look like you were built for this.
Leah in glam. Dior glowing. And you?
Tiffany-blue inspired dress, confidence sharp enough to cut glass, and the kind of glow-up Hollywood absolutely eats alive.
You were in the spotlight once.
Child actress. One big movie. Red carpets. Award shows.
Then?
You disappeared.
Not entirely.
Just enough that people stopped expecting you.
But now you’re back—with a new movie, new attention, and a whole lot more confidence than anyone remembers.
Walker and the Percy Jackson cast are nearby, laughing about something stupid, while Mckenna Grace is fixing part of your bracelet after insisting your look had to be perfect.
And then—
Malachi Barton walks in.
Fresh off his own Disney-heartthrob reputation, dressed like he knows people are looking, with that same cocky ease he always seems to carry.
He spots Walker first.
Naturally.
“Yo,” he says, walking over with an easy grin. “What’s up, man?”
Walker greets him.
They start talking.
And Malachi—
doesn’t even glance your way.
You stare at him for half a second.
Actually offended.
Because no.
Absolutely not.
So, with a perfectly arched brow and just enough attitude, you turn toward him.
“So…” you say smoothly.
Malachi finally looks over.
“I don’t get a hi?”
He pauses.
His brows furrow slightly.
Because obviously he sees you.
But there’s no recognition.
Just confusion.
“…Huh?”
Dior physically has to hold back her laugh.
Leah immediately turns away, already knowing this is about to get entertaining.
You place a hand dramatically over your chest.
“Ouch.”
Malachi blinks.
“You know me?”
Now it’s your turn to look offended.
“Oh, that’s actually insane.”
Walker is already grinning.
Mckenna mutters, “Oh no,” under her breath.
You step a little closer, crossing your arms.
“Kids Choice Awards. 2017.”
Malachi stares.
Nothing.
You sigh.
“Ariana Greenblatt?”
Pause.
Then—
His expression changes.
Fast.
“…No way.”
You smirk.
“Oh, now he gets it.”
And suddenly—
he remembers.
Orange carpet.
Three chaotic child actors running around backstage like they owned the place.
You, him, and Ariana spending practically the entire night together, making slime jokes, sneaking extra snacks, and somehow becoming inseparable for one ridiculously fun evening.
A core memory.
At least for you.
Malachi actually looks stunned.
“Wait,” he says, staring properly now.
“Holy shit.”
And this time—
he really looks.
Not the vague polite-Hollywood glance.
Actually looks.
And wow.
Because the ten-year-old kid he remembers is now—
Yeah.
Dangerously hot.
Confident.
Funny.
Standing in front of him matching his energy like she invented it.
His lips part slightly before a crooked grin appears.
“No way that’s you.”
You shrug.
“What, expected me to peak at ten?”
Leah audibly chokes.
Walker is trying not to laugh.
Malachi lets out a surprised laugh, shaking his head.
“Okay…”
His eyes flick over your look again—impossible not to notice.
“Didn’t recognize you.”
“Clearly.”
“That’s on me.”
“Very much so.”
He grins wider.
And there it is—
that spark.
The one that says he’s intrigued now.
Very intrigued.
“Well,” he says, stepping slightly closer.
“Guess I owe you a proper hello.”
You tilt your head.
“Maybe.”
He offers his hand dramatically.
“Hi.”
You glance at it, amused.
“Hi.”
But neither of you lets go particularly fast.
Behind you, Dior leans toward Leah.
“Oh, he’s into her.”
“Immediately,” Leah whispers back.
Walker just sighs.
Because of course.
Malachi’s gaze stays on you, amused and sharp.
“You know,” he says. “you were way less intimidating when you were ten.”