the stadium lights dimmed, the crowd’s cheers blending into a hum of anticipation. a soft, glittery blue glow filled the stage as the opening notes of “one kiss” by sofia carson from descendants 3 began to play.

you stood in the middle of the stage, your mic glinting under the spotlight. your outfit shimmered—iridescent silver, like moonlight with deep blue captured in fabric—and your eyes sparkled with the kind of confidence that came only after performing this number dozens of times on tour.

the crowd screamed your name, and somewhere backstage, malachi grinned.

“showtime,” he whispered to himself before slipping into position, waiting for his cue.

it had become your thing. every night, during the end of “one kiss,” he’d appear onstage as your spellbound love interest—eyes closed, “asleep” under a magical curse. and you, in perfect rhythm with the song, would kneel beside him, cup his cheek, and pretend to wake him with a kiss.

the first few shows? totally fake.

the kind of kiss that was camera-ready but safely distant—your lips hovering just above his cheekbone, close enough for the audience to swoon but far enough for professionalism.

but as the tour went on, and as yours and malachi’s chemistry grew onstage and off, something shifted.

it all happened at the tour stop at vegas when you leaned in and pressed a real kiss on malachi's cheek. his eyes flew open—right on cue—but this time, there was a split second of real surprise in them. and maybe something else.

as you pulled back, a tiny, victorious smile tugged at your lips. he blinked, staying in character, but his grin gave him away.

backstage later, everyone teased him endlessly.

“bro, you blushed so hard!” MK laughed.

“shut up,” malachi had said, but the tips of his ears were pink.

since then, you had been leaving real kisses on his cheeks for the rest of the shows.

at the los angeles show, everything was going great, just like the other shows.

you tilted your head, eyes fluttering shut, about to give him the soft cheek kiss. but just before your lips touched his skin—

he moved.

ever so slightly. just enough that their lips almost brushed.

it wasn’t a real kiss—barely a breath apart—but the illusion was so convincing that the arena exploded.

fans screamed, phones shot into the air, twitter blew up within seconds.

you froze, eyes wide, your face immediately flushing as you pulled back. malachi, of course, couldn’t stop grinning—mischievous and smug.

backstage, you burst into the dressing room, still red-faced. “you nearly kissed me in front of ten thousand people, malachi!”

he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wearing that smirk. “nearly,” he said. “keyword: nearly.”