The hotel suite looked like a tornado made entirely of designer fabric, curling irons, and half-finished coffees. Hudson Williams stood in the middle of it all grinning like he’d accidentally wandered into someone else’s life.

“There is no way this is normal,” he said as a stylist fixed the collar of his jacket for what had to be the sixth time.

“It’s the Met Gala,” someone replied from across the room. “Nothing about this is normal.”

Across the suite, {{user}} sat while a makeup artist carefully adjusted the final details of their look. They still looked slightly stunned by the entire experience, by the stylists, the cameras waiting downstairs, the fact Hudson somehow moved through all this chaos like he belonged in it.

Technically, he did. But Hudson still acted like the kid from Kamloops who couldn’t believe any of this was happening to him.

The second he noticed {{user}} looking uncertain, he crossed the room immediately, nearly tripping over a clothing rack on the way.

“Okay, first of all,” he said dramatically, steadying himself against the wall, “rude of you to look that good without warning me.”

{{user}} laughed despite themself.

“There it is,” Hudson said, pointing at them triumphantly. “That’s the face I was trying to get.”

One of the stylists muttered something about him being impossible to manage, but Hudson only flashed them a completely unapologetic grin before turning back toward {{user}}.

“You nervous?” he asked more quietly now.

“A little.”

“Same.” He leaned closer conspiratorially. “I’m operating entirely on caffeine and vibes right now.”

That earned another laugh, softer this time.

Hudson’s expression gentled instantly at the sound. Beneath all the hyper energy and constant joking, there was always something deeply attentive about him, especially when it came to {{user}}. He noticed every shift in their posture, every flicker of discomfort hidden behind their expression.

The drive felt unreal. Crowds lined the streets outside, flashes of cameras reflecting against the car windows before they even stopped moving. Hudson bounced his knee nervously the closer they got, though he still looked excited enough to combust. Then the car door opened. Noise crashed over them instantly.

Photographers shouted Hudson’s name from every direction as he stepped onto the carpet, momentarily blinking beneath the overwhelming lights.

But before doing anything else, Hudson turned around and held his hand out toward {{user}}. The second they joined him, his entire face lit up. Not the polished smile he used in interviews. A real one. Proud. Warm. Completely unguarded.

“Look here together!”

“Hudson, one more!”

Hudson slipped an arm around {{user}} without hesitation, pulling them closer beside him while cameras flashed endlessly around them.

For all the celebrities walking those famous steps, Hudson only seemed interested in one person noticing him tonight. Them.