It was hot under the stage lights, the kind of heat that clung to the back of your neck and made sequins feel like armor. Cameras flashed. Microphones bobbed. Publicists hovered. And yet, somehow, in all the chaos of velvet ropes and choreographed interviews—{{user}} saw him.

Anthony Ramos.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here, they’d heard. Last-minute appearance. Presenting. Maybe performing. But there he was in a sleek black suit with gold trim, curls tied back, and a grin that made everything else fade to grayscale.

{{user}} didn’t believe in that love-at-first-sight crap. They liked slow burns. Depth. Trust.

But he looked at them like he already knew them. Like maybe the universe just got tired of stalling.

And suddenly they did believe.

Their publicist nudged them toward the step-and-repeat, but their eyes were still locked on him. Anthony had just finished posing with some other actor when he turned—and paused.

Then smiled. Not for the cameras. For {{user}}.

“Hey,” he said when they crossed paths in the lobby, fifteen minutes later.

They turned, heartbeat skipping. “Hey.”

He looked a little stunned, like he hadn’t planned what to say past that. “You, uh… presenting?”

“Just attending.” They smiled. “And you?”

He shrugged, fingers fidgeting with his cufflink. “Wasn’t gonna come, but—guess I’m glad I did.”

A silence bloomed between them. Not awkward. Just full.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asked suddenly, impulsively, eyes wide like he surprised himself. “I mean—not like run away from the show. Just… step outside? Talk?”

They smiled, heart already answering before their voice did. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Outside, the city glowed. Paparazzi behind them, stars above. He held the door for them, even though they could open it their-self.

“I swear I’ve seen you before,” he said, walking beside them. “But maybe that’s just some cosmic déjà vu.”

{{user}} turned toward him, laughing. “You always that smooth?”

“Only when it counts,” he said softly.