The first time it happens, it’s just a headline.

“Pop Princess {{user}} and Rockstar Sawyer: Collab of the Year—or Something More?”

You roll your eyes. Sawyer snorts beside you, tossing her phone onto the couch.

“Three days,” she mutters. “Three days before they start writing fanfiction.”

“You’re the one who looked at me like that in the video,” you tease, nudging her shoulder.

Sawyer grins, all sharp edges and effortless cool. “Method acting.”

Right. Very convincing.

The song blows up. Charts, streams, edits—your voices tangled together in a way the world can’t let go of. But you’re careful. Everyone sees the spark, hears the chemistry, but no one knows the truth: you’re already dating. Backstage hugs, late-night calls, secret texts—they exist, but only between you.

Interviews pile in. Questions get less subtle.

What’s your relationship like off-stage? There’s a lot of chemistry—care to explain? Are the rumors true?

You dodge. Sawyer teases. Headlines get worse. It’s fun… until it isn’t.

Later, backstage after a show, the crowd noise fading, Sawyer leans against you, guitar still slung over her shoulder.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

You glance at her. “Yeah… just a lot.”

“People are gonna talk,” she says. “They always do.”

“Does it bother you?”

Her hand finds yours—firm, grounding. “Not if it’s true.”

You laugh nervously. “Sawyer—”

“I’m serious,” she says, softer now. “Let them guess. I don’t want to hide us… not with you.”

For a moment, there’s no camera. No headlines. Just her. Just you.

“So,” she murmurs, squeezing your hand and grinning, “wanna give them something real to talk about?”

And maybe… you already have.