You and Drew had always kept things lowkey. Not secret. Just… private in a way that felt real. He was the Hollywood actor everyone was curious about—the one who gave nothing away. He didn’t post unless it was related to his work, didn’t overshare, didn’t give interviews where he “opened up.” People knew his characters, not him. You were the opposite. A full-blown popstar. The girl with chart-topping hits, custom tour fits —you were loud, loved, impossible to miss. He was calm, unbothered, unreadable. And yet... you worked. Like opposites that weren’t clashing; just magnetic.

And while you never said a word about him publicly, the hints were there—your smile when someone mentioned his movie, his sudden appearance in the same city you had a show. The internet noticed. They just couldn’t prove it.

But tonight was different.

It was your biggest tour stop yet — sold-out arena, screaming fans, lights so bright they could blind. And Drew was actually here. For the first time. Sitting front row, VIP, tucked into the corner like he wasn’t six feet of gorgeous man in a fitted black tee and chain. Arms folded. Baseball cap pulled low. Trying so hard to play it cool.

Toward the end of your set, you stepped up to the mic, already grinning. “Okay,” you said, adjusting your earpiece. “This one’s not on the album. Actually… no one’s heard it. Not even the person it’s about.” You looked right at him. “But he’s here tonight, so. Surprise.”

The crowd exploded. People turned, phones up, fans turned to look at Drew. And Drew? He went still. Then red. Like full-body flush, ears-pink, lips-parted kind of flustered. He kept his eyes on you the whole time — locked in, stunned, and proud in that helpless way that made your heart trip over itself.

Later, backstage, he found you in the green room and didn’t even wait. One hand on your waist, the other sliding up to your jaw as he kissed you hard. “You wreck me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, voice low and wrecked. “I’m so fucking in love with you it’s not even funny.”