31 | oh no no no

OH NO NO NO

🪩

The studio lights were brighter than usual that morning, bouncing off the polished floor like spotlights. It was camera blocking day, and the whole atmosphere of the rehearsal building had shifted.

For Diana, the pressure settled heavy in her chest. Every rehearsal with Grayson felt like walking across thin ice, not sure which step would cause it to crack. She sighed and pulled her hair into a neat ponytail as the stage manager called out, "Places for the opening!"

Diana darted into position with the other pros. The music kicked in—an upbeat, dramatic medley stitched together perfectly for a Halloween week opener. She stepped into the routine with full energy, hitting her lines, her hair sweeping around her shoulders as she spun and snapped into sharp poses.

Her body moved on autopilot, every beat locked in after hours of practice. Still, she felt the adrenaline in her chest as she caught Val's eye across the floor, then Dani's. Everyone was in sync, every shape sharp, every lift seamless. The ballroom echoed with claps as the producers and crew shouted time codes and adjustments.

"Camera two, you'll catch Brandon here on the hit. Diana, camera three will hit you here," one of the producers called out.

The music ended, the number slamming into its final tableau. Diana held her pose until the director called cut, then finally let her shoulders drop. The room broke into scattered applause before the crew moved on to notes.

Diana grabbed her water bottle, wiping sweat from her brow. That was one down. Now came the harder part.

She scanned the ballroom until her eyes landed on him.

Grayson.

He was already off to the side, stretching his shoulders, jaw tight, eyes cutting toward her with the same unreadable expression he'd worn for days.

Diana inhaled, steadying herself, before making her way over. Her heels clicked faintly against the polished floor as she crossed the ballroom, passing camera rigs and tangled cords.

"Hey," she said softly when she reached him, setting her water bottle down nearby.

Grayson didn't answer right away. He kept his head turned, rolling his neck, before muttering, "Hey."

The single word was clipped, curt.

She stretched her arms overhead, rolling her shoulders back, trying to think of what to say next. "Why don't we," she murmured, keeping her voice neutral, "walk it from the top while we wait."

Grayson didn't answer at first. His eyes flicked around the ballroom, his jaw tight. Finally, he exhaled and nodded sharply.

They started marking through the choreography, stepping lightly, keeping their movements contained to preserve energy. Diana counted under her breath, letting her body trace the shapes of the paso. One, two, three—pivot, drag, frame. It wasn't perfect without the music, but it was enough to keep the rhythm in her head.

Halfway through the first pass, she realized Grayson had stopped.

She froze mid-turn, her skirt brushing against her legs as she turned toward him. His eyes weren't on her. They were locked across the ballroom.

"What are you—?" she started, but he cut her off.

"Tell loverboy to stop staring."

The words landed sharp, like glass shattering between them.

Diana blinked, thrown. "What?"

Grayson's chin jerked subtly toward the far side of the ballroom. "Over there."

Her gaze followed, confusion still etched across her face—until she saw him.

Malachi.

He was seated casually on one of the folding chairs, hoodie pulled over his head, phone in his hand. To anyone else, he might've looked like he was just scrolling through social media, killing time. But Diana saw what Grayson had caught. His eyes weren't fully on the screen. Every few seconds, they flicked up—toward her. Toward them. Protective. Watchful.

Diana sighed softly, dragging a hand down her face before muttering, "He's not my loverboy, Grayson."

Grayson gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "Please. The red hearts say otherwise."

She frowned, confusion flashing until realization struck. Her breath caught. Heat rushed to Diana's face, frustration bubbling in her chest. "It was a comment, Grayson. A harmless one."

"Right," he bit out, stepping closer, voice dropping low but still laced with acid. "Harmless. Meanwhile, I'm the one standing here looking like an idiot while my so-called partner is busy flirting."

Her stomach twisted. She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath, fighting the urge to snap back. The cameras weren't on them right now, but the ballroom was never private. Their voices could carry. The last thing she wanted was Dani, or even one of the producers overhearing this and making it worse.

So when she opened her eyes, she kept her tone even, clipped. "Can we please just focus on our dance today? That's all I'm asking."

Grayson's lip curled, his snark cutting sharper than before. "Funny, you're the one who seems distracted, not me."

Her nails dug into her palms, biting back the words that burned on her tongue. He wasn't wrong about one thing—Malachi was watching. And a small, guilty part of her felt safer because of it. But that didn't give Grayson the right to tear her down like this.

Diana turned away, resetting her stance, voice quiet but firm. "Let's just dance."

Grayson didn't answer right away. She could feel his glare on the side of her face, heavy and heated. Finally, he muttered something under his breath—too low for her to catch—before stepping back into position.

They marked the next section in tense silence, every movement stiff, every beat weighed down by the unspoken war between them.

And out of the corner of her eye, Diana caught it again.

Malachi, sitting quietly, scrolling his phone—his gaze lifting just enough to meet hers. Just enough to let her know he'd seen everything.

Her chest ached. This day was already proving to be every bit as long as she'd feared.

Diana and Grayson stood just off the edge of the floor, waiting for the floor manager's signal. Grayson didn't look at her—hadn't since their tense exchange earlier—but his jaw was set, eyes narrowed in focus. When the cue came, he stepped onto the ballroom floor without a word. Diana followed, her pulse steadying as her heels clicked against the wood.

"All right, let's run the paso for Grayson and Diana," the AD called.

The music started.

The opening chords of I Put A Spell On You filled the ballroom, the haunting notes instantly setting the mood. Diana took a breath, slipping into the role the paso demanded: fierce, powerful, commanding. She raised her frame, eyes locking on Grayson, and let the tension between them fuel her performance. If he wanted sharpness, he'd get it.

Their bodies snapped into sync as the cameras followed. Step, drag, twist. Her skirt flared dramatically with every sharp movement. Grayson's posture was strong, his presence forceful, and despite the wall between them emotionally, their physical connection on the dance floor held.

The steps flowed, the choreography clicking into place. Their passes and turns were tight, the dramatic flamenco arms sweeping perfectly with the music. At one point, Diana lunged forward, her hand nearly grazing the floor, while Grayson stood tall behind her, pulling her back with precise control. The audience seats were empty, but she could feel the imaginary roar of the crowd in her bones.

The dance ended with Diana throwing her arms up, chest heaving, while Grayson loomed just behind, hand extended like he'd cast the very spell she was trapped in. The final beat of the music struck, and for a moment, silence hung heavy.

Diana dropped her arms, trying to catch her breath. She didn't glance at Grayson—didn't need to. She knew it had gone well.

They went through the rest of their blocking and then a producer called out, "That's a wrap on the Grayson and Diana."

Diana felt a flicker of relief. At least one part of the day had gone smoothly.

Team Grave Dancers gathered near the center, their energy buzzing. Val and Alix were already joking with Brandon and Lauren, while Dani stretched her arms overhead, Dylan spinning her around in an exaggerated twirl that made her laugh.

Diana found herself smiling despite the heaviness of earlier. This was the kind of rehearsal she loved—the team energy, the inside jokes, the shared focus on making something bigger than any one of them.

"All right, Team Grave Dancers," Dani called, clapping her hands. "Let's scare the life out of this ballroom."

Laughter rippled through the group, and then the music kicked in.

The opening beats of Calling All the Monsters hit, and instantly, the energy lifted. The pros had designed the routine to highlight both the group dynamic and individual couples, giving each partnership a chance to shine. The choreography was cheeky, sharp, and dripping with Halloween flair—monster claws, playful growls, dramatic cape swishes.

Diana threw herself into it, letting the goofy spookiness ease the tension in her shoulders. She and Grayson hit their partnered section clean, the paso precision lending itself well to the theatrical vibe. Across the floor, Dani and Dylan killed their duet moment, Dani's movements crisp as always. Val and Alix leaned into the character work, hamming it up in a way that made the crew laugh out loud. Brandon and Lauren's fierce movements cut through the music as they danced across the floor

By the time the song ended, the group struck their final pose together—arms raised, mouths wide in a mock scream.

The production crew and cast clapped.

The group collapsed into laughter, high-fives flying. Brandon scooped Lauren off her feet in celebration, Alix wrapped an arm around Val's shoulders, and Dani jogged over to Diana, pulling her into a quick hug, her grin infectious.

Diana smiled back, warmth flooding her chest. For the first time all day, she let herself feel excited for tomorrow.

"Okay, that's a wrap on camera blocking!" the AD shouted. "Great work today, everyone. Go get some rest—we'll see you tomorrow."

The words rippled relief through the ballroom. People began packing up, slipping on jackets, grabbing water bottles and bags.

Grayson didn't say a word. He bent down, scooped up his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out without even glancing at her.

Diana froze for half a second, then exhaled a long sigh, pressing her palm against her face. The exhaustion hit her harder now, the weight of the day crashing down.

As she lowered her hand, she felt a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. She turned her head to see Dani passing by, her smile soft and knowing, before heading toward where Pasha stood.

The comfort lingered, but it wasn't enough to shake the heaviness in Diana's chest.

And then she felt another touch—this one lower, at the small of her back. Warm, steady.

"Hey."

She turned quickly and found Malachi standing there. His hoodie was still up, his curls peeking out around the edges, but his face was all warmth. His lips tilted into a small, encouraging smile.

Diana felt herself return it, just slightly.

"Hey," she echoed.

"You okay?" Malachi's eyes searched hers for a moment before he tilted his head. "I saw what happened earlier."

"I'm fine. It was just..." Her shoulders sagged with the weight of it, "another argument," she admitted, exhaling slowly. "This time about the red hearts."

Malachi frowned in confusion. "Red hearts?"

Diana nodded, almost embarrassed to say it out loud. "Yeah. The one you left on my post and the one I left back. He saw it and decided it was a problem." She shook her head, a weary laugh slipping out. "Said it made me look distracted. Like I wasn't focused enough."

For a moment Malachi just stared, wide-eyed, before a disbelieving laugh broke out. "You're kidding. He's mad about emojis?"

"Not kidding."

"That's insane," Malachi said firmly, his voice low but edged with frustration. "Absolutely ridiculous."

"I know," Diana murmured, tugging at the sleeve of her jacket. "But I didn't even try to fight him on it. I just... I couldn't. Not today."

Malachi let out a slow breath, his disbelief softening into something gentler. "Di, you don't deserve that. You shouldn't have to bite your tongue over something so small."

Her chest tightened, but in a way that felt like release instead of pressure. Just hearing him say it made her feel lighter.

He tipped his head again, letting a grin break through the seriousness. "Hey, on the bright side—you guys looked solid out there. Both dances, actually. You killed it."

That managed to coax a real smile out of her. "Thanks," she whispered.

His grin widened, boyish and reassuring. "So here's what we're gonna do. Tonight, we're not thinking about Grayson, or camera blocking, or red hearts. We're gonna do something fun. Doesn't matter what—grab food, watch a movie, whatever you want. Just... something that puts a smile on your face again."

Diana blinked at him, the warmth of his offer sinking into her chest. Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good," Malachi said softly, his smile steady this time. "Then it's settled."

And just like that, the day didn't feel so heavy anymore.

Bowling.

That had been their spontaneous solution. It wasn't fancy. It wasn't planned. But when Malachi suggested it with that mischievous smile of his, something in her chest had unclenched. Bowling felt normal. Safe. Fun. Everything she hadn't felt in weeks.

Inside, the place was nearly empty—just a couple of college kids at the far end and an older man hunched over a beer at the bar. The faint scent of fried food lingered in the air, mixing with the waxy tang of the lanes.

"This is perfect," Malachi said as they walked up to the counter, his voice low and conspiratorial, like he had purposely reserved the whole place just for them.

Diana grinned despite herself. "You say that now, wait until I completely destroy you."

"Oh, you think so?" His eyebrows shot up, playful challenge already in his eyes. "Di, I was made for this. Do you see these arms?" He flexed dramatically, earning himself a laugh from the guy behind the counter.

"Bowling isn't about arms, genius. It's about precision. Technique. Grace," she teased, snatching the pair of bowling shoes the worker slid across the counter.

"Grace," Malachi repeated, mock-serious, slipping into his own shoes. "You're a dancer. Of course you'd think bowling requires grace."

"It does," she shot back, already walking toward their assigned lane. "And you're about to find out why."

They set up their game, the electronic screen above them flickering their names—"Diana" typed properly, while Malachi had insisted on entering himself as "King M." She rolled her eyes when she saw it, but the truth was, the silliness already loosened something in her chest.

Diana lined up, hips squared, arm swinging smooth like choreography. The ball glided straight down the lane, clattering into the pins and leaving only two standing.

"Okay, okay," Malachi clapped, nodding. "Not bad. A solid B-plus."

She spun around with a laugh, pointing her finger at him. "B-plus? That was nearly a strike!"

"Nearly doesn't count." He winked, then stepped up to grab his own ball.

Diana watched, biting back a grin as Malachi crouched dramatically, muttering something about "channeling the pros." He launched the ball, way too much power behind it, and it swerved hard left, landing square in the gutter with a thud.

"Nice technique, King M," Diana deadpanned, crossing her arms.

Malachi whipped around, pointing at her with a grin that betrayed no embarrassment. "That was a warm-up. You didn't see the form?"

"I saw it go into the gutter," she teased.

"Just wait."

The game unfolded like that—her steady and focused, him chaotic but determined. She racked up spares and the occasional strike, while he alternated between spectacularly bad throws and random bursts of luck that sent pins flying. Every time he managed a strike, he'd break into some ridiculous victory dance, pulling exaggerated moves until she was doubled over with laughter.

They ordered snacks halfway through—greasy fries, nachos loaded with cheese, and sodas in giant cups. Diana dunked a fry in cheese and held it out toward Malachi with mock seriousness.

"You need this," she said. "Maybe it'll help your aim."

"Oh, so now you're feeding me pity food?" He leaned forward anyway, taking the fry straight from her fingers, chewing dramatically. "Hmm. Still better than your form."

Her mouth dropped open, and she shoved his shoulder. "You wish."

The teasing flowed effortlessly, each jab and counter a rhythm all its own. At one point, Malachi tried to show off by bowling between his legs, only for the ball to crawl halfway down the lane before guttering. Diana laughed so hard she nearly spilled her soda, the sound echoing across the mostly empty alley.

Hours slipped by unnoticed. By the time the lights overhead flickered—a signal that closing time was near—the scoreboard declared Diana the winner by nearly forty points.

"Grace wins," she declared proudly, untying her bowling shoes.

Malachi groaned, leaning back in his chair. "I demand a rematch. That wasn't regulation."

"It was regulation," she said firmly, standing. "And you lost."

He shook his head, laughing as he swapped back into his sneakers. "I'll give it to you—you're ruthless. But next time, I'm bringing bumpers."

They left the alley together, the night air cool against their flushed faces, their footsteps the only sound as they crossed toward their cars. They walked close—so close that at one point their hands brushed. Neither of them pulled away.

When they reached her car, they lingered. The glow from a single streetlight cast soft shadows across Malachi's face. He looked at her, eyes warm and unreadable all at once.

"Thank you," Diana said quietly, breaking the silence. "Tonight was... exactly what I needed."

"No problem." His smile was small, but real. "I had fun."

She nodded, then before she could overthink it, she stepped forward and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her waist without hesitation, the embrace warm and grounding.

As they pulled apart, Diana leaned in just enough to press a light kiss to his cheek. The gesture was soft, fleeting, but enough to send heat rushing to Malachi's face. He ducked his head slightly, grateful for the shadows of the night sky concealing the blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Text me when you get home, okay?" he said, his voice softer now.

She smiled, the kind that reached her eyes. "I will."

They shared one last lingering look, the kind that felt like a question neither of them was ready to answer yet, before Diana slid into her car. As she closed the door, she glanced once more at Malachi—still standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, watching her with that quiet protectiveness that made her chest ache in the best way.

malachibarton just added to his story !

Diana lay sprawled across her bed, the soft glow of her phone illuminating the dim room. Her hair was still damp from a quick shower, and she was curled up in one of her oversized t-shirts, the comfort of home wrapping around her. The hum of the day had finally dulled, leaving her in the silence of her own thoughts—a silence that, somehow, only made her chest feel fuller.

She had been aimlessly scrolling through TikTok for the past half hour, the kind of mindless swiping she always did after long days. At first it was the usual mix—funny dance challenges, behind-the-scenes clips from the DWTS cast, random animal videos. But then the algorithm decided to mess with her. It served her Malachi.

The first edit was simple—just a clip of him from a rehearsal. Someone had slowed down the footage, overlaying it with a trending audio: a dreamy, echoing track about falling for someone unexpectedly. Malachi was mid-laugh in the clip, head tipped back, curls bouncing. The caption read: "how does he not know he's the main character??"

Diana felt her lips curve into a smile before she could stop it. Her thumb hovered, then she replayed the video. Once, twice. Each time, her heart gave that same ridiculous flutter.

Scrolling further, she found another. This one was a compilation—clips of Malachi on tour, grinning during meet-and-greets, joking around backstage, snippets of him singing along to songs with friends. The editor had cut it to the beat of an upbeat track, captions flashing: "he doesn't even try and he's still the most attractive one in the room" and "protect this man at all costs."

Diana's cheeks warmed as she watched, her heart thumping faster with every transition. It was surreal—seeing him through other people's eyes. They highlighted every little thing about him she had started to notice herself: the way his smile lit up his whole face, the way his laugh made people around him laugh too, the way his energy filled a room without even trying.

She kept scrolling. One edit after another. Malachi throwing his arm around castmates. Malachi dancing with kids during rehearsals. Malachi goofing off mid-interview. Each one layered with music that made everything feel cinematic, like he wasn't just her friend, but someone bigger, someone magnetic.

Her chest tightened. She set her phone down for a moment, pressing the heel of her hand against her sternum as if she could steady her racing heart.

What is wrong with me? she thought.

But even as she asked herself, she already knew the answer.

It wasn't just the edits. It wasn't just the way fans saw him. It was tonight. It was him showing up when she needed someone, when Grayson had left her with nothing but frustration. It was the way Malachi made her laugh until her sides hurt at the bowling alley, the way he walked her to her car like it was second nature, the way he told her to text when she got home. It was the look in his eyes when she hugged him—the kind of look that had stayed with her all the way home.

She picked her phone back up, heart hammering, and scrolled again. Another edit. This one different—slower, more vulnerable. It was a clip of Malachi singing during a livestream, the soft rasp of his voice echoing.

Her breath caught. She replayed it once, twice, three times.

And then it hit her.

She was falling for him.

The realization sent a shiver through her, both terrifying and exhilarating. She sank back against her pillows, staring up at the ceiling, phone resting on her chest. Images of him kept flashing in her mind: the way his laugh sounded across the bowling alley, the warmth of his hug, the way his cheek felt under her lips when she kissed him goodnight.

Her pulse refused to settle.

With a groan, she covered her face with her hands, muffling a laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all but something halfway between disbelief and surrender. "Oh no," she whispered into the darkness. "Oh, no, no, no."

Because she knew it now—clear as the neon glow of that bowling alley sign. Somewhere between dancing and late-night shakes, between teasing words and constant texts, Malachi Barton had stopped being just her friend.

Her heart was already his.

🪩

she has finally realized her feelings!!

now will she tell him? or will she wait?😊