08 | not a date

NOT A DATE

🪩

Diana felt lighter than she had in weeks.

There was something about the high of Tuesday night's performance—the lights, the roar of the audience, dancing with Grayson—that lingered. She replayed it in her head whenever she caught herself smiling for no reason. Their scores had gone up, but it wasn't just that. It was the energy, the connection, the way the routine had flowed so naturally.

And the fans reactions were something completely different.

The trending hashtags had been... overwhelming, to say the least. She wasn't used to being shipped so aggressively with someone, but she's handling it with grace. Grayson had seemed flattered, and Diana had done her best to laugh it off. What mattered to her was that he'd danced beautifully, and she'd felt like a good teacher.

By Wednesday morning, she was ready to jump headfirst into their next challenge. Dedication Week.

When she walked into the rehearsal studio, water bottle in one hand and her dance bag slung over her shoulder, she found Grayson already there, bouncing a little on his heels like an excited kid. He wore a white T-shirt and black joggers, his hair slightly messy, and he grinned when he saw her.

"You're glowing," he said immediately.

Diana laughed, setting her bag down. "That's just what happens when you actually sleep for once."

"No," he insisted, pointing at her. "That's the glow of someone who knows we crushed it last night."

"Maybe both," she admitted, warmth creeping into her cheeks. "You were pretty amazing out there, Gray."

He gave an exaggerated bow. "Thank you, thank you. I try."

Shaking her head, she walked toward the center of the room. "Okay, so... ready for this week's dance?"

He clapped his hands together. "Hit me."

"We're doing contemporary."

Grayson's eyebrows shot up. "Contemporary? Like... the emotional, rolling-around-on-the-floor kind of dance?"

"Pretty much," Diana said with a grin. "But don't worry. It's not as scary as it looks. In some ways, it's easier because you don't have to be in frame like ballroom. There aren't as many rigid rules. It's more about expression and storytelling."

That seemed to excite him. "Okay, okay, I can do that. What's the story?"

"Well... it's Dedication Week," Diana hesitated for effect, then said, "which means you get to choose who you want to dedicate your dance to."

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. For a moment, Diana wondered if he'd say his parents, or maybe a teacher. But then he said quietly, "Joshua Bassett."

Her brows lifted. "Joshua Bassett?"

Grayson nodded. "Yeah. He's my best friend. More like my brother, honestly. I don't have any siblings, so when I met Josh on the set of High School Musical: The Musical: The Series, it just... clicked. We bonded instantly. He's been there for me through some of the hardest times in my life."

There was a weight in his tone that made Diana curious. She sat down on the floor, pulling her knees up, inviting him to do the same. "What kind of tough times? If you don't mind me asking."

"No, not at all." Grayson lowered himself across from her, his voice softening. "The pressure. Fame. All of it. There were days when I felt like I couldn't handle it, and Josh was the one who'd pick me up. He'd talk me down, remind me that I was more than the job. He's the person I call at two in the morning when I'm spiraling."

Diana's chest ached a little at the honesty in his words. "That's... really special, Grayson. Not everyone gets that kind of bond."

"Exactly." His eyes shone with emotion. "So I want to dedicate this week's dance to him. To show how much he means to me. He's family."

Diana nodded slowly, already imagining the routine in her head. "Then we'll make something beautiful for him. Something that shows that brotherly bond."

They spent a few moments searching through music before Diana said, "What about Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE."

Grayson's eyes widened. "I love that song!"

"Perfect," Diana said, already pulling out her phone to queue it up. "Let's start building from there."

The music filled the studio, warm and emotional, with lyrics about loyalty and sticking by someone through thick and thin. Diana let the melody sink into her bones, her choreographer brain sparking with ideas.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "This dance is going to be less about sharp moves and more about flow. Think of it like waves. You want your movements to melt into each other. And we'll use lifts to show trust—because contemporary is about connection."

Grayson nodded, already rolling his shoulders like he was ready. "Show me."

And she did. She walked him through the basics, explaining how his body could extend through lines, how his breath should match the movement, how every gesture had to come from genuine emotion. He stumbled at first, stiff and hesitant, but Diana kept encouraging him.

"Don't think so hard," she told him, laughing as he fumbled a turn. "Contemporary isn't about being perfect. It's about being honest."

"Honest I can do," he said, catching his balance.

They worked for over an hour, piecing together the opening sequence. Diana demonstrated a lift, then guided him through it, his hands steady at her waist as he raised her slightly off the ground. When they landed, he grinned proudly.

"Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad at all," she agreed.

By the time they wrapped for the day, they had a rough outline of the routine, and Diana felt hopeful. This was going to be special.

A few nights later, while brushing her teeth, Diana's phone lit up with a text. She looked to see that it was from Malachi.

It had started casually, the night after the elimination. Somehow that had snowballed into daily conversations. They went from DMing to texting. From talking about Dancing With The Stars to just about anything.

today 10:47 PM

i just spent an hour trying to fix my guitar bc one of the strings snapped and i swear it's like fighting an octopus

an octopus?? 😂

yeah bc no matter how much you think you've got itanother part slips out of control

i've never fixed a guitar but i've sewn rhinestones onto costumes at 3am and i feel like that's the same level of chaos

i believe youwhich is worse: stabbing your finger with a needle or a string whipping your face when it snaps?

okay that's terrifyingi'll stick to rhinestones thanks

good callill handle the octopus

Malachi was always texting about the most random things, like his guitar strings acting like an octopus.

The conversations were easy. Comfortable. No pressure, no spotlight. Just two people sharing dumb jokes, random thoughts, and little pieces of themselves. It was strange but at the same time normal.

Just two people who felt like they've known each other for years.

The next morning, Diana felt refreshed and determined. She arrived early, stretching at the barre before Grayson even walked in.

Grayson arrived ten minutes later, balancing two iced coffees in one hand and his dance bag in the other.

"For you," he said, holding one out.

Diana raised her brows. "Starting the day off strong, I see."

He smirked. "I figured you'd need the fuel. You've got that serious teacher look in your eyes today."

"Because we need to work," she teased, taking the cup. "No slacking."

For the next hour, they did exactly that—working through the middle section of the routine. Diana had added a series of weight-sharing moves, and Grayson struggled at first. His arms locked too tightly, his feet tripped over hers, and he kept apologizing.

"Stop saying sorry," she told him, laughing. "You're learning. You're allowed to mess up."

"I just don't want to drop you," he said with mock-seriousness, his hands gripping her waist as they reset for another lift.

"You won't."

And he didn't. After several tries, he found the right timing, lifting her into a turn before lowering her smoothly. He looked almost shocked at himself.

"See?" Diana said, breathless but proud. "I told you."

They reset to go again, but after an hour, Grayson suddenly dropped onto the floor, lying flat on his back.

"I have a genius idea," he announced, staring at the ceiling.

Diana tilted her head, suspicious. "Oh boy. What is it?"

"Lunch."

She blinked. "Lunch?"

"Yeah. Let's go out. There's this place I love—Din Tai Fung. You'll thank me later."

She frowned, checking the clock. "Grayson, we still have two more hours in the studio."

"Exactly," he said, sitting up. "Which is why we deserve a break. We've been killing it."

Diana crossed her arms. "Or... we could finish rehearsal like responsible adults."

"Come on," he coaxed, scooting closer. "One lunch. I swear I'll work twice as hard the rest of the week."

Her lips twitched. He looked so eager, so boyish in his pleading, that it was hard to say no. Still, her practical side hesitated.

"I don't know..."

Grayson raised one hand dramatically, as if swearing an oath. "Scout's honor. Extra hard work. Pinky promise if I have to."

Diana rolled her eyes but finally sighed. "Fine. But only because I've never had Din Tai Fung."

"Yes!" He pumped his fist in victory.

Din Tai Fung was bustling when they arrived, the scent of dumplings and stir-fry filling the air. Grayson, ever the gentleman, walked ahead and pulled out Diana's chair with exaggerated flourish.

"Your throne, m'lady."

Diana laughed, shaking her head. "Thank you, kind sir."

He grinned, pushing her chair in before sitting across from her. For a moment, it felt... normal. Not like rehearsal partners or a pro and a celebrity, but just two young people grabbing lunch.

They ordered way too much food—steamed dumplings, noodles, fried rice—and fell into easy conversation. Diana found herself relaxing, laughing at Grayson's stories about filming long nights on set, about pranks the HSMTMTS cast would pull on each other.

Halfway through the meal, Grayson pulled out his phone.

"Smile," he said suddenly, raising it before she could react.

"Wait—!"

Click.

He caught her small smile, cheeks flushed, chopsticks in hand.

Diana covered her face. "Oh my god, delete that."

"Absolutely not," he said, smirking as his thumbs flew over his screen.

Seconds later, Diana's phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Her stomach sank as she pulled it up.

She tapped it open and nearly choked on her water.

graysonholt just tagged you in his story !

Her eyes shot up at him. "Date, huh?"

A slow, playful smirk curved his lips. "Kind of is, isn't it?"

She blinked. "Grayson—"

"Relax." He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "The fans will love it. Besides, it's not like I lied. This is a date... sort of."

Her face heated, but she forced a laugh, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming," he corrected, lifting his water glass in a mock toast.

Despite herself, Diana clinked her glass against his. "Or ridiculous, period."

They lingered at the restaurant longer than planned, talking about everything from music to childhood memories. When they finally left, Grayson walked so close beside her that his hand brushed against hers every few steps. Diana pretended not to notice, but her pulse betrayed her.

Back at the studio, Diana split off to attend the pros' rehearsal for the opening number. This week, Daniella and Pasha were choreographing, and the room buzzed with energy as everyone stretched and chatted.

Ezra plopped down beside her on the floor, tying his sneakers. He smirked. "So... how was your lunch date?"

Diana's head snapped toward him. "It wasn't a date."

"Oh, really?" He raised a brow. "Funny, because I saw the Instagram story."

Her cheeks warmed. "It was just lunch."

Ezra chuckled. "And yet, you ditched rehearsal early. For a boy."

"He convinced me," she muttered, tugging on her shoelaces. "And it was... nice, I guess. To just hang out without talking about dance the whole time."

"Mhm." Ezra gave her a knowing smirk. "Sounds like a date to me."

She rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. "It wasn't."

"Sure," he teased, standing as Daniella called everyone to attention. "Keep telling yourself that."

During one of their breaks, Diana checked her phone and saw that Malachi had sent her a video. He was at the beach, attempting to skimboard and wiping out spectacularly.

today 3:18 PM

i just laughed so hard the others are are staring at me

glad my pain is entertainment

send more

you're evil

accurate

but seriously, send morethat way i can pretend i'm at the beach tooand not stuck in thissmelly room

looks like next time i goyou're coming with me

YESPLEASEi haven't been able toexplore the cali beaches yet

well thenconsider me your tour guide

The rest of the afternoon blurred into counts of eight, sharp stretches, and sweaty rehearsals. By the time Diana left the studio, her body ached, but in that satisfying way that reminded her why she loved this job. She headed home, ate dinner, and fell asleep with the choreography running through her head.

The next couple of days settled into a rhythm. She and Grayson met at the studio every morning, diving into the contemporary piece. It wasn't easy for him—Grayson had a habit of locking his muscles, trying too hard to "hit" movements instead of letting them flow.

"Stop fighting it," Diana told him one afternoon, guiding his arms into a smoother line. "Think water, not robot."

He laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. "I've been a robot for two weeks, now you want me to be water? Make up your mind, coach."

"I want you to be both," she shot back with a grin. "Versatility."

He groaned but tried again, this time letting his body loosen into the music. Progress was slow, but it was progress.

By Saturday, Diana was starting to feel proud of him. He was finally catching the emotional core of the dance—the way it wasn't about perfect lines but about honesty, about storytelling.

They'd just run the routine full-out when a knock sounded on the studio door.

"Come in!" Diana called, still catching her breath.

The door cracked open, and a familiar face peeked inside.

"Josh!" Grayson shouted, dropping everything to sprint across the room.

Joshua Bassett stepped inside, grinning as Grayson enveloped him in a bear hug. "Surprise!"

Diana blinked, recognizing him instantly. She'd seen him on HSMTMTS of course, but meeting him in person felt surreal.

"Dude, what are you doing here?" Grayson demanded, pulling back but still grinning ear to ear.

Josh shrugged casually. "I had some time off, figured I'd come see you. Plus, I wanted to watch you work your magic on the dance floor."

Grayson laughed. "You came at the perfect time—we were just finishing a run."

Josh's eyes shifted to Diana, and he extended a hand warmly. "You must be Diana. The partner I've been hearing about nonstop."

She smiled, shaking his hand. "That would be me. It's nice to finally meet you—Grayson talks about you a lot."

"All good things, I hope." Josh shot a mock glare at Grayson, who only rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry," Diana said, laughing. "He basically worships you."

"Good," Josh teased. "As he should."

Grayson nudged him playfully. "Okay, okay, calm down."

The three of them chatted for a few minutes, Josh asking about rehearsals, the live shows, and how Grayson was holding up under pressure. Grayson admitted that Diana had been pushing him hard, but in a good way.

Then Josh leaned back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. "So... you gonna show me the routine or what?"

Grayson's face lit up. "You want to see it?"

"Obviously."

Diana glanced between them, smiling. "Okay. But it's still a little rough—we're only halfway polished."

"Doesn't matter," Josh said. "I wanna see it."

Grayson and Diana took their positions. The opening notes of "Brother" filled the studio as Diana pressed play, and for the next two minutes, the world narrowed to their movements—the lifts, the soft falls, the way Grayson's hands caught hers and held on. He stumbled once, but recovered quickly, and when the music ended, Josh was on his feet clapping.

"Bro!" he exclaimed, rushing forward. "That was insane!"

Grayson beamed, flushed with pride. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," Josh said. "You've come a long way since I last saw you dance at the wrap party. Like, miles. And you—" He turned to Diana. "—you're incredible. The choreography is beautiful."

Diana felt her cheeks warm. "Thank you. He's been working really hard."

Josh pulled Grayson into another quick hug. "I'm proud of you, man. And honored you're dedicating this dance to me. I don't deserve it."

Grayson shook his head firmly. "Yes, you do. More than anyone."

The sincerity in his voice made Diana's chest tighten. This—this was what contemporary was about. Connection. Dedication. Storytelling. And now she understood why this piece mattered so much to him.

"Alright," Josh said, stepping back with a grin. "I'll let you two get back to work. But I'm coming Tuesday. I need to see this live."

Grayson grinned. "Wouldn't want it any other way."

As Josh left, Diana caught the look on Grayson's face—equal parts excitement and nerves. She knew this week's performance was going to be special.

After Josh's visit, everything felt lighter. Something about having him there had pulled a new layer of emotion out of Grayson. He was no longer overthinking every movement—he was dancing for someone, not just with Diana.

By Sunday, the stiffness that plagued him earlier in the week had melted away. His lifts were stronger, his transitions smoother, his expressions more open. Diana watched him in rehearsal, nodding with pride as he landed a particularly tricky weight shift with her.

"That's it," she said, clapping once. "That's exactly what I want. Feel the intention behind it, not just the movement."

Grayson, breathing hard, broke into a grin. "I'm starting to get it. Took me long enough."

"You're doing great," she assured him. "Seriously."

He flushed a little at the praise, looking down at his sneakers. "Guess I just needed the right coach."

Diana rolled her eyes playfully, but warmth spread in her chest anyway.

That night, Diana stood in the empty studio, running through the contemporary routine alone. She was tired but satisfied, knowing Grayson had come a long way and that the piece would mean something special when they finally performed it.

And in the chaos of live shows, social media, and growing tension with Grayson, Diana realized she was grateful for that little pocket of normal.

When she finally got home and was laying in bed, she had been deep in a TikTok scroll spiral. She liked a few videos before she stumbled across something that made her snort out loud.

It was Malachi. Or... at least, kind of.

The photo showed him in the sharp red suit he'd worn to the Zombies 4 premiere — but clearly AI had twisted it. His face was caught in an exaggerated mid-scream, mouth wide, eyes wild, as if he were charging at the camera full speed.

She instantly snorted. Then she laughed harder. And harder. Until she was full-on wheezing into her pillow.

Without thinking twice, she hit call on Malachi's contact.

He picked up after two rings, his face filling the screen — hair a little messy, hoodie pulled over his head, clearly lounging at home. "Yo—why are you—" he broke off, eyebrows shooting up. "Why are you dying right now?"

Diana was curled up, face red, clutching her stomach. "I—oh my god—I can't—" she wheezed, words broken apart by laughter.

Malachi tilted his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips but mostly confusion written all over his face. "What? What's so funny? Did someone send you a meme?"

She tried to catch her breath, but her laugh turned into another loud giggle fit. "Okay—okay—hang on. I'm just—oh my god—"

Still laughing, she quickly dropped the call to the background and shot him the TikTok link. Seconds later, she watched through the screen as his eyes flicked down, clearly opening the text.

His expression shifted instantly — squinting at first, then narrowing into the most unimpressed are you kidding me? look. His jaw set, lips pressed tight, and then he slowly dragged his eyes back up to the camera.

That was it. Diana lost it. She fell back against her pillow, wheezing with laughter, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"You're kidding me," Malachi said flatly, holding the phone closer like maybe he'd misread it. "This? This is what had you calling me like you're dying?"

"Yes!" she gasped, still giggling. "Look at you! You look like—you look like you're about to fight someone at your own movie premiere!"

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "That's not even real! That's AI. Someone literally took my premiere suit and turned me into a horror meme."

"That's what makes it so perfect!" Diana cackled. "Your fans are insane, in the best way. I love them. Who just... decides to make you look like you're charging at the paparazzi? It's art."

Malachi squinted, unimpressed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, art that makes me look like a psycho. Great. Thanks, internet. Hilarious..."

"It is hilarious," Diana insisted, still laughing. "Like, this deserves to be in a gallery. I'd buy it."

That finally cracked him. He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're actually insane. Out of all the memes my fans have made, this one kills you?"

"Absolutely," she grinned, cheeks sore from laughing. "This is top tier. I can't even look at it without losing it again."

Malachi sighed, giving her the same unimpressed look, though his grin had spread wider. "...Okay, yeah. It's kind of funny."

"See?" Diana smirked, victorious.

They both laughed again, the sound spilling easy between them, before the chaos softened into quieter conversation.

Malachi leaned back, adjusting his hoodie. "So, besides crying over cursed AI photos of me, how's life?"

Diana exhaled, still smiling. "Busy, but good. Rehearsals are insane. I feel like I live in the studio right now."

"Yeah? You eating enough?" he asked, raising a brow. "You sound like you're running on caffeine and vibes."

She laughed. "Okay, mom. But yes, I'm eating. I had Chipotle for dinner."

He perked up. "Solid choice. Bowl or burrito?"

"Bowl, obviously. Chicken, extra corn salsa. And a dangerous amount of chips."

Malachi nodded approvingly. "Respect. See, that's a pro move. Burritos always fall apart on me. It's tragic."

Diana tilted her head, teasing. "Maybe you just don't know how to wrap."

"Wow. Disrespectful," he shot back, grinning. "You're gonna mock my burrito skills?"

"Absolutely," she said, still smirking. "I've never had that problem."

"Fine," he laughed. "Next time we hang out, you're wrapping my burrito. Prove your skills."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Deal."

There was a comfortable pause, the kind where neither of them felt rushed to fill the silence.

Malachi broke it first, softer now. "It's kind of nice, though. Talking about random stuff. My days are usually just... meetings, shoots, trying to keep up with everything. It gets old."

Diana tucked her legs under her, resting her chin on her hand. "Yeah. I get that. That's why I love calling Aspen. Or, you know... randomly laughing at you until I cry."

He smirked, rolling his eyes. "Glad I can be your entertainment."

"You're welcome," she said cheekily.

He laughed again, shaking his head. "You're something else, Sinclair."

And for a moment, Diana realized just how easy it felt—this kind of friendship. No stage lights, no cameras, no pressure. Just two people, talking until the world blurred quiet.

🪩

i couldn't help myself!!here's another chapter

also, that ai photo is one of the funniest things i've ever seen so i had to include it!!

what are your thoughts on grayson and diana?

😊