18 | arcade break

ARCADE BREAK

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The studio was still, the kind of quiet that only existed early in the morning before the chaos of camera crews and producers turned it into a circus. Diana pushed the door open with her shoulder, her dance bag slung over one arm and her phone glowing in the other. The faint smell of fresh-cleaned floors and lingering sweat from the night before clung to the air.

Her sneakers squeaked against the polished wood as she walked toward the far wall, tapping a reply into her phone with a small grin tugging at her lips.

today 7:48 AM

I still can't get over last night omgThe number was insane Like INSANEYou guys looked like a whole movie cast up there. Mickey and Minnie showing up?? That's Disney flexing HARD.Also Malachi in that black-and-red costume... girl. G I R L

I KNOWIt didn't even feel realAnd stop about Malachi lol

Oh don't even. You two after the dance??? Arm around you?? Fans lost their MINDSI lost my mindAdmit it was cute.

It was just part of the performance

Aspen sent a row of eye emojis that made Diana laugh, shoving her phone into her bag as she reached the couch against the mirrored wall. She dropped her things onto the cushions and stretched her arms above her head, feeling her muscles complain from the nonstop adrenaline of the week.

The door creaked open behind her, and she glanced back just as Grayson stepped in. His hair was messy, like he'd run a hand through it a dozen times, and his hoodie looked slept in. His eyes had that heavy-lidded haze that spoke of too few hours under the covers.

Diana raised her brows. "Wow. You look like a zombie."

Grayson smirked faintly but shook his head. "Didn't sleep much."

"How much is not much?" she asked, leaning against the couch arm.

"Couple hours," he admitted with a shrug. He rubbed the back of his neck as he crossed the room, dropping his water bottle onto the coffee table before collapsing next to her with a groan. "Running on fumes."

She chuckled, tucking her legs beneath her. "Well, lucky for you, we've got time before the camera crew shows up. You can nap right here if you want. I won't judge."

Grayson tilted his head toward her, lips quirking. "Tempting." But instead of closing his eyes, he pulled out his phone, slouching into the cushions.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, both scrolling, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional tap of a finger against a screen. Diana half-smiled at a meme Aspen had sent, thumb flying across the keyboard as she typed a reply.

Then, without warning, the air shifted. Grayson's posture stiffened beside her, shoulders drawing taut like a bowstring.

Diana glanced up, frowning. "What's wrong?"

Before she could finish the question, he angled his phone slightly toward her. His voice was quiet, flat. "I thought you were gonna stop."

Her brows knit together. "Stop what?"

Grayson turned the screen fully, and the answer hit her square in the chest.

Malachi's Instagram dump glowed under the fluorescent lights. She was in three of the photos. One of him hugging her so tightly her face was buried against his shoulder. One of her and Nikita playing with makeup, carefree. And one of her, mid-practice, in her sports bra and leggings, grinning and flashing peace signs.

Her stomach dropped.

She sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "Grayson... I didn't post those. Malachi did."

"That's the point," he muttered, jaw flexing. His thumb scrolled down slightly, hovering over the flood of comments — hearts, flame emojis, endless Malachi-and-Diana ship names.

Diana pressed her lips together, trying to stay calm. "I can't control what he posts."

Grayson's eyes narrowed, flicking to hers. "You can control posting him though."

Confused, she blinked. "What?"

He scrolled again, opening her story from last night. Malachi's face filled the screen — the goofy AI photo of him.

"You posted this," Grayson said flatly.

Diana let out a short laugh, trying to keep the tension from ballooning. "Grayson, it's a joke. It's literally an AI edit. It's not that serious. None of this is."

He didn't smile. His gaze flicked back to the earlier post. "It is when this guy is posting pictures of you half naked."

That landed like a slap.

Diana's eyebrows shot up, offense sparking immediately. "Half naked? Grayson, it's a sports bra. I wear that top every other rehearsal. Everyone in this building has seen me in it. And you know what? It's fine."

"Not when fans see it," he shot back, frustration cracking through. "It gives the wrong idea."

Her arms crossed instinctively, pulse ticking faster. "The fans are gonna make stuff up no matter what. They always do. Whether it's me in a sports bra or me drinking a coffee. It doesn't matter."

Grayson's jaw tightened. His voice was low, controlled. "It matters when it looks like he's claiming you."

Her breath caught, a flare of something sharp rising in her chest. "Malachi is my friend. That's all. And again — I don't control what he posts."

The silence stretched, thick. Grayson's gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted again, sharp and vulnerable all at once. "I thought we were gonna focus on us. You and me. Not... this."

The words hit softer, but deeper. Diana exhaled, shoulders slumping. "We are focusing on us. But that doesn't mean I stop talking to my friends. That's not fair. Malachi is my friend. Just like Ezra. Just like Britt. Just like everyone else here."

Grayson stared at her, conflict written across every line of his face.

Before he could respond, the door opened and the camera crew spilled in, voices echoing, equipment clattering as they greeted them with bright smiles and clipboards in hand.

Diana's heart was still pounding, but she forced her expression smooth. She leaned toward Grayson, her voice quiet, urgent. "Please. I don't want this affecting us — our friendship, our dancing, any of it. Just... let it go. Okay?"

For a moment, he didn't answer. His gaze lingered on her, searching, wrestling with something unsaid. Then finally, with a sharp exhale through his nose, he nodded.

"Okay."

Diana gave the smallest smile, more relief than joy, before pushing herself up to greet the crew. But inside, her stomach twisted, a knot forming that she couldn't shake.

Because no matter how hard she tried to believe it, she wasn't sure either of them could really let this go.

The red recording light blinked in the corner of the studio, a silent reminder that every move, every laugh, every stumble today would be cut, edited, and eventually broadcast to millions of viewers at home. Diana had been through enough rehearsal packages by now to know exactly how to balance her role as teacher, partner, and camera-friendly personality. Still, the knot from her earlier conversation with Grayson lingered under her ribs, tightening each time she caught sight of his expression in the mirrors.

But she pushed it aside with a bright smile for the cameras. "Okay, so," she said, clapping her hands together as she turned toward Grayson, "This week... is Latin Week."

Grayson's entire demeanor shifted, a spark of energy igniting in his eyes as he straightened from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Latin week?"

"Latin week," Diana confirmed with a nod, her grin widening when his excitement grew. "And... we are doing an Argentine Tango."

Grayson froze for a beat, blinking. Then he repeated, as if needing to taste the words. "Tango."

"Argentine Tango," she corrected, savoring the suspense.

His eyebrows shot up. "We're doing a tango?"

Diana laughed at his disbelief. "Yes, we are doing a tango." She drew out the moment before finally adding, "To Cell Block Tango."

The reaction was instantaneous. Grayson's face split into a wide grin, his head tilting back slightly as if he needed a second to process the information. "Shut up," he said, eyes shining. "Cell Block Tango? That's... that's iconic!"

"Right?!" Diana clapped again, bouncing on her heels. "It's perfect. Dramatic, intense, theatrical. The crowd is gonna eat it up."

Grayson ran both hands through his messy hair, a boyish laugh tumbling out of him. "Oh my god. A tango. Okay. Okay. This is gonna be crazy."

She gave him a playful, teasing look. "This one's gonna be a lot different than our other dances."

"How so?" He leaned in, curiosity bubbling.

"Well..." Diana began, folding her arms, her tone shifting slightly into teacher mode. "All of our other dances have been either fun or emotional. This one? Not so much." She leaned closer, her voice dropping for effect. "This one is hot. Sensual. Sexy."

Grayson's mouth fell open dramatically, his hand flying to his chest like he'd just been scandalized. "Sexy?" He dragged out the word, eyes wide. Then, with mock seriousness, he added, "So what you're saying is, I've gotta channel my inner Magic Mike?"

The crew chuckled behind their cameras. Diana threw her head back with a laugh. "Maybe not that far," she said between giggles, "but... similar."

"Got it," he said with a wink, shifting his shoulders like he was already gearing up for the role.

"Alright," Diana said, biting back her grin as she moved toward the center of the room. "Let's start working through some basics."

They faced the mirror together, Diana demonstrating the sharp, deliberate footwork that defined the Argentine Tango. The music was slower than their past routines, but it carried a simmering tension that demanded precision and control. She showed him how each step had to feel intentional, almost like a conversation without words — every push and pull, every lean and breath, a story unfolding between two people.

Grayson followed her movements, his brow furrowed in concentration as he mirrored her. His foot clipped hers once, earning a laugh from both of them, but soon his natural athleticism kicked in. He had the rhythm, the energy — now it was about layering the intensity.

"Good," Diana encouraged, her voice professional but warm. "But remember — this isn't just about the steps. The Argentine Tango is about tension. It's about the space between us. The heat. The danger."

"Danger," Grayson repeated, nodding with exaggerated seriousness.

"Exactly." She smirked, then turned so she was facing him.

She guided him through steps, her hand resting lightly against his chest as she explained. "So here, you're going to trail your hand slowly up my leg, up to my hip, and then to my waist. The goal is to make it look natural, intentional, like it's part of the story."

Grayson froze, his hand hovering uncertainly near her thigh. His ears turned pink. "Wait... I have to—"

"Yes," Diana cut in firmly, her eyes locking with his in the mirror. "It's part of the choreography. Don't overthink it. Think of it like acting. Just... commit."

He hesitated, fingers twitching like he was afraid of doing it wrong. Diana exhaled, soft but steady. "Don't be scared, Grayson. You can't hold back in this dance. If you do, the audience will feel it. You've got to just... go for it."

When his hand still lingered, uncertain, she made the choice for him. Reaching down, she took his hand firmly in hers and dragged it slowly along her leg, guiding it up the length of her thigh, over the curve of her hip, and settling it against her waist.

The air between them thickened instantly, a spark zipping through the contact.

"There," she said, her voice quieter now. "See? Not so scary."

Grayson's jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flicking from her waist to her face. "Right. Not scary." His hand stayed put, a little less tentative now, a little more sure.

"Good," Diana said, stepping back into teacher mode though her pulse had quickened. "Let's try it again, this time with the music."

They reset, the opening notes of Cell Block Tango filling the room. The slow, sultry rhythm wrapped around them, pulling them into the story. This time, Grayson didn't hesitate. His hand trailed boldly up her leg, his touch firmer, more deliberate. By the third repetition, he was no longer the hesitant student — he was leaning fully into the character, his body close, his movements sharper, more controlled.

"Better," Diana murmured, catching his eyes in the mirror.

"Better?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Much," she admitted.

From then on, something shifted. Grayson grew bolder, more touchy, more willing to push into the sensuality of the dance. Each lift of her leg, each flick of her foot against his calf, each spin into his arms carried more confidence. The hesitancy from earlier melted away, replaced with a raw determination to own the role.

"Again," Diana called, breathless but impressed. "And this time, don't hold back on the look. Eye contact, Grayson. You've got to sell the connection."

He met her gaze head-on, and for the first time, it didn't waver.

Diana's stomach fluttered despite herself.

The cameras zoomed in, capturing every flicker of intensity between them. To anyone watching, it would look like sparks — the perfect storm of story and performance.

Inside, though, Diana knew it was more complicated.

Rehearsal days dragged on heavier than Diana wanted it to. It wasn't that the tango was going badly — in fact, their movements had sharpened, and Grayson had been hitting his marks with more confidence than he had at the start of the week. The problem wasn't the steps. The problem was the silence that stretched between them in the moments between steps.

Every time she corrected his frame, every time his hand skimmed her waist for a move, every time they reset, there was something unspoken hanging in the air.

Diana could still feel the weight of their conversation from earlier in the week. Even now, though they weren't actively fighting, she could sense that raw tension simmering beneath the surface. He hadn't brought it up again, but his tone, the way his eyes flickered whenever her phone buzzed, said plenty.

She hated it — hated feeling like she had to balance her friendship with Malachi against her partnership with Grayson. They weren't supposed to feel like opposing forces.

When rehearsal wrapped for the night, Diana plopped down on the couch, stretching out her sore legs. She watched Grayson gather his stuff across the room. He moved slower than usual, like his energy was pulled in two directions.

Finally, he walked over and stopped in front of her.

"Hey," he said quietly.

She glanced up. "Yeah?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then dropped down to sit beside her. His voice was hesitant but steady. "I know things have been... weird. Between us."

Her chest tightened. She waited for him to say Malachi's name — but he didn't. He just let it hover in the silence between them.

Diana nodded slowly. "Yeah. They have."

Grayson blew out a breath, rubbing his palms together. "Look, I don't want to keep fighting with you. I hate it. And I know the stuff with... with everything has been on my mind too much. So I was thinking..."

He trailed off, searching her face like he wasn't sure she'd go for what he was about to suggest.

"What?" she prompted, tilting her head.

His lips curved into a small grin, a flicker of the usual Grayson shining through. "Maybe we take a break from this — from practice, from the cameras, from all the heavy stuff — and just hang out. Reset. Like we used to before all this drama."

Diana raised an eyebrow. "Hang out how?"

His grin widened. "There's this arcade a couple blocks away. You know, flashing lights, overpriced pizza, games I'll definitely beat you at. What do you think?"

For the first time all day, Diana felt the tension in her chest ease. An arcade. So simple, so stupid, so perfectly Grayson.

"An arcade?" she teased. "That's your big idea?"

He nodded, dead serious. "Best therapy there is."

Her lips twitched into a smile. "Alright. Let's go."

The arcade was chaos in the best way. Neon lights pulsed from every corner, music thumped from overhead speakers, and kids darted between machines with cups full of tokens. The smell of popcorn and pizza lingered thick in the air, clashing with the faint tang of disinfectant on the sticky floor.

Diana paused just inside the entrance, hugging her jacket closer to her. "Okay... this is kind of amazing."

Grayson grinned, already fishing coins from the change machine. "Prepare yourself. You're about to witness greatness."

She rolled her eyes. "Confidence looks good on you. Shame it's about to get crushed."

They started at the racing games. Diana slid into the red car, adjusting the plastic wheel like she was strapping into an actual race. Grayson took the blue car beside her, shooting her a competitive glance.

"You're going down, Sinclair."

"Big words from the guy who tripped over his own feet today."

"Low blow," he muttered, laughing.

The countdown started — 3... 2... 1... GO!

The cars roared forward, and Diana leaned into her wheel with laser focus. Grayson, meanwhile, couldn't stop glancing at her, bursting out laughing every time she cut him off on the track.

"Eyes on the road!" she yelled, swerving to block him.

"You're a menace!" he shot back, but his grin was wide.

When she crossed the finish line a split second before him, Diana threw her arms up. "Victory!"

Grayson slumped against his wheel, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. Rigged. I demand a rematch."

"Face it," she teased, climbing out of her car. "I'm just better at everything."

He pointed at her, mock serious. "This is war."

Skee-Ball came next. Diana's first roll landed neatly in the 40-point slot. Smooth, precise.

"Not bad," Grayson said, winding up his own throw. His ball shot forward, ricocheted off the rim, and dropped into the 10-point slot with a dull thud.

Diana doubled over laughing. "Wow. Impressive."

"That was just a warm-up," he said defensively, though his grin gave him away.

They went back and forth, Diana's throws calm and consistent while Grayson's were chaotic at best. He celebrated wildly when he managed to land one in the 100-point circle.

"Did you see that?!" he yelled, pumping his fists.

"Pure luck," Diana teased.

"Skill," he corrected, winking.

At the air hockey table, things got intense.

"Winner takes bragging rights for life," Grayson declared.

"All of life?" she asked dryly.

"All of it," he said solemnly.

The puck dropped, and chaos ensued. Diana's reflexes were sharp, but Grayson played like a man possessed. The puck ricocheted wildly, clattering against the sides, both of them yelling and laughing with each slap of their mallets.

When she scored the winning point, Diana whooped, pumping her fist. "Yes! Eternal glory is mine!"

Grayson collapsed against the table in defeat. "I can't believe this. You're unstoppable."

She smirked, bumping his shoulder. "Maybe you should stick to acting."

"Savage," he muttered, though his smile lingered.

They grabbed snacks at the counter, splitting a slice of pizza and a cup of soda. Diana perched on a stool, still laughing as she wiped sauce from her fingers.

"You know," she admitted, "I really needed this."

Grayson looked over, his grin softening. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "It feels good to just... not think for a while. No rehearsal stress. No tension. Just... this."

His gaze held hers, steady and warm. "That's all I wanted. For us to feel normal again."

Something in her chest loosened at his words. For once, it felt like the shadow of Malachi wasn't hovering over their shoulders. It was just her and Grayson, eating terrible pizza and laughing about video games.

Before they left, Grayson dragged her to the claw machine. "Watch and learn," he said, gripping the joystick like a pro.

Diana folded her arms. "This is going to be a disaster."

He maneuvered the claw, pressed the button, and watched as it descended toward a stuffed bear. The claw lifted it — then promptly dropped it.

Grayson groaned. "Nooo!"

Diana laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. "Some system you've got there."

"One more try," he insisted.

This time, he snagged a small penguin and, miraculously, carried it all the way to the chute. He pulled it out with a triumphant cheer and turned, holding it out to her.

"For you."

Diana blinked, then accepted it with a laugh. "Wow. A penguin. You really know how to win a girl over."

"Only the best," he said, still smiling.

As they walked back into the night, Diana hugged the penguin to her chest. The cool air brushed against her cheeks, and for the first time in weeks, she felt the tension between them ease.

Grayson nudged her shoulder. "So... we good?"

She glanced at him, her smile soft. "Yeah. We're good."

And she meant it.

graysonholt just added to his story !

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another chapter because why not

ALSOi may or may not have just written diana and malachis hard launch and i am so excited for you guys to read itBUTthat's not for another like 30 chapters so for now we still have to deal with grayson

sorry😊