40 | where else would i be?

WHERE ELSE WOULD I BE?

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Show day always carried a charge in the air, the kind of electricity that seeped into Diana's skin the second she walked into the theater. The corridors hummed with a mix of voices, footsteps, music, and the soft whir of stage equipment. Dressing rooms buzzed with chatter, laughter, and hairspray clouds. It wasn't just another rehearsal day. This was live. This was adrenaline.

The opening number had already come and gone — a blur of sequins, fast counts, and the roar of an audience that reminded her why she loved the stage more than anything else. Now, tucked away backstage, Diana slipped into her second outfit of the night.

A tight white tank clung to her frame, highlighting the lines of her shoulders and the defined muscles she'd earned from months of training. Black pants hugged her waist and flared just slightly at the ankle, meeting sleek black heels that clicked softly against the floor every time she shifted her weight. Her hair, twisted up into a messy bun, left a few strands loose to frame her face — effortlessly undone yet striking under stage lights. She checked her reflection once in the backstage mirror, smirked, and thought, Yeah. This works.

Backstage wasn't quiet for long.

Diana spent her downtime being everyone's biggest hype woman. She leaned against doorframes, peeked into dressing rooms, and shouted encouragements with the kind of enthusiasm that got people laughing.

She grabbed her phone when Brandon joked about making another TikTok, quickly propping it against a makeup case. Within minutes, she had half the pros dancing in sync to some trending sound. Shrieks of laughter bounced around the room as they stumbled through the moves, Emma popping in for the last eight counts, completely unplanned.

By the time the call came to line up for their next dance, Diana felt that familiar buzzing under her skin. The performance wasn't just another routine — it was Mandy Moore's choreography, a number meant to showcase them, the pros. No celebrities to lead, no scores to chase. Just pure, unfiltered dance.

Alfonso's voice boomed through the speakers, smooth and commanding. "Ladies and gentlemen, we want to feature the incredibly talented pros who we have the pleasure of seeing live every week. And you can see them live too, when the Dancing with the Stars tour comes to a town near you."

The crowd erupted, clapping and whooping, the energy bouncing off the walls.

"Choreographed by three-time Emmy winner Mandy Moore," Alfonso continued, his voice lifting with excitement. "Here are the pros!"

A spotlight illuminated the group as they posed at the table — Diana perched elegantly, her chin tilted just enough to catch the dramatic shadow. The cheers swelled, flashing lights from phones speckling the darkened audience like stars.

The music kicked on.

In an instant, Diana moved, every muscle firing with precision. Her body flowed like water, sensual and commanding, the tight tank accentuating the lines of her torso as she twisted. Every shift of her hips, every slide of her hand down the table, carried intention. The choreography dripped with sex appeal, and the boys' eyes followed her like gravity itself demanded it.

She felt it — the heat of their gaze, the awareness that the spotlight framed her every movement. And she played into it. A flick of the eyes. A teasing arch of her back. A hand dragging across the table as if inviting someone closer.

The crowd reacted with whistles and cheers, feeding her energy.

When it came time for the lift with Gleb, Diana felt her heartbeat quicken, though her face stayed calm, every expression rehearsed into artistry.

She knew it was coming, the eight-count she had rehearsed over and over, but her mind betrayed her, flashing back to that Friday afternoon in the studio. To Malachi. To the way his hands had steadied her waist, strong and careful. To the way their bodies had locked into the movement like puzzle pieces sliding into place. To the way they had frozen after, foreheads touching, breaths mingling, lips so close she could feel the warmth of his exhale against her mouth.

The memory was a ghost beneath her skin, alive in every muscle.

Her body moved instinctively, muscle memory kicking in. She sank low, one arm wrapping around his shoulders as his hand found her waist. The sensation was different — his frame taller, his grip firmer — but in her chest, she swore she still felt the imprint of Malachi. The same sequence, the same closeness, the same dizzying sensation of leaving the ground and trusting someone else to hold her.

She wrapped her legs around Gleb's waist. The spin came, smooth and precise, the crowd gasping audibly. Then the dip — her back arched, her left leg extending beautifully as he caught it in his hand. Perfect. Every angle sharp. Every beat nailed.

On the outside, flawless.

But inside? Her heart raced, too fast, like she was back in the rehearsal studio with Malachi's eyes locked on hers. She could practically hear his voice teasing, "Don't overthink it. Just go for it."

For a dangerous second, she forgot the cameras. Forgot the crowd. Forgot it was Gleb holding her. The move felt hotter, heavier, alive in ways choreography wasn't supposed to be.

She swallowed hard when Gleb set her back on her feet, forcing herself to shake it off as the number drove forward.

The number unfolded like a dream. Every movement smooth, every lift precise, sensual, powerful, untouchable.

Her chest rose and fell with exertion, but her smile remained, sharp and commanding. She moved into her last pose — hip popped, hands pressing against her body, eyes locked on the audience. The boys below stretched out around her, gazes angled upward as though she were a goddess untouchable in her spotlight.

For a moment, the music cut. Silence.

Then — the roar.

The crowd erupted, clapping, cheering, whistling, the kind of sound that sank into Diana's bones. She couldn't help it — her smile broke wide and genuine, lighting up her whole face.

The lights shifted, the final note ringing, and Brandon reached up to help her down from the table. She grasped his hand, heels clicking against the stage as she landed gracefully.

"Awesome job!" Alfonso's voice called, his figure stepping into the light with that same effortless charisma. He gestured toward them, his smile wide.

Applause followed him as Emma joined, her glittering dress catching the lights, her grin bright.

"Can we talk about them for a second?" Emma said, her accent lilting. "That's just a taste of what you'll see on tour — full-out, nonstop dancing, energy, costumes, all of it." She gestured towards her fellow pros, who were catching their breath but still grinning ear to ear. "Every city, every show, these dancers give you absolutely everything."

The crowd cheered again, clapping in agreement.

Alfonso nodded, lifting his mic. "And tickets are on sale now, so don't wait. Come see these incredible pros live, in person, when the Dancing with the Stars tour comes to a town near you!"

The audience erupted once more, phones lifted in the air to capture the moment, the cheers wrapping around the pros like a tidal wave. Diana felt her heart swell, her chest heaving from the adrenaline, the high of performing still buzzing in her blood.

This — the lights, the stage, the music, the crowd — this was everything.

And she couldn't stop smiling.

The ballroom felt different after a live show ended.

It wasn't quiet — not yet — but the energy shifted. Instead of the roaring applause and spotlight heat, there was a softer hum, a combination of crew members resetting equipment, producers with clipboards rushing to tie up loose ends, and dancers laughing as they slipped out of costume and into something more comfortable. The floor still gleamed under the stage lights, the ghost of her performance lingering in the air.

Diana stood off to the side, her black heels clicking softly as she shifted her weight, a bottle of water clutched in one hand. She had already peeled her hair out of the messy bun, letting the strands tumble around her shoulders, but the adrenaline still made her skin buzz.

She took another sip of water, turning when she caught a flicker of movement in her periphery.

Malachi.

He was weaving through the bustle of the ballroom like he belonged there — cream sweater, dark jeans, nice shoes, his curls slightly tousled as if he'd run a hand through them. Her chest gave that small, traitorous flutter it always did when he appeared.

"Hey," he called softly when he reached her, his smile warm enough to cut through the exhaustion of the day.

Diana felt her lips curve before she could stop them. "Hey."

"You killed it out there," Malachi said, his voice tinged with a mix of sincerity and leftover adrenaline, like he had just been the one performing. "Like... seriously."

Diana tilted her head, smirking just slightly. "Yeah? How'd the lift look?"

He didn't even hesitate. "It looked great. Perfect, actually. Like—" he faltered, his words tripping over themselves in a way that wasn't usual for him, "—like you were great. Not just the lift. All of it. You were... great."

Diana blinked at him, the unexpected stutter making her chest tighten. Malachi rarely tripped over his words — usually he was quick, sharp, always teasing — but right now he looked almost shy. Like the words had slipped out faster than his brain could catch them.

"Thanks," she said softly, and though she tried to play it cool, she could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. She dropped her gaze for a second, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before meeting his eyes again. "That means a lot, coming from you."

Malachi grinned, just a little lopsided, like he'd caught her blush and was enjoying every second of it. "See? I do know what I'm talking about."

Diana rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. "Don't get too confident, Barton. Compliments don't automatically make you an expert."

"Oh, no?" he asked, tilting his head, that playful spark returning to his eyes. He leaned just a little closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "Because from where I was standing, I'm pretty sure the audience agreed with me. They couldn't take their eyes off you."

Her stomach flipped. She tried to brush it off with a laugh, but it came out softer than she meant. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe." His grin widened. "But I'm also right."

There was an ease between them, one that had nothing to do with the bustling chaos around them. Crew members passed by, pros laughed a few feet away, but Diana barely noticed. Malachi's presence had a way of shrinking the world down, of making everything else blur into the background until it was just the two of them.

"So," he continued, rocking back on his heels slightly. "How'd it feel? Being the queen of the ballroom tonight?"

Diana laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, please. Don't start calling me that."

"What? You don't like it?" he teased, eyes glinting. "Because from what I saw, four guys orbiting around you like you were their sun? That screams queen energy to me."

Her blush deepened, and she swatted lightly at his arm. "Stop."

"Not until you admit it." He leaned in again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Queen Diana. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

She tried to roll her eyes again, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with another smile. "You're impossible."

"And yet," he said, smirking, "you're still talking to me."

Diana shook her head, but she couldn't deny the truth. Her heart still hadn't slowed down, her cheeks still warm. The flirty banter that came so naturally to them was both grounding and exhilarating.

She shifted her water bottle between her hands, then glanced at him again, her voice softer this time. "Seriously though. Thanks for being here."

Malachi shrugged, casual, but his eyes softened. "Where else would I be?"

And just like that, Diana felt her breath catch.

It wasn't a grand declaration. It wasn't some over-the-top gesture. But the way he said it — like being here for her was obvious, like it was the only option — sent warmth flooding through her chest.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just stood there, smiling at each other in the middle of the post-show chaos, the unspoken weight of their almost-kiss hanging in the air between them.

All she wanted to do was tell him the truth. How she felt. But there was a part of her that was still too scared, which is why their unspoken words continued to hang between them.

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next chapters a crazy one😊