Chapter 63 – Fan Reaction
The moment I stepped off the stage, the roar of the audience still echoing in my ears, I felt like I'd been swept into a hurricane of energy, glitter, and adrenaline. Cameras had captured every second of our declaration, every spark of longing in Dante's gaze, every lingering touch, and the internet was already ablaze. Notifications flooded my phone so fast I was certain it might combust.
"Oh, that's just great," I muttered, juggling my bag, my phone, and a rising tide of panic. "They're going to track me down for a national tour of embarrassment, aren't they?"
Dante appeared beside me like he had an internal radar for my growing anxiety. He caught my arm, tugging me gently into a secluded hallway backstage, away from the relentless click of cameras and the flashing neon of stage lights. "Relax," he said, his voice calm and grounding, a magnetic counterbalance to my frayed nerves. "Breathe. They love you. We did it. We're fine."
I blinked at him, trying to absorb the truth of his words. His grin was infuriatingly reassuring, the kind that made me want to melt right there against the cold hallway wall. "Fine?" I echoed. "Dante, I just… we just—" I gestured vaguely toward the stage, toward the cameras, toward the world. "We just went viral, for crying out loud!"
"And?" he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead, the gentlest touch that somehow felt like a declaration in itself. "And we look amazing, and everyone loves us. Including me."
I could feel heat creeping up my neck, a mixture of embarrassment, exhilaration, and, admittedly, desire. His hand lingered against my cheek, thumbs brushing lightly over skin still flushed from the adrenaline of our kiss. I tried to roll my eyes, but the effort failed miserably.
"You're terrible," I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
"Terribly in love," he countered with a mischievous glint, leaning just enough that my breath caught. "With you, obviously."
I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped, a shaky, relieved, utterly joyful sound. "Obviously," I agreed, shaking my head. "Because obviously, I've been terrified of cameras, rivals, producers, and the internet, and yet somehow, none of that mattered because you—" My words faltered. My chest felt tight, impossibly tight, the kind of tight that made me aware of every brush of his arm, every shared breath.
"You," he finished for me, his voice husky, almost private in the din of backstage chaos.
We paused there, just looking at each other, a quiet bubble of intimacy in the eye of the storm. Around us, the world was moving, buzzing, commenting, judging—but none of that mattered right now. All that existed was the warmth of his hand in mine, the brush of our shoulders, the shared heartbeat that somehow seemed synchronized.
Finally, I dared to glance at my phone. The notifications were relentless, a tidal wave of fan support, hashtags trending, GIFs of our kiss circulating at speeds I didn't think possible. Comments ranged from gleeful declarations of "FINALLY!" to playful teasing about how we had broken the internet with one perfectly timed moment.
I laughed aloud, the sound tripping over my nerves and excitement. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Dante, we are officially the internet's obsession. Do you realize this?"
He peered at my phone with mock horror, then laughed. "I realize we're now a target for fan mail, fan art, and probably unsolicited wedding proposals," he said, his grin wide and warm. Then he lowered his voice, leaning just a fraction closer. "But I also realize something more important—we did this together. You and me. Not the producers. Not the cameras. Not the trolls. Just us."
I felt a rush of relief so powerful it made my chest ache in the best way. "Together," I echoed, letting the word roll over me. The simplicity, the intimacy of it, made the chaos fade away.
He nudged me gently with his shoulder, that playful, teasing movement I knew so well, and I found myself smiling uncontrollably. "So, what do you say we celebrate? Quietly. Away from everyone who wants a soundbite, a headline, or an embarrassing GIF?"
"Absolutely," I agreed, the word heavy with anticipation. Dante grabbed my hand, the fit of our fingers perfect, grounding me even as my heart threatened to soar right out of my chest.
We wandered through the dimly lit corridors, laughter spilling between us as we dodged production crew members and overly enthusiastic fans. Every glance at him made me dizzy in the best possible way, every brush of his hand against mine a spark that threatened to ignite a fire entirely unrelated to the adrenaline of the show.
Eventually, we found ourselves outside, the night air crisp and calming, the faint hum of the city a quiet backdrop to our private world. Dante let go of my hand, only briefly, to tuck my hair behind my ear, and the touch made me shiver.
"You're incredible," he murmured, voice low, intimate, almost stolen. "And not just because of the cameras or the show or… everything. You're incredible, period."
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous. You've been telling me that since day one."
"And I'll keep telling you," he said, a smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes—oh, those eyes—held something deeper, something raw and unguarded. "Because it's true. And because now everyone else knows it too, whether they like it or not."
I bit my lip, heart swelling with a mixture of embarrassment and delight. "Everyone else knowing is… terrifying," I admitted. "I mean, what if people think we're just doing this for attention?"
He tilted his head, brushing his nose against mine in a subtle, teasing gesture. "Let them think what they want. We know the truth. And honestly?" He let out a soft chuckle, leaning close enough that I could feel his warmth against my cheek. "I kind of like knowing the whole world is watching us finally get it right."
I rolled my eyes playfully, though my heart still thumped violently. "You're incorrigible," I said, but the smile in my voice betrayed me.
He laughed, a sound that was entirely his own, perfectly attuned to mine, and it made my chest ache with longing and relief. Then, without warning, he took my hand again, weaving our fingers together, the intimacy of the simple act setting off sparks I couldn't ignore.
"I don't care about the cameras," he said softly, eyes fixed on mine, unblinking. "I don't care about the show. I care about you. And right now, this moment, right here… it's ours. Totally, completely ours."
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I laughed too, a mixture of joy and disbelief, because the truth of his words hit me harder than I expected. "I think I've been waiting for this forever," I admitted, voice low, vulnerable, almost shy.
"Forever," he echoed, leaning close enough that our foreheads touched. The closeness was electric, intimate, comforting, chaotic in the best possible way. "And now we have it. You and me. No rivals, no producers, no internet. Just us."
I exhaled, letting the weight of months, of miscommunication, of jealousy and scheming, lift from my shoulders. And in that moment, I realized something profound: no matter how chaotic, how messy, how ridiculous this world could be, we were untouchable together.
He brushed a gentle kiss across my temple, then my cheek, lingering just long enough to make my pulse spike. "So… celebration?" he asked, his voice laced with teasing warmth, though the sincerity underneath made my stomach flutter.
I nodded, grinning. "Celebration."
And as we walked side by side into the night, hand in hand, laughter mingling with the quiet hum of the city, I finally felt it: the calm after the storm, the warmth after the chaos, the truth that we were, at last, ours—no cameras, no rivals, no doubt, just us.
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