Layover
A/N: I decided to try something a little different. I watched Malachi in Stuck in the Middle, and now Zombies 4. I got got how much of a crush I used to have on him as a kid. I did find out he’s actually a year younger than me, crazy. Anyway, I am going to write up the request I have, this idea has just been floating around my head for a couple days. Requests are also open! Please enjoy (and let me know if it’s rubbish) 🫶🏻
You wasn’t expecting much from your layover — just overpriced coffee, an uncomfortable gate chair, and hopefully not missing her flight.
What you definitely wasn’t expecting was to slam straight into someone mid-turn, nearly knocking you both over.
“Whoa—sorry, I didn’t see—“
“No, no, that was totally my bad.”
You looked up. And up. Into the unmistakable face of Malachi Barton.
“Wait…” you blinked. “Aren’t you—”
“…Running late, apparently,” he grinned.
That smile. You'd seen it in posters, reels, and the shows he did as a kid. But in person, it was less polished, more real.
"I think I just shoulder checked a Disney prince" you joked, shifting your back to your other shoulder.
"Honestly, that's the best hit I've taken all week" he said "the tour is brutal."
"Hang on, are you coming back from the Descendants Zombies thing?" You had seen the reels about it but weren't able to get any tickets.
"Yeah, just landed. And already tackled by a fan in Terminal B" he said with teasing in his voice, and a wink to punctuate.
You raised your eyebrow "Tackled? I barely touched you"
"Emotionally tackled" he said with a grin "Devastating"
You both laughed, it was the kind of laughter that made time hiccup.
"Are you staying here?" He asked you, a hint of hopefulness in his voice.
"Ah no, I'm not" you answered. "This is just a layover"
"Oooooh" he said "Where are you going?"
"On a holiday" you replied "to Salem" (I only say Salem because that's my next holiday)
"Very... witchy" he replied with a chuckle "I'm going home to laundry and post-tour blues"
"You really are living the dream" you joked
His laugh was soft, raw, real. Something about it made your chest pinch and your breath short.
You were about to say something when the Airport intercom came on "Flight 3213 to Boston is now boarding, that's Flight 3213 to Boston boarding"
You sigh and make sure you have all your things, "that's my flight, I should get going. It was nice meeting you, I'm sorry for emotionally tackling you. I hope you can recover" you said with a laugh
Malachi chuckled "would you, maybe, want to stay in touch?"
You paused for a moment, then answered "As in like, text?"
"Yeah. Or call. Or send goofy selfies. Whatever you're into"
You give a small nod and slow smile, as you pull out your phone "ok Disney prince, you go". You gave him your phone and watched as he typed his number. He was about to hand it back when you said "Wait! I need a profile picture for you"
You opened your camera and pointed it at Malachi, who promptly took your phone, turned the camera around, and pulled you in for a selfie together.
He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and held the phone out. You wrapped your arm around his waist and rested your head on his shoulder. He rested his head on top of yours, said "smile" and took the photo.
He set it as the profile photo, and then used your phone to send the photo to himself. You heard his phone ping, and he pulled it out of his pocket. He grinned at you from the side as he unlocked his phone, went into his messages. He changed your name to Princess and set the same photo as your profile.
"Thank you" he said.
"No worries" you responded.
"This is the final call for Flight 3213 to Boston, that's the final call for Flight 3213 to Boston boarding"
"You gotta go" he realised "like now"
"Crap, I do"
"I'll walk you to your gate" he said as he took your suitcase and your bag from you, and led the way.
You chuckled and said "My gate is that way"
He turned to see you pointing in the opposite direction from where he was walking "oh, this way then."
He helped you get your bags sorted and walked you as far as he could, bid you goodbye and told you to "text me when you get there"
You thanked him and waved as you walked down the hallway to the plane.
---------------
Malachi: Did you make it to Salem alive? Or were you tragically defeated by airport vending machines?
You: Alive and sleep-deprived. But I did get attacked by a rogue suitcase in baggage claim. I’m limping dramatically for attention.
Malachi: You’re really thriving.
You: Main character energy, tbh. Current status: walking along Chestnut Street listening to sad music like I’m in a breakup montage.
Malachi: You're not even heartbroken and you're still being cinematic. I respect that. Send me a pic so I can rate your brooding skills.
You: <<photo of you with sunglasses, slight pout, graveyard in background>> How’s that?
Malachi: 8.5/10. Would’ve been a 10 if you had dramatic wind in your hair.
You: Rude. The wind was busy.
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You: Went to the She-Varoy Hills today. Pretty sure I saw your ego from up there.
Malachi: Wow. And I thought I was being charming. I’ve been practicing restraint, you know. I haven’t even sent you a selfie in, like, 36 hours.
You: That’s tragic. Want me to send you a candle or something?
Malachi: Only if you come light it yourself.
You: That sounds vaguely threatening.
Malachi: Good. Keeps you intrigued.
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Malachi: You’re fun, you know that?
You: You said that like you’re surprised.
Malachi: I just thought you’d be normal. But you’re not. You’re like… actually cool. Real. Not fake-nice.
You: Are you flirting with me, Barton?
Malachi: I’m considering it. Depends. What’s your stance on missing return flights?
You: Bold of you to assume I’d risk airport chaos for a guy I barely know 😌
Malachi: Bold of me to assume you wouldn’t? -----------------------
These message chains you had with Malachi were adding more and more to your holiday, like you didn't even know you needed it until it happened. Then, you got the one text you had kind of been hoping for.
-----------------------
Malachi: Okay. Serious question. Your layover back is in LA again, right?
You: Yeah. Same gate and everything. (Which feels suspiciously like fate.)
Malachi: What if you… didn’t keep flying? What if you changed your flight and stayed here for like a week? I’ll show you around. Be normal. Be respectful. You can even run if I turn out to be secretly unhinged.
You: What if I say yes and you regret it?
Malachi: Impossible. I already don’t want this to be over when you get on that plane.
----------------------
You had barely slept. Not from the nerves, which were definitely here now, but because you couldn't stop replaying the moment you said yes.
One minute, you were staring at yourself in mirror like a lunatic, making sure you didn't look exhausted. The next, you were standing outside LAX with a wheeled suitcase, a half-melted chocolate bar in your hand, and Malachi Barton waving at you from the curb like he hadn't just rewritten the past week.
“You actually came,” he said, smiling in that stupid, disarming way that should’ve come with a warning label.
"You asked" you shrugged, though your heart was doing more pounding then shrugging.
-------------------
You woke up the next morning, grateful for the sleep you had gotten. He doesn't live in a crazy mansion, but in a cozy house that's half full of unpacked boxes from the tour. He gave you the spare room, fresh towels, and a full bottle of purple shampoo because he "didn't know your hair needs and panicked" even though you had packed shampoo for your original holiday.
You walked out in an oversized tshirt, no makeup and bed head. You found Malachi at the bench drinking orange juice from the bottle.
He spots you and freezes mid sip.
"Morning" you say
“Wow,” he says.
“Wow what?”
“You look like someone who’s about to steal my heart and the last cinnamon roll.”
You raises an eyebrow. “Only one of those things is true.”
He hops off the counter, barefoot, hair messy, shirt inside-out.
“Okay,” he says, clapping once. “Here’s the plan. First, breakfast. Then I’m taking you on the very official Malachi Barton Tour of LA.”
“Does that involve paparazzi and overpriced green juice?”
“Nope. It involves the beach, tacos, a record store that smells like actual dust, and me proving that I’m not just a dude with a blue checkmark.”
You smile, softer this time.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” you say.
He pauses. “Maybe. But I kinda want to.”
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You're walking through the local street market, hands brushing against each other but never fully touching. He tells you stories about filming, and you tease him about his hair product obsession. You end up at a smoothie place and he orders for you without asking what you would like, and he got it exactly right.
"How'd you know" you ask him, suspicion in your voice.
"Lucky guess" he says, even though he definitely went through your texts to find it.
----------------------
You end up sitting on a roof later that night, with some cheap takeout and string lights above you. That weird electric stillness between friends who might kiss but don't want to risk ruining had settled around you.
"This is insane" you whisper.
"You staying?"
'No, I mean this whole thing. You. Me. Here"
"Yeah" he murmurs, leaning back on his elbows. "And yet, you're here"
----------------------
It's late.
You're curled up together on his couch, the kind of squishy, lived-in thing that sinks too much when you sit on one side. Some Disney movie plays softly on the screen, chosen because neither of you planned on paying attention anyway.
You're tucked against his side, legs stretched out, a blanket half draped over both of you. Malachi's arm is slung lazily on the back of the couch, his fingertips ghosting over your shoulder every now and again.
Your cheek was resting on your chest. You could hear the steady thump of his heart under your ear and, for once, your thoughts aren't racing, they're still.
“You tired?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s scared to break the moment.
“A little,” you murmur. “But I don’t want to move.”
He smiles, eyes fixed on the screen but not really watching.
“Good. Cause I wasn’t planning on letting you.”
You shifts slightly, just enough to look up at him — and finds him already looking down.
That soft, melting silence.
That electricity in the space between them.
“You’re staring,” you say.
“I know.”
He doesn’t move right away. He waits — giving you time, space, choice. And that’s what makes you fall for him a little more.
So you lean up first, slow and sure.
And he meets you halfway.
The kiss is soft, not rushed, not dramatic. Just lips brushing lips, the warmth of his hand slipping gently under your jaw. The kind of kiss that makes your stomach ache in the best way. Like the start of something. Like safety and butterflies and yes.
When you finally pull back, barely inches between you both, he’s smiling. That small, secret smile he only seems to give you.
“So…” he whispers.
“So,” you echo.
“What does that mean?”
You pretend to think and flash him a cheeky grin.
“Means you’re in trouble,” you say, nudging your nose against his.
“Worth it,” he murmurs, kissing you again.
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