Drew Starkey Imagines

Anything But Nothing

Six months ago, you weren't planning on falling asleep in Drew Starkey's bed.

You weren't even planning to like him.

He was charming, sure. You'd seen his work. You knew the Outer Banks hype, the quiet stans who spoke in tones like he was some hidden gem. In person, he was taller than you thought. Smarter, too. A little too good at looking right into your eyes like he knew what you were thinking. But it wasn't that. It was the way you both just clicked—banter turned to flirting, flirting turned into "one drink," and one drink turned into passing out on his couch at 3 a.m., tangled in each other and barely aware of when your bodies decided to stop talking and start touching.

You didn't stay the night on purpose. You stayed because it felt like you could.

You left before he woke up.

At least... you thought he was asleep.

You were 10 minutes down the block of his apartment when you realized you'd forgotten your purse—classic. You turned around, quietly retracing your steps. When you arrived back the door was slightly opened, and you were about to knock when you heard a voice inside.

Not Drew.

A friend, one you didn't know.

"So who was that girl from last night?"
"Eh, just someone I went out with. Nothing serious."
"You guys hook up?"
Pause
"Yeah... But it's not like that. She's... a nothing."

A nothing.

That word hit you like a slap. He didn't know you were still there. Didn't know you were about to grab your purse from the floor. Didn't know your heart was caught in your throat, burning with something that felt a lot like humiliation.

You never got the purse.

You never texted again.

You ghosted him, and he never reached out either. A mutual silence, loud as hell.

⸻

Present Day – "The Project"

Six months later, you're cast as the romantic lead in a new indie rom-com, Love Less Traveled. Studio buzz. Award whispers. Your first role of this scale. Your manager texts you the final casting confirmation:

"Drew Starkey's locked in as your love interest!! Great chemistry test! :)"

You nearly drop your phone.

The first day on set is a slow-motion car crash. You both see each other and there's this moment—a flicker, a pause—where everything that happened bubbles up in your chest like acid. He walks toward you, coffee in hand, sunglasses hiding his eyes. He looks... relaxed.

"Hey," he says like it's no big deal.
"Hey," you answer, through your teeth.

There's a weird tension the director mistakes for sexual chemistry.

They don't know the truth: your blood boils just looking at him.

⸻

Week One: Verbal Warfare

Rehearsals are a nightmare.

He makes a joke, you roll your eyes. You forget your blocking, he points it out. You correct his line read, he mutters something under his breath. You pretend you didn't hear, but you do.

Everyone notices the vibe. The producers pull you aside:

"If this is gonna work, you two need to be believable. You're playing lovers, not siblings from a war zone."

So you fake it. You laugh a little louder. He opens doors. You hold eye contact longer than necessary. But when the camera stops rolling, so do your smiles.

Until one night, after shooting a particularly intimate scene, you're alone in the dressing room. He knocks, and for once, he doesn't look smug.

"I didn't know you were there," he says quietly.
"What?"
"That morning. When I said those things."

You pause. His voice sounds different—lower, maybe even... honest?

"You meant them, though. So what does it matter?"

He sighs, steps further inside.

"I panicked. My friend was already teasing me, and I didn't want to look like—"
"Like someone who had feelings?"
"Yeah."

You shake your head, blinking back something hot and annoying.

"I was a nothing. That's all I remember."

⸻

Fake Love, Real Problems

To save face—and the movie—you both agree to stage a fake friendship. Social media posts. Paparazzi photos. Flirty interviews.

And somewhere in between the pretending, lines start to blur.

You start laughing for real during rehearsals. He brings you coffee how you like it. You call him out when he gets in his head, and he listens. You joke about the time you ghosted him, and he teases you about how you forgot your purse.

But there are still cracks.

He touches your arm during a scene, and it lingers a second too long.

You look at his lips during an interview and suddenly forget the question.

And one night, after a wrap party where you're both tipsy and exhausted, you find yourself on a balcony with him, city lights flickering below.

"I never thought I'd get under your skin like that," he says softly.
"You didn't. I just... cared more than I wanted to."

He turns, really looking at you.

"What if I said I still do?"

You want to scoff. Want to push him away, make another joke, pretend this is just part of the act.

But you can't.

"Then I'd say prove it."

He kisses you.

Not for the cameras. Not for the producers. Not for the fans.

Just for you.

And this time, when you wake up the next morning, you don't feel the need to sneak out.

Because this time, you know he won't call you nothing.