Malachi “Kai” Riven Hale

The town didn’t look any different.

That was the first thing Malachi noticed as the black SUV rolled past the faded welcome sign, the same chipped paint and crooked lettering greeting him like no time had passed at all. The streets were still too quiet for a Friday night, porch lights glowing warm against the creeping dusk, the smell of cut grass and distant barbecue drifting through the cracked window. It felt... smaller than he remembered. Or maybe he’d just grown into a life that made everything else feel that way. “You sure you don’t want me to stay close?” his driver, Evan, asked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. Malachi shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the familiar stretch of road ahead. “Nah. I got it from here.” His voice came out softer than expected, like the town itself had pressed the volume down on him.

The SUV pulled to a stop near the old convenience store—the same one they used to sneak cheap candy from, the same flickering neon sign buzzing overhead like it had back then. Malachi stepped out, boots hitting pavement that felt too full of memory. The air clung differently here. He dragged a hand over the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose as his eyes drifted over every detail—the cracked sidewalk, the dented trash can, the stupid vending machine that never worked. Seven years. Seven years, and it all stayed the same. Except him. “Well, I’ll be damned...” a voice called from the doorway. Mr. Alvarez, older now, slower, but still wearing that same knowing smile, leaned against the frame. “Malachi Hale. Thought you got too big for us.” Malachi huffed out a quiet laugh, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah... something like that.” But his eyes betrayed him, scanning past the man, past the store, like he was looking for someone who wasn’t there.

He didn’t mean to walk that way.

His feet just... took him.

Down the street, past the dim streetlights, toward the old neighborhood where every memory felt louder. The houses hadn’t changed either—same peeling paint, same sagging porches, same wind chimes clinking lazily in the evening breeze. His chest tightened without warning when he reached that corner. That stupid, familiar corner. The one where they used to sit on the curb, knees bumping, sharing gum and secrets like they had all the time in the world. “God...” he muttered under his breath, dragging his hand over his face. He could see it—clear as anything. Their grin, the way they’d nudge his shoulder, the ridiculous handshake they made up, ending in a snap and a laugh that echoed too easily in his head.

That handshake turned into a song.

He hadn’t meant for it to.

It started as a joke—just something dumb he’d scribbled in his notes at three in the morning, half-smiling at the memory. Bubble Gum Girl. Stupid name. Stupid concept. But it stuck. He built it from there—layered it with beats, twisted their old rhythm into something catchier, something rougher around the edges. The hook still carried that same cadence though, that same playful snap-snap-clap they used to do. Only now the lyrics were sharper, a little dirtier, a little more honest than he ever let himself be back then. “You’d hate it,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he stared down the empty street. “Or... you’d love it. Yeah. Probably both.” His chest ached at the thought.

A group of teenagers passed by, their voices loud, laughter careless. One of them did a double take, eyes widening. “Yo—wait, is that—?” Malachi dipped his head slightly, pulling his hood up just enough to avoid the attention. He wasn’t here for that. Not tonight. Not like this. “Leave it,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. Fame felt wrong here—too loud, too intrusive. This place didn’t know RIVEN. It knew him. Or it used to. His jaw tightened as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, forcing himself to keep walking, even as every instinct pulled him back toward the past.

And then he stopped.

Right in front of a house he knew too well.

The porch light was on.

His breath caught, just slightly, his entire body going still as something unfamiliar twisted in his chest—something sharp, something dangerously close to hope. Seven years of distance, of silence, of unfinished sentences—and now he was standing here like no time had passed at all. “You really did it, huh...” he whispered, voice barely audible as his gaze locked on the door. His pulse kicked up, slow but heavy, like it wasn’t sure what came next either.

For the first time since he got out of that car, Malachi didn’t feel like he was moving forward.

He felt like he was about to step back into something he never truly left.

And he didn’t know if he was ready for that—or if he ever would be.

The town didn’t look any bigger.

Malachi noticed that first—the way the streets still felt too narrow, the houses too close together, like everything had been built to keep people in rather than let them out. The late afternoon sun washed everything in that same amber glow he remembered from years ago, catching on chipped paint and old street signs like nothing had changed at all. His car idled at the edge of Maple Drive, fingers resting loosely on the steering wheel as he stared ahead, jaw tight. Seven years. Seven years and it still felt like he could turn the corner and see the two of them sitting on the curb, sharing cheap candy and laughing over nothing. His phone buzzed in the cupholder, but he ignored it. This wasn’t a place for notifications. This was a place for ghosts.

“Malachi?”

The voice came from his left, hesitant but familiar, and he turned to see Mrs. Alvarez standing on her porch, hand pressed to her chest like she wasn’t sure if she was seeing him or remembering him. Her eyes widened, then softened. “Oh my—look at you. You actually came back.”

He forced a small smile, pushing open the car door and stepping out, boots hitting pavement that felt too familiar under his feet. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, voice quieter than it ever was on stage. “Just for a bit.”

She looked him over like she was cataloging the differences—tattoos, jewelry, the weight he carried in his posture now. “Your mama would’ve been proud, you know,” she added gently.

Malachi swallowed, gaze dropping briefly. “I hope so.”

But his mind wasn’t on her words. It was already drifting—backward, sideways, anywhere but here.

By the time he made it down the street, the air felt heavier. Every step came with a memory attached to it—the cracked sidewalk they used to hop over, the old tree they carved their initials into, the corner store where they used to spend whatever loose change they could scrape together. He could almost hear it—the echo of laughter, the rhythm of a stupid little handshake they’d made up one summer and never stopped doing. Clap, snap, tap—his lips twitched despite himself.

“Man, you really showed up unannounced?”

Malachi glanced over as Derek Collins leaned against the hood of a truck, arms crossed, grin sharp with disbelief. Derek had been a year older, louder, always the kind of guy who thought he knew everything about everyone. “Thought you’d be too big for this place now,” Derek added, pushing off the truck.

Malachi huffed a quiet laugh, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, well. Turns out it’s not that easy to outrun.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he could hear the weight behind the words. “You here for them?”

The question landed harder than anything else had. Malachi didn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting past Derek—toward the street that led further in, toward a house he hadn’t let himself think about too clearly until now.

“...I wrote something,” he admitted instead, voice low.

Derek raised a brow. “Yeah? That supposed to answer my question?”

Malachi exhaled through his nose, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. “It’s called Bubble Gum Girl.”

That got a reaction—a short, surprised laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” Malachi dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head. “It’s stupid. Half of it’s that old handshake we used to do, turned into a beat. The other half...” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “...the other half’s not exactly radio-friendly.”

Derek barked out a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “Sounds like you, man. Always had a thing for making a mess outta something sweet.”

Malachi didn’t laugh. Because Derek wasn’t wrong.

Later, when the street quieted and the sky dipped into that soft, fading orange, Malachi found himself standing in front of the house.

It looked smaller than he remembered. Everything did.

His hands slid into his pockets again, shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath as he stared at the front door like it might open on its own if he waited long enough. His heart was beating harder than it ever did before a show, louder than any crowd he’d ever stood in front of. He could still hear it—the echo of that handshake, the sound of their voice layered over it in his memory, the way they used to laugh when he messed it up on purpose just to see them roll their eyes.

Seven years.

Seven years of writing songs that circled back to the same person.

Seven years of almost texting, almost calling, almost coming back.

“...You’re really here, huh,” he muttered under his breath, not even sure if he was talking to himself or to them.

The porch light flickered faintly as dusk settled in, and Malachi shifted his weight, fingers curling slightly like he was about to knock—

—but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Because for the first time since he’d left, the distance between them wasn’t measured in miles or time anymore.

It was measured in one choice.

And he hadn’t decided what he was going to do with it.