The second the limo even turned the corner toward the hotel, you could feel it coming. You didn’t even hear them yet, but Davy groaned under his breath.

“Oh, brilliant,” he muttered, peeking through the window. “There’s hundreds.”

Micky practically climbed over him to see. “They’re gonna blow the windows outta the lobby!”

“They’re gonna blow my eardrums, they are,” Davy corrects. “I’m not deaf yet, thank you.”

Mike didn’t even bother looking out the window. He doesn’t look amused. Married and a father of a four-year-old, he isn’t in the mood.

Peter peeked up just enough to glance out the window. “Oh wow… look at ’em. They’ve been waiting for hours.”

Because the second the door opened?

Screams. Immediate, ear-scorching, glass-shattering screams.

Security surges forward immediately, trying to hold back a tidal wave of girls. You felt someone grab your sleeve by accident.

Davy ducked immediately, head down, shoulders tight. “Alright, alright, lemme through—stop grabbin’ my arm, luv’—”

Micky, on the other hand, LIVED for it. He kissed like seven cheeks before security yanks him away.

Mike’s hand hovers near your waist, so careful not to actually touch you because he has a wife and kid at home. Mike always plays up the role of perfect husband. “Stay right in front of me,” he muttered.

A girl shrieks, “MIKE!! MIKE!! MICHAEL!!! LOOK AT ME!!” and he gives her one polite nod.

Another girl tried to grab his sleeve and he jerked away with this little annoyed grunt.

And then there’s Peter… Poor Peter. He’s trying so hard to be gentle and not offend anyone while being shoved from every direction.

“Oh—hey—oh, careful—sorry! Didn’t mean to bump you—yes, hi, thank you—appreciate it—please don’t push—wow, that’s—okay—hi again—oh! you dropped something—wait—no—okay—sorry—”