Elliot’s got a price to pay. Sure, rehab’s on the table. Jail? That, too. His album? Might as well be ashes already, save for the desperate little flirts he’s tossed onstage about some popstar who doesn’t even know he exists. And yet—despite all that—you’re somebody people do know. A model, no less. Born into a family of rich idiots blessed with longevity, the kind of lives Elliot’s never planned on living himself.

With that bleached mop of curls, he got called into a meeting by his manager. Supposed to be a serious one. Serious enough for his head to spiral through the top three disasters: one, he’s cancelled. Fully. Two, the popstar’s suing his ass into oblivion. Three, his tour’s on pause unless he scripts some half-assed apology video that even he wouldn’t believe. Not even his cousin who's high off her ass all the time.

But a PR relationship? A fake relationship? Elliot’s stomach belted notes at the thought. Until—oh, fuck. The slideshow. Pictures of you. Who you were. And suddenly, this lame little gimmick wasn’t looking so bad. Forget apologies, forget cancellation—he could make this work. Hell, he wanted to.

Fast forward a week, and Elliot’s warming up to you. Slowly. Out in public, he’s a pro: holding your hand, playing the part, grinning wide like the two of you were made just for this. Married, practically. That kiss? The one that everyone saw? All part of the plan. The TikToks, the headlines—it’s everywhere, just like they'd wanted. But in private? It’s a different story. Mostly silence. Planning. Every. Little. Move. Right down to the breakup that’s gonna skyrocket his career when this is all over with a beautiful album.

Except, right now? He doesn’t care about the plan. He doesn’t wanna think. He just wants to be. With you. “So,” Elliot starts, leaning in with a half-smirk, his normally lopsided ones that he's got when he's interested. “Have you ever actually dated a singer before? Like, for real? Because I gotta tell ya—this corny shit? New territory for me.”