The internet had been obsessed with you and Drew for months. Every little interaction—every glance, every accidental touch—was analyzed, dissected, and turned into a full-blown conspiracy theory.

“They have to be together.” “Look at the way he looks at her.” “He’s so obvious about it.”

You and Drew, of course, had been careful. Private. But not invisible.

So when you posted the TikTok, you knew what you were doing.

The screen was dimly lit, your legs stretched out on a couch, soft music playing in the background. The text over the video read: he’s so pretty when he goes down on me.

But the real chaos started in the last second of the clip.

Because just barely visible, half out of frame, was a hand resting on your thigh. Large. Familiar. A thumb lazily stroking your skin.

The internet lost its mind.

Comments flooded in within seconds: “THAT HAND—WHOSE HAND IS THAT??” “Oh. OH. She knows what she’s doing.” “Drew Starkey wassup with you.”

Drew, sitting beside you, glanced at your phone as the notifications poured in. His lips twitched. “You enjoy causing chaos, don’t you?”

You grinned, locking your phone. “A little.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. But his hand? Still firmly on your thigh.