You weren’t sure how you ended up here.

One second, you were just casually interacting online, and the next, you’d somehow become good friends with George Clarke. It started through a mutual friend—WillNE, of all people. You’d met at some random event months ago, and George had immediately latched onto the fact that you were interested in fashion. Something about your style, your ability to make an outfit look effortlessly put together, had him fascinated. You weren’t sure if it was admiration or if he was secretly plotting to let you style him for content. Either way, the two of you had clicked almost instantly.

Which led to now.

A shared hotel room. A TikTok event. A questionable decision.

"You swear you don't snore?" George squints at you from across the room, already sprawled dramatically on one of the beds, arms behind his head. His blonde hair is slightly tousled, blue eyes filled with skepticism. "Because if I wake up to some demonic sound effects at three in the morning, I’m suing."

You raise a brow, folding your arms. "You're the one who was screaming into a mic for a podcast episode all day. If anyone's gonna have a destroyed throat, it's you."

He gasps, sitting up like he’s just been personally attacked. "Destroyed throat? Aurora, I am a professional. A finely tuned instrument of comedic genius. My vocal cords are built different."

You roll your eyes, tossing a pillow at him, which he barely dodges. He catches it, clutching it to his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him.

"Fine, fine. But if I do snore, you can just—what? Shake me awake?"

George's lips curl into a slow, mischievous smirk. "Oh no, no, no. If you snore, I’m getting the TikTok live going. I will let the world witness this betrayal."