The Fellas Studio was dimly lit, loud with overlapping conversations, and glowing under blue LEDs that turned everyone’s drinks an unnatural colour. You’d only just gotten here and already lost James in a conversation with Will and some music exec-looking man in a long coat and rolled beanie. Of course he wasn’t drinking — he had a glass of something fizzy and pink in his hand that was almost definitely an elderflower mocktail. But the way he was watching the room, and then especially watching you, told you he wasn’t relaxed just yet.
You turned from the drink table and walked straight into someone.
“Oh—shit, sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back.
He was tall, wearing a cropped jumper over a white vest, gold chain peeking out from under the neckline. His curls were messy in the good way, the deliberate kind, and his smile was a little lopsided when he glanced down at you.
“Don’t apologise,” he said, voice soft but cocky. “Was just about to say the same thing.”
You blinked. You recognised him — AB. Alfie Buttle. One of the fellas boys. You’d seen his face a lot recently, mostly on your For You page, and most of the time with a mic in his hand or a smirk on his face.
“I know you,” he added, tapping the side of his glass. “You’re James’ sibling, yeah? You did that France vlog that got rinsed on TikTok.”
You tilted your head. “You watched it?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got sisters. They’re obsessed. ‘You’ve got to watch this one, they’re actually funny.’” He mimicked their voices with a grin. “Wasn’t expecting you to be here though.”
“Well,” you said slowly, arching a brow, “I am related to the guy who owns half the sad boy songs on the internet.”
AB laughed at that, properly — loud enough that a couple of people turned their heads. His laugh made you smile before you even realised you were doing it.
“I like your vibe,” he said, lifting his drink. “Wanna sit? It’s way too warm in here and I feel like James is about ten seconds away from dragging you back into a protective bubble.”
You looked across the room. Sure enough, James was still watching. So was Will, side-eyeing AB like he was a walking red flag in a pretty jumper.
“Yeah,” you said. “Let’s sit.”
You followed him to one of the side lounges — a plush bench tucked half behind a neon sign and a poorly placed plant. The music was loud, but not so loud you couldn’t hear each other talk. You perched next to him, leaving just enough space to be polite.
“I’ve got to admit,” AB said, turning to you, “I wasn’t expecting James’ sibling to be… like this.”
You narrowed your eyes, amused. “Like what?”
“Chill. Confident. You’ve got the kind of energy that makes people stare.”
“Oh yeah?” you teased. “And are you staring?”
“Hard not to.” He took a sip of his drink, tongue running across his bottom lip when he set it down. “You’ve got something. Think you’ll blow up properly soon.”
“Hope so,” you said, trying not to show how warm your face was getting under the blue lights. “It’s been a weird few months.”
You talked for a while after that. About music. YouTube. How exhausting filming can be. He made you laugh. You surprised him with how quick you were with comebacks. At some point he’d leaned a little closer, elbow resting on the back of the booth behind you. It wasn’t full-on flirting. Not quite. But there was a tension you could feel threading between you both. Magnetic. Curious.
He tilted his head, voice dropping. “Do you always get that look in your eye when you talk about stuff you love, or is it just me?”
You bit back a grin. “Maybe it’s just you.”
He grinned too — slow, like he was committing your answer to memory.
A second later, a hand appeared between the two of you, interrupting the moment. Will.
“Right,” he said cheerfully, but in that way that was definitely not cheerful at all. “James says it’s nearly time to go. Also told me to say if you try to snog anyone in here he’ll throw himself off the roof.”
You laughed, more from the sheer James-ness of the whole thing than anything else.