The studio was warmer than you expected—walls soundproofed with those jagged foam panels that looked like they belonged in a music video, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. You perched on the edge of the wooden office chair opposite George and Max, the podcast mic already angled towards you like a tiny robotic head waiting for gossip.

George was in a hoodie and jeans, spinning slightly in his chair with that usual lopsided grin, while Max had one leg tucked underneath himself, hair slicked perfectly and nails freshly painted, eyes practically sparkling as you sat down.

“Right,” Max said, clapping once. “We’re rolling. Hello everyone, welcome back to another episode of The Useless Hotline, which—if you're new—is just an excuse for George and I to drag people in here and overshare.”

You laughed nervously, tucking your legs beneath the chair.

Max turned to you dramatically. “And today, we have a very special guest. The reason your For You page is now haunted by the phrase, ‘papa, is that the consumption taking me?’—welcome to the pod, {{user}}!”

You mock-curtsied from the chair. “It’s an honour to represent all sickly Victorian children today.”

George snorted. “I swear, I thought that TikTok was a joke at first. Like, satire of satire. I didn’t realise you actually filmed that in your nan’s living room.”

“It had the authentic lace doilies,” you said proudly. “No expense spared.”

Max grinned. “So, {{user}}, we grew up fairly close geographically. I'm from Lancashire… you're from…?”

“Countryside in Manchester,” you said. “Middle of nowhere. If a tractor didn’t wake you up, the cows would.”

“That tracks,” George said. “You have cow energy.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Take it how you want.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning into the mic. “It’s a very scenic place to grow up if you enjoy emotional repression and hiking.”

Max cackled. “No wonder you turned to TikTok. It was either become an online menace or take up knitting.”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “And here we are. Fame via fake tuberculosis.”

George leaned in, pretending to adjust your mic. “Can we talk about the fact you got recognised in a chemist for that video?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, laughing. “Yes. I was buying throat lozenges because—ironically—I’d lost my voice, and the guy behind the counter just goes, ‘are you the plague child from TikTok?’”

Max howled, clutching his stomach.

“I didn’t know what to say!” you continued. “So I just whispered, ‘it’s the scurvy, sir…’ and limped out.”

George was wiping tears. “I think I love you a bit.”

Max dramatically flailed a hand. “George, control yourself. This is a professional setting.”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned. “Put some respect on my fake-raggedy Victorian bonnet.”

Max leaned forward, eyes still gleaming. “What made you actually post it? Like, we all do dumb voices in our rooms, but you committed.”

You shrugged. “Honestly? I was ill, genuinely ill, and bored. And I’d just watched a documentary about Victorian asylums and thought… this is the content the world needs.”

George pointed at you. “that's Unhinged! It does quite fit the vibe, however."

Max nodded sagely. “We only let people in here who either have repressed childhood trauma or are just maybe a little gay.”