You genuinely hadn’t meant to end up in the VIP section.

One minute, you were following your friend through the packed nightclub, trying not to spill your drink, and the next — you stumbled through a rope barrier into a quieter, much nicer-looking area.

You blinked, confused. Tables. Bottle service. Security eyeing you suspiciously. And then you saw them.

Arthur. George. Chris. Isaac. Sitting around a table, laughing, half-leaned over drinks.

You froze for a half-second, heart hammering. You’d watched their videos for ages — their chaotic energy practically soundtracked your life — but now they were right there, and you were standing awkwardly like an idiot, very much not supposed to be here.

Arthur noticed you first.

He glanced up, gave you a quick once-over, and — instead of getting security to kick you out — smirked.

"Alright, mate?" he called, leaning back lazily in his seat like he ran the whole club. "You lost or just... bold?"

You felt your face heat. Your brain scrambled for an answer. "I, uh... platform roulette?" you blurted, immediately regretting it.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, amused. "Platform roulette in a nightclub?"

"Yeah," you said, recovering a little, "I spun a bottle, and it pointed... here." You gestured vaguely at their table.

Chris burst out laughing. Isaac cheered. George clapped like it was the best answer he'd ever heard.

"Fair enough!" Isaac grinned, shoving a drink toward you. "Sit down then! Celebrate your bad luck."

You hesitated, still wide-eyed, but Arthur patted the seat beside him.

"Don’t leave me sat with these losers," he said, grinning. "You’ll bring up the average IQ by sitting next to me."

You slid into the seat, heart hammering.

Up close, Arthur was even worse. Bright smile, easy confidence, mischievous glint in his eye. Every time he leaned in to make a comment, his cologne hit you like a punch. And somehow, he was the one looking at you like you were the interesting one.