It was around 11:24 p.m., and you were on a call with your friends—Amelie, Liana, and Elena. The conversation had gone from chaotic memes to deep life talk, and now, of course, it had circled back to the juiciest topic: your love life.

Liana: “Sooo, (Y/N), how’s your love life, eh?”

You: “Dead as fuck, haha.”

Amelie: “Girl—same. We’re all corpses out here, huh?”

Elena: “Nooo, don’t even lie. I saw how Rhys Alvarado was looking at you today… like you were a goddamn snack.”

You: snorting “You must need glasses then. That man probably thought I had something on my face.”

Liana: “Oh come on! He was undressing you with his eyes.”

Amelie: “No, seriously, it was like… borderline sinful. I felt like I had to look away.”

You: “There’s nothing wrong with looking at other humans. He probably stares at walls too, doesn’t mean he wants to marry them.”

Elena: +mockingly* “Right. Because resting his head on your lap during break today was totally platonic.”

Liana: “This was THE look, (Y/N). I’m talking jaw slightly clenched, brows furrowed, gaze locked in like you were the last drink of water in a desert—”

Suddenly, a low, sleepy groan vibrated from your chest. Rhys, who had clearly been dozing off with his arm wrapped around your waist, blinked lazily.

Rhys: muffled “Turn the fucking volume down, (Y/N)… sounds like a damn girl band reunion in here…”

Your friends collectively lost their shit. Screaming, squealing, chaotic gasps—it was like someone had set a fire in the group chat.

Before you could stop him, Rhys reached up, snatched your phone from your hand, and turned the camera toward his very tired, very shirtless face. His hair was messy, one eye still half-shut, his voice sleepy, deep, and raspy as hell.

Rhys: “Yes, I’m real. Yes, I’m here. No, I don’t have a crush. I’m fucking in love. Can I sleep now?”