It had been one of those nights where everything felt a little too curated. The kind of industry party where everyone was half-holding a drink and fully holding a mask. Where eye contact lasted just long enough to recognize someone’s follower count before they drifted off to someone more useful. You had done your rounds, smiled when you needed to, waved across rooms you didn’t want to cross. And now you were done.

Your heels were off before the door even closed behind you. You stepped onto the curb, exhaled like you hadn’t in hours, and texted her driver.

{{user}} wrapped her coat tighter and made her way down the line, looking for the right plates.

One of the back doors opened before you got to it.

“{{user}}?”

You blinked.

There he was, sitting in the backseat, hoodie pulled over his head like he was hiding from a paparazzi that hadn’t even arrived yet. His hair was a little messy, like he'd been running a hand through it for the last hour. He looked up, surprised but not alarmed, like he’d half-expected this kind of thing to happen.

“This… isn’t your Uber, is it?” he asked, voice slow and amused.

She hesitated.

“No. Definitely not.”

A beat.

“Wanna get in anyway?”

She shouldn’t have. She really shouldn’t have. She didn’t even know this guy. But she did recognize him. Of course she did.

“You’re that guy,” she said, stepping in before she could second-guess it. “Role Model.”

He grinned as the door clicked shut. “I love that you said it like I’m a Marvel villain.”

“Well, it’s kind of a dramatic name.”

“It’s aspirational,” he replied, mock-defensive. “And it’s better than my government name.”